The dream always ended the same way, and left him waking in a heavy sweat. The monster that he hunted, the beast that killed his father, always left a linger fear in the pit of his stomach. That fear of many things: that he was insane, that perhaps the beast truly did not exist, that perhaps he would never find it, or that the beast was really hunting him, biding its time until the most opportune moment.
Yes, the dream always ended the same way. He was hot on the animal's heels, having tracked it for days and days on end. He was always close, but never enough to make the kill, as if the beast was toying with him, able to swerve from his steady aim, just when he had a chance. And when he thought he lost it, it turned on him, ready to kill. And he always awoke before it did. The dream didn't always come, but when it did, it always left him feeling a sense of both dread and relief.
He was shaking and sweating and he tore the fur covering his body from his form. Moonlight poured through the evening clouds just visible above the treeline from his perch in a cave inlet. Rook took a cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow and body peered out toward the wilderness, in whose heart he now sat.
The days of hunting had been long and he found little more than a rabbit earlier that morning to serve as his lunch and dinner, but the forest seemed scarce afterward. The night was not as lively with activity as he would have thought as well, and was partly thankful it wasn't. To know there was nothing out there that might be looking at him as prey was much needed relief to the dream he escaped from.
Rook's eyes scanned the treeline, the sky and counted the stars for a short time, trying to find anything that might take the images of the animal from his mind. He knew it wasn't something he could easily forget, but perhaps if he could push it away from his vision for a moment, perhaps he might get some much needed rest. The weeks had been long and he thought it best to return to the nearest town in the morning. Ketra was close by and would make a good market for the small number of skins he collected while on his excursion.
But just as he was about to lay down, Rook heard a crackling of breaking twigs and leaves that immediately alerted him to the presence of another. Rook was quick, and reached for his bow and tossed his quiver over his head. He nocked an arrow and quickly moved into the shadows, hearing the crunching grow louder and closer. He waited beside the inlet, having no time to clear what remained of his camp and laid waiting in the bushes, holding his bow at the ready, watching and waiting as the intruder came closer.