The waiting was the hardest part. Alex lay on the cot, feeling the persistent, freezing weight of the black rabbit core beneath his tunic. The spirit trapped inside was a silent, alien hum—a continuous vibration that made Elian's body a powerful conduit of Death Energy. The core was now an immensely valuable anchor, radiating a thick, cloying cold that acted as both a shield and a deterrent.
He tracked Theron's snoring. It had passed the point of deep, drunken sleep and entered the predictable, rhythmic drone of oblivion. Midnight.
Alex slipped out of the cot, every movement rehearsed. His clarity, bought by the tallow, was total. His plan was surgical: minimal time, maximum asset recovery.
First, he moved to the corner where Theron kept his goods. He located the hidden cavity where Theron kept his spending cash—a small pouch of silver and copper coin—enough to sustain a single traveler for a week or two. He took the whole pouch.
Next, the workbench. He secured a small, wickedly sharp leather knife and a thick coil of waxed twine.
Then, the critical survival gear. He discarded Elian's thin, threadbare clothing. From Theron's winter stores, he pulled the thickest, dirtiest, traveler's cloak—heavy, wool-lined, and hooded. It would provide crucial camouflage and protection from the forest's damp chill. He traded his own worn shoes for Theron's superior, high-laced travelling boots—too big, but essential for distance and terrain.
Finally, The Map. He found it tucked into a hollowed-out log: a rough, charcoal-sketched parchment showing the local trapping lines and, crucially, the path to The Thorp of Wyllow.
Alex studied the route intently, the ambient Death Energy flowing through him lending his vision a strange, hyper-focus. The map showed the King's Wood was too dense, too wild. Instead, a thin, dashed line followed the Oakhaven Creek, eventually feeding into a known lesser trade road that paralleled the deeper forest, leading toward the Thorp. This route was longer, but infinitely safer—avoiding deep-forest encounters and giving him an exit point if needed.
Defense is not combat; defense is avoidance.
He secured all his assets, bundling them inside the heavy cloak. He paused at the sleeping giant. Theron was massive, inert, radiating a faint, predictable cold.
Alex, needing only a fraction of a second more lead time, executed his silent defense. He gripped the occupied rabbit core and projected the cold outward, focusing the intense, terrifying stillness of the trapped spirit onto Theron's head.
The effect was silent, immediate, and localized. Theron's deep snoring suddenly cut off, his breathing shallowing into a brief, unnatural hiccup of arrested motion. Alex didn't stop to check; he simply turned and slipped out the back door, securing the latch.
He moved silently across the yard, using the high, stiff fence line as cover. He scaled the back fence and, without a single backward glance at the shack, plunged into the alley leading toward the banks of the Oakhaven Creek.
Alex was now a refugee—equipped, concealed, and anchored to a terrifying, deadly power source. The threat of Theron was behind him, replaced by the terrifying, expansive unknown. The journey had begun.
Alex is now properly equipped for his journey. His defense lies in:
Concealment: The heavy traveler's cloak provides anonymity.
Route: The trade road along Oakhaven Creek is a manageable path, avoiding the worst of the deep King's Wood.
Deterrence: The occupied core radiates an unnatural, deep cold, which could instinctively keep superstitious humans and animals away.
The next crisis will be internal: managing the unpredictable trapped spirit and the continuous flow of Death Energy while traveling.