Seven of the original eleven wolves remained. Two on Amos, five on Ink.
Amos' assailants were weary of him. Of his weapon, more likely. Its points caught the destructive light of the flame, reflecting its power. Amos exhaled sharply and attacked before the wolves could - he wanted the upper hand.
He jabbed with the prongs of his farm tool, driving back the wolves. Not one of his blows landed as his enemies danced away from each strike. They retreated slowly. Amos kept the sharp end close to his body, ready to lash out when the wolves pounced.
Ink stared at his hand with unseeing eyes. The lifeless corpse lay just past him, its neck a corkscrew of torn sinew. It was like he didn't know his own strength.
The wolves didn't allow him that moment of introspection. They attacked as one, darting in and out, feinting strikes and bites. Ink spun around, unsure where to defend. He swatted at the lithe wolves, missing each time. His frustration grew and the swats turned to fists swinging in wild arcs.
Amos saw a wolf latch onto Ink's leg in his peripheral vision. He turned immediately to help, forgetting the two he had cornered for a moment. In that second of indecision, both wolves pounced on him as one. He tumbled to the ground and instinctively put his arms out to break his fall. In doing so, he dropped his pitchfork - his lifeline.
The wolf with its teeth in Ink's leg growled. It yanked and pulled, but Ink didn't budge. He reached down with a thick hand to grab the wolf's scruff. Its fur was coarse and thick, dirty. Ink got a good grip and pulled. The wolf ripped a piece of his calf off, carrying it in its maw as it was lifted in one hand.
Ink spun around with the wolf in hand like a shot put. His eye caught Amos' - his friend - on the ground, at the mercy of two predators. Ink released the wolf at the perfect time to send it careening into the two on top of Amos. It collided with them and the three went sprawling into the burning bush behind.
Panicked yelps and broken howls rose from the inferno, but they soon faded with a crispy crackling. There was a scent of burning hair and cooking meat.
Amos jumped to his feet, taking the pitchfork in his hand once more. He rushed over to stand next to Ink, who leaned on his shoulder, taking the weight off his injured leg.
Four left.
"Amos!" Kien's voice came over the roar of the fire, from the other side. "There's more coming!"
"Shit," Amos said to himself, then louder, "Get back home! We'll meet you there!"
"Get to the river! They'll lose your scent!"
"Will do! Go, now!"
"Stay safe, son," Kien yelled before he turned to run, "Praise Progress!"
"Praise Progress!" Amos shouted back. It felt like a blessing. "Can you run?" he asked Ink.
Ink just nodded, lips drawn into a thin line.
The remaining wolves were pacing, apprehensive. They still had the numbers advantage, but they weren't stupid animals. They had seen Ink's strength, they knew the pain of a sharp implement, and the heat of the fire pushed them back. All these factors compounding, they made the smart decision. The wolves whined softly for the fallen and retreated into the forest.
"They're gone now," Ink said.
"Yeah. We still need to go to the river," Amos said, "They might follow us. Plus that fire looks like it'll get nasty."
"Okay," Ink said, "I know where the river is. Shanty brought me that way."
"Shanty?"
"Yes, Shanty's my friend too. Not like these wolves."
Is this the 'project' they were working on with Yakob? Why they told me to stay away from the forest?
Amos just shook his head, "Take us to the river. We can go slow if you want."
"Why?"
"Your leg? Didn't the wolf bite you?"
Amos looked at Ink's calf. There was a ring of blood, but no wound. In the place it should have been was a layer of shiny skin - scar tissue.
"It's nothing," Ink said.
"Right," Amos said, confused, "Let's go."
...
They arrived at the riverbank shortly. Shanty had called it the Armastan River. It was wide and meandered across the landscape, carving its way through the hills. Fields lay on either side, and there was a stilted house down the current with a water wheel turning lazily attached.
The flow wasn't particularly strong, but the surface was a dark colour. It obscured the depths of the river itself, holding its secrets close. Amos breathed deep, casting a glance back at the forest. It was smoking, the air filled with the resulting haze.
"Come on," he said, "We have to wash this blood off."
"Wait," Ink said.
"What?"
"I, um... I don't know how to swim."
"It'll be okay," Amos smiled and held out his hand, "Let's go together."
Ink took his hand and they waded into the water together. It was cold, freezing cold. Ink's steps were shaky and unsure. He inhaled sharply as the water lapped at his skin. The blood - theirs and their enemies - mixed in the water, cloudy.
"See," Amos said, looking over his shoulder at Ink, "It's not that ba-"
Suddenly the silt beneath his feet gave way. Amos fell down, pulling Ink with him. Though they were underwater, they fell as if through air.
They kept falling, together.
Falling and screaming...
Until...
...
They righted, breaking the surface of the water into a bright space. Amos was blinded from the sudden change from darkness to light. He waited for his vision to return. When it did, he realised where he was:
The Infinite Lake!
Ink was kneeling in the water, hands on his head. His body was shaking. Amos waded over to him. He went to lay a hand on his shoulder, but hesitated.
"No no no no no no no," Ink repeated, quietly, rocking.
"You're back!" Amos' soul materialised next to him, "Who's this freak?"
"Why would you bring me here?" Ink turned to Amos, looking up at him with fearful, pleading eyes, "Take me back. Take me back now! I can't be here!"
"Woah, calm there," said the soul.
"TAKE ME BACK!"
Amos held his hands out in a placating gesture, "Ink, calm down."
"TAKE. ME. BACK. NOW," Ink stood up. He looked taller in the Lake, stronger. He exuded an aura of power that smelled like rot and instilled Amos with fear.
What is he?
Amos' soul put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to stand in front of him. As he did so, the memories transferred from Amos' mind to his soul's. Flashes of light; shared visions.
Screams. Ink. Wolves. Blood. Fire. Kien.
The soul gasped, staggering back. It glared at Amos.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" it demanded.
"I-" Amos started.
"No, don't give me your bullshit excuses again! My dad nearly killed himself for you, and you just left him? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"He told me to run."
"I don't give a shit what he said! That's not your dad," the soul pointed furiously at the spherical void of anti-light, "Go back. Right. Now."
Amos didn't respond. There was nothing he could say. He grabbed Ink by the wrist, pulling him along.
"Come back when it's safe," the soul said, "We need to talk."
"How?" Amos asked.
"Water," Ink answered, "You come here through the water."
He's right. Last time I entered, I fell into a water trough.
Amos nodded his thanks to Ink, then to the soul he said simply "I'll be back."
"You'd better."
He reached into the deep blackness that he knew as the portal back home. The tugging sensation returned. This time, he observed a red string extending itself from within and attaching to his chest. It yanked him through with a pop, and he pulled Ink with him.