Dusk would be upon them in an hour, if not sooner. Already the ruddy skies were fading to deeper shades of twilight, and the sun, long sunken behind the thick forest's myriad canopies and trunks, would soon slip beneath the horizon and be lost from sight. By then, those without their own light - natural or otherwise - would be unable to continue the hunt.
Not among them was he - for as easily as one could light a fire he could kennel a sphere of sunbeam in his palm, coercing it to light his way long after its source was gone down. Though he lacked the hunter's keen eye for track and trail, he had his own ways of seeing where his prey had gone. Setting himself down on the leaf-strewn ground, he focused a moment, mentally preparing for what spell he would momentarily cast. Though it was not unfamiliar to him, it was dangerous yet - and he had to prepare. A moment passed, then another, as the oncoming night closed in around the world in the slow, yet inescapable embrace with which it had always clutched them. Ready, he pressed his pointer fingers to his shut eyes, and muttered a spell. When he removed his hands and looked out, he was blind.
Or, blind enough - nearly all vision had been wiped away in exchange for what he could see: magic. Specifically, in the windy grey and black landscape, blurred to a barely recognizable form, he could see vibrant, moving wellsprings of magic, each carried in the heart of another spell-caster. There in the distance, a flare of green-blue, beside it, one of a lilac muddied with brown. Further on, smaller pools of color here and there - violet and sand, crimson and white . Every individual - and magic cast by them - had their own trace color, unique as a handprint to each and every one of them. With this spell, he could see it, through walls, through earth itself, through forests and chasms. More importantly, the trail left by his prey was as clear as any track in mud or patch of thorn-snagged fur could ever be. It was a watery gold, shot through with whispy bands of indigo and peach that bled into the main color and each other. To his charmed eyes, it was easy to follow where the path ran along through the forest, stopped, looped back, staggered along what seemed like a ravine, then fled south, straight as an arrow.
Closing his eyes once more, he pressed his hands over them, and murmured the spell to remove the first. For a second, he hesitated, afraid of what he would see - or not see. But there was no time for being fearful. Standing, he opened his eyes again.
The forest was the same, though darker now, the shadows stretching eastward in the waning light of day. The trail, moments ago so bright and clear, was gone. It was on his memory now to guide him, and he started off, walking staff in hand, for the south where he had seen the path go. Of course, he was fighting a losing battle - he was only human, and the thing he chased, a monster. Far faster and more agile than himself, capable no doubt of covering many miles in the time it would take him to cover one or two. But his prey was running scared, and would become exhausted soon. That was when he would make the distance between them.
Along the way, night began to fall in earnest, and for fear of what he might stumble on in the undergrowth, he summoned a radiant orb of light, bright enough to shine on any creeping root or rock that might trip him, but not so bright as to guide others to him readily. After all, those moving pools of hue and shade belonged to other magic-users who were, like him, hunting this singular creature. In truth, calling the hunted one a monster was unfair - for what was an arguably monstrous form belied the royal soul that steered those limbs and teeth and claws, horrible thought they were. As well, he knew with absolute certainty that the person who had, those short days ago, been a beautiful and beloved princess, was still in there, no matter how thick the swathed fur or strange the bones and sinews she wore now. It was with that certainty that he hunted alone, unafraid of what would come when he at last cornered her.
That, and the simple fact that this was no act of charity, and rewards were best un-split.
Not among them was he - for as easily as one could light a fire he could kennel a sphere of sunbeam in his palm, coercing it to light his way long after its source was gone down. Though he lacked the hunter's keen eye for track and trail, he had his own ways of seeing where his prey had gone. Setting himself down on the leaf-strewn ground, he focused a moment, mentally preparing for what spell he would momentarily cast. Though it was not unfamiliar to him, it was dangerous yet - and he had to prepare. A moment passed, then another, as the oncoming night closed in around the world in the slow, yet inescapable embrace with which it had always clutched them. Ready, he pressed his pointer fingers to his shut eyes, and muttered a spell. When he removed his hands and looked out, he was blind.
Or, blind enough - nearly all vision had been wiped away in exchange for what he could see: magic. Specifically, in the windy grey and black landscape, blurred to a barely recognizable form, he could see vibrant, moving wellsprings of magic, each carried in the heart of another spell-caster. There in the distance, a flare of green-blue, beside it, one of a lilac muddied with brown. Further on, smaller pools of color here and there - violet and sand, crimson and white . Every individual - and magic cast by them - had their own trace color, unique as a handprint to each and every one of them. With this spell, he could see it, through walls, through earth itself, through forests and chasms. More importantly, the trail left by his prey was as clear as any track in mud or patch of thorn-snagged fur could ever be. It was a watery gold, shot through with whispy bands of indigo and peach that bled into the main color and each other. To his charmed eyes, it was easy to follow where the path ran along through the forest, stopped, looped back, staggered along what seemed like a ravine, then fled south, straight as an arrow.
Closing his eyes once more, he pressed his hands over them, and murmured the spell to remove the first. For a second, he hesitated, afraid of what he would see - or not see. But there was no time for being fearful. Standing, he opened his eyes again.
The forest was the same, though darker now, the shadows stretching eastward in the waning light of day. The trail, moments ago so bright and clear, was gone. It was on his memory now to guide him, and he started off, walking staff in hand, for the south where he had seen the path go. Of course, he was fighting a losing battle - he was only human, and the thing he chased, a monster. Far faster and more agile than himself, capable no doubt of covering many miles in the time it would take him to cover one or two. But his prey was running scared, and would become exhausted soon. That was when he would make the distance between them.
Along the way, night began to fall in earnest, and for fear of what he might stumble on in the undergrowth, he summoned a radiant orb of light, bright enough to shine on any creeping root or rock that might trip him, but not so bright as to guide others to him readily. After all, those moving pools of hue and shade belonged to other magic-users who were, like him, hunting this singular creature. In truth, calling the hunted one a monster was unfair - for what was an arguably monstrous form belied the royal soul that steered those limbs and teeth and claws, horrible thought they were. As well, he knew with absolute certainty that the person who had, those short days ago, been a beautiful and beloved princess, was still in there, no matter how thick the swathed fur or strange the bones and sinews she wore now. It was with that certainty that he hunted alone, unafraid of what would come when he at last cornered her.
That, and the simple fact that this was no act of charity, and rewards were best un-split.
