Idris had forgotten.

Horses were not an option.

Idris realised this about thirty seconds after they left the convoy's perimeter. Once those engines started. Right…This isn’t my time anymore.

He stared at the trail. It wound through the undergrowth, barely visible, the kind of path that animals and monsters used and humans avoided. The forest loomed on either side, with shadows that seemed to follow when you weren't looking directly at them.

"We’re going to be walking," he asked towards the sky as if when he looked back ahead of him, a horse would magically appear.

"Yes. Walk. You know how?"

Idris scowled at him. "Yes, I know how to walk."

"Good. Then do it."

Ramzah started down the trail. Idris watched him for a moment. The set of his shoulders, the hand that never strayed far from his new dagger, the careful way he placed each foot to avoid disturbing the moss. He sure is odd for a human.

The forest closed around them.

The first hour was almost pleasant.

The trail wound through all typestrees, their leaves catching the filtered light and turning it into something almost golden. The bioluminescent fungi clustered at their bases in constellations of soft blue and green, and the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. Strange birds called overhead, their songs echoing through the canopy in patterns that almost sounded like words.

Idris found himself relaxing despite everything. The hunger was still there, a constant ache in his gut, but the movement helped. The forest helped. After three centuries of stone and silence, simply walking through living green felt like coming back to life.

"This isn't so bad," he offered.

Ramzah glanced back at him. His expression suggested he was calculating how quickly the vampire's optimism would be proven foolish.

"We've been walking for an hour," he said. "Darkthorn is at least five hours away on foot. Through contested territory. With no supplies except what I could carry in my pockets." A pause. "Give it time."

"You're very optimistic."

They walked on.

The forest changed as they went. The silver-barks thinned, replaced by something darker, steelwood, maybe, or its modern equivalent, with trunks so black they seemed to absorb light. The bioluminescent fungi grew brighter here, their glow pulsing in slow rhythms like distant heartbeats. The bird calls faded, replaced by a silence that felt heavy, watchful. Something made a similar call to those birds, but it wasn’t accurate enough.

Idris's skin prickled.

"Something's wrong," he said quietly.

Ramzah's hand went to his spear. "Define wrong."

"The forest is too quiet."

"We just heard birds a moment ago."

"Those weren't birds."

Ramzah stopped. Idris did too. They stood on the trail, surrounded by ironwood and glowing fungi, and listened.

Nothing.

Not the wind. Not the rustle of leaves. Not the distant trickle of water that had been background noise since they started. Just silence.

The ground beneath them shifted.

It was a faint tremor, like distant thunder, but both of them felt it. Ramzah's spear was in his hands before the tremor faded, his body dropping into a defensive stance. 

"What was that?" Ramzah demanded.

"I don't—"

The ground erupted.

Twenty meters ahead, where the trail curved around a massive steelwood. Something burst from the earth in a shower of dirt and roots and writhing, pale flesh. Idris had one second to register what he was seeing before the screaming started.

The things that emerged were human-shaped but not human. Their bodies were the color of mushroom caps, their limbs too long and too thin, their faces smooth and featureless except for the clusters of glowing fungi that grew where eyes should be. They moved with the jerky, unnatural grace of insects, and they made a sound—a high, keening wail that seemed to bypass the ears and drill directly into the brain.

"WHAT ARE THOSE?" Ramzah shouted.

Idris didn't answer. He was too busy counting. Six. No, seven. Emerging from the hole in the ground like maggots from rotten meat, their too-long limbs reaching, grasping, pulling themselves toward the two living creatures on the trail.

"Run," he said.

"What?"

"Run."

They did.

The trail became a blur. Ramzah was fast—lighter, well fed, long limbs—but Idris kept pace through sheer desperation, his legs burning with every stride but pushing on despite his starvation.

Behind them, the wailing continued. Closer now. Gaining.

"There's too many," Ramzah gasped. "We can't outrun—"

"I know."

"Then what—"

Idris's eyes scanned the forest as they ran. Greenery. Fungi. Shadows. Nothing useful, nothing defensible, nothing.

There.

"Left," he ordered. "Now."

Ramzah didn't argue. They veered off the trail, crashing through undergrowth, and Idris prayed he'd seen what he thought he'd seen.

He had.

A rock face loomed ahead. It was a deep grey, cutting through the forest like a scar. At its base, barely visible behind a curtain of hanging moss, was a crack. Not a cave—just a fissure in the stone, narrow as a blade, but deep enough that the darkness beyond it seemed absolute.

"In there," Idris said. 

They threw themselves at the fissure. Ramzah went first, squeezing through with inches to spare, his dagger scraping against stone. Idris followed, for one terrible moment he was stuck, his shoulders too broad, and then Ramzah's hand closed around his leg and YANKED. He was through.

They collapsed in darkness, breathing hard, and the wailing reached the rock face and stopped.

Ramzah's voice was low. "Can they get in?"

Idris listened. He could hear them moving out there, the rustle against stone, the soft wet sound of their bodies shifting. But the fissure was in a cave. Those things couldn’t stand ground that wasn’t mud. Ground that didn’t have any life for them to steal.

"I don't think so," he breathed.

"How long do we wait?"

"Don’t worry, those damned things will leave soon, otherwise they’ll be the ones who end up dead. Theyre very fragile, they need constant sustenance. They’ll go looking elsewhere for prey."

                                                                   ***

Idris sat with his back against the cold stone of the cave, knees drawn up, listening to the sounds of the hunt outside. The things, mold walkers, his memory supplied, though the name felt like something from a half remembered dream, paced the length of the rock face, their keening cries rising and falling in patterns that might have been communication. Occasionally one would press against the fissure's opening, its pale, featureless face appearing in the gap, clusters of glowing fungi pulsing as if sniffing the air.

Each time, the thing would pull back after long, agonizing moments.

Ramzah crouched at the fissure's mouth, spear ready, watching. He didn't move. Didn't fidget. Didn't even seem to blink. Just watched, utterly still, like a predator waiting for prey to make a mistake.

Idris found it deeply unnerving. He’s a very odd human.

Finally, as the light began to shift toward what passed for evening in the forest, the wailing faded. The mold walkers retreated probably, their pale forms dissolving into the gloom between trees, and the forest began to breathe again. Real birds called somewhere in the distance. Insects resumed their endless chorus.

Ramzah waited another ten minutes before relaxing. He lowered his spear, rolled his shoulders, and turned to look at Idris.

"Well," he said. "That happened."

"Mold walkers. I think. They were rare in my time."

"Lovely." Ramzah sheathed his dagger and looked around their cramped refuge. The fissure was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to sit side by side, and the ceiling sloped sharply. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness beyond. "We shouldn’t stay here for too long."

Dizziness

The hunger hit Idris like a physical blow.

One moment he was thinking, planning, listening to Ramzah, functioning like normal. The next, his thoughts dissolved into static. His vision blurred at the edges. His hands shook, and he had to press them against the stone to steady himself from slumping. The scent of Ramzah filled his nostrils. Warm, living, pulsing with blood that moved just beneath the skin, and for one horrifying moment, that was all he could think about.

Red. Warm. Full.

"No."

The word came out strangled. Ramzah was on his feet instantly, spear up, scanning for threats he couldn't see.

"What? What is it?"

Idris couldn't answer. He bent over and pressed his forehead against the cool stone of the floor and breathed and tried to remember who he was. Three centuries of hunger, held at bay by stone and slumber, and now it was awake. Now it wanted.

You need to eat, a voice whispered. You need to eat, or you need to—

"No," he said again, louder.

I don't drink blood, he reminded himself. I never have. I won't start now.

It was more than just a heavy wave of dizziness that washed over him. The world spinning in his eyes and his stomach doing cartwheels was the least of his worries. The hunger brought about mental deterioration. Each second he stayed in that state, he was slowly becoming feral, like an animal with no self control. 

Idris took another, deep breath and sat up. “I need to eat something. Now” 

Ramzah squinted at him. “What?” 

“I’m hungry,” Idris stood up. “And I need to eat. If I can eat, I can gain some strength back. And some of my senses.”

Idris started to look around the space. Roots, berries, but none of it looked familiar. Beside that, they probably held very little value considering they grew in a cave. 

Then he saw them.

At the base of a nearby fungus, where the roots formed a natural hollow, something moved. Small shapes, perhaps the length of his hand, scuttling in the blackness. Their bodies were segmented, armored in chitin that gleamed darkly, and their tails curved upward in a dangerous arc.

Scorpions. No. These ones had pincers that glowed with a faint inner light. Fireclaws, his memory supplied. Common in his time. Edible, if you knew how to prepare them. For humans anyway. Poison and venom were things that didn’t affect him much luckily, but he had to take care of ol’ Ramzah too.

"Perfect," he muttered.

Ramzah followed his gaze. His face went through several interesting stages of horror.

"No."

"Yes."

"Those are giant scorpions."

"Fireclaws. And they're not giant. They're perfectly average." Idris stood, ignoring the way his legs protested. "They're also full of protein and won't kill you if we cook them properly."

"If we cook them properly." Ramzah's voice was flat. "That's your sales pitch?"

"It's not a sales pitch. It's dinner." Idris moved toward the fireclaw nest, moving slowly, carefully.

Ramzah muttered something under his breath that sounded like "should have let the mold walkers have me," but he didn't stop Idris from approaching the nest. “You know what? I’m actually not that hungry.” 

The fireclaws sensed him before he reached them. Their pincers raised, their tails curled, and that inner light flared brighter. He crouched slowly, keeping his movements smooth, non-threatening.

The largest fireclaw, maybe eight inches from pincers to tail, took a step toward him, glowing pincers snapping. Idris held perfectly still. 

His hand shot out.

The fireclaw barely had time to react before Idris's fingers closed around its body, just behind the pincers, avoiding the tail's strike, and pining it down so the stinger couldn’t reach him. It thrashed, tail whipping, but he held firm. A quick twist, and it went still.

One down. Four to go.

Ramzah watched as he began to search for any sort of kindling to start a fire, his expression caught between horror and fascination. Idris repeated the process three more times, each capture faster than the last. The fifth fireclaw escaped into its hole, but four was enough. Four would do.

He carried his prizes back to the fire and dropped them on a flat stone near the flames.

Ramzah stared at them.

"We're eating those."

"We're eating those."

"They're bugs."

"Arthropods. Technically." Idris put his hand out, Ramzah handing him another dagger. He had a bit more faith this one wouldn’t be shattered by any magical beings. Idris began the delicate work of removing the venomous tails. The poison was fine for him, but he didn’t exactly want Ramzah getting poisoned. Plus, the venom was nasty.

Ramzah continued staring. The firelight played across his face, highlighting the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. He looked like a man trying very hard to accept a situation his instincts rejected.

"Can I ask you something?" he said finally.

Idris glanced up from his work. "You're going to anyway."

"Why go through all this trouble for some food?” A pause. "I thought your kind drank blood."

The question hung in the air. Idris's knife paused over the third fireclaw, and for a moment, the hunger roared back. He pushed it down.

"Because I'm not a monster," he said quietly. "And monsters drink blood."

Ramzah said nothing. But after a long moment, he reached out and picked up one of the cleaned fireclaws, turning it over in his hands.

"How do we cook these?"