The hunt (??? POV)

Free. The hunt. None but he could follow a trail like this. Old, gone cold. The hunter races through the woods, a living shadow. His orders pulse in his mind, directing his hunt. They unfettered him, commanded him to seek, and he must obey.

“Find him, track him, follow him. Do not kill, let him lead you to the lair first.”

Delay the kill. Difficult, but he must obey. The silver one has a hold on him, command over him. Her orders are absolute. Inviolate.

And yet.

And yet.

Another voice throbs in his mind, awakened upon his release. Strong, familiar. It calls to him, weakens the commands. The hunter feels something beyond the hunt. Affection? Loss? Unfamiliar, unpleasant feelings. Distraction from his orders. But he cannot discard them. The voice is insistent, pervasive.

“I…remember…you…”

The hunter growls, an inhuman sound, startling wildlife. The voice drips with corruption, more even than the silver one. Insanity lingers in its tones, giving the voice a ragged edge. But…familiar. Almost…comforting. He knows it from somewhere. Some time. A time long past.

“You…were…gone. Thought…you…dead….”

With another growl, the hunter pushes the voice aside. The hunt. Orders. Obey. The voice is secondary, a distraction. It can wait. It grows insistent, but it can wait. The hunter races on, gritting his teeth as he closes off his mind. The voice claws at his mental barrier, but cannot pierce it, yet. But it grows stronger every time.

The hunter focuses. The hunt. The prey. They must sleep. They must rest. The hunter does not. Matter of days now. And then, patience. The kill will be satisfying. The hunter has never failed a hunt. Never has a quarry escape.