Deep in the woods, the spoor of red mist trailed through the trees. Squirrels sat up in their dreys, alert. The chirr of insects ceased. A fox stopped in its tracks, nose to the air, hair bristling. A wild rabbit thumped the ground. Warning. Danger. All held themselves rigid, awaiting catastrophe.
At first the demon clung to the fetid shade of the undergrowth, avoiding the light that worsened its pain. In misshapen and inchoate form, it instinctively sought life to feed upon, consuming the insects that crossed its path. Killing brought relief. It grew ravenous for more. The mother bird screeched helplessly as her young were devoured. The hare tried to outrun its fate but to no avail. And the great antlered deer fought with ferocious courage before it, too, fell.
As the shadow's strength grew, shreds of image and memory coalesced into thought.
It had a mission.
A target to destroy.
What? Or who?
It knew that it did not belong to this place, yet it had been here before. Before the fiery blast that had ravaged its mind.
So much was lost. So much it needed to remember! And even as it grasped for knowledge, it sensed the two worlds that existed around it, peopled with many different beings. One world was solid and visible; the other of a different fabric, lapping against the first like waves against the shore. In which of these worlds would it find its prey?
And how could it carry out its mission in its crippled state?
It needed to grow, to learn, to know.
Creeping through the half-light of dusk, under cover of the forest canopy, it came to a clearing where a bonfire burned. The warmth and brightness of the flames repelled it, but it did not flee. Already it sensed some kinship here. Cloaked in gloom, it watched and waited, brooding upon the scene.
A band of brave companions sat together, laughing and talking. Drinking cups were passed among them and plates of cheese and oaten bread. The chieftain was a robust man with a weathered face and a hearty laugh. There was a flame within him as bright as the campfire itself.
With the firelight flickering in his features, the chieftain put a question to his comrades.
"What is the most beautiful sound in the world?"
They cheered at each other's replies.
"The calling of a cuckoo from a high tree."
"The song of a lark breaking suddenly over a field."
"The belling of a stag across the water of a lake."
"The laughter of a lovely girl."
"The whisper on a beloved's lips."
"What do you think is the most beautiful sound in the world?" they asked him in turn.
He let out a great roar.
"The music of what happens. That is the finest sound you will ever hear."
Their merriment was painful to endure, but the demon felt drawn to the circle. For there was one in the company who was not unlike itself. Yet it had to be careful. Already the leader suspected its presence and was peering around the campsite with a frown. One of the women shivered. The chieftain stood up, signaling to his lieutenant to scout the area.
Too late.
It was already moving among them, hiding in the shadows they cast themselves.
