Lost Creek Hollow See how breeze and grass do play

He was chasing the witch.

Across the wide expanses of a flat mountain top. His legs churned, kicking rocks and dirt into the air behind him. The witch evaded his every grab, slithering through his teeth, the touch of her black shadow against the roof of his mouth making him gag.

But the end was in sight, the edge of the plateau, and the witch was racing right towards it. Aquillius put on speed, his nostrils flaring, his ears pinning-.

She veered. He put on the breaks, until he managed to stop mere centimeters from the edge. Of course, that was never going to be the end of it.

He was hit again. This time, the demon’s high cackle rang in the air, and the ground vanished beneath his toes. Aquillius was in free fall. The boy managed to kick himself over into a turn, staring up at the two, their heads held together.

Then, the great eagle tore through them, claws outstretched for him.

And he shot up with a strangled noise. 

He felt shaky, like he had been running in the waking world too. Aquillius swallowed, staring sightlessly at the wall in front of him as he slithered back down into his nest of pelts. Since coming to Riverclan, he had been in a single session with the therapist Doedapple had recommended. The man had seemed mild mannered, like Doedapple herself, and Aquillius had done his best to pay attention to what he said, but he couldn’t help his wandering mind. So, when there were no eyes on him, he would sometimes range, leave the borders and find prey to fill the caches.

When the gentle voice of the dark man, the one Doedapple identified to him later as Crowfeather, spoke from the front of the den, the shadow of a boy came slinking into view of the light, poking his head out to observe the man.

I am here. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes and the remnants of the demon and the spider from his mind.

Am I needed?