Them.

The streets were dark, and water pooled and looked like blood in the tungsten light.  As I walked down the street, I could hear the "clop, clop, clop" of my shoes.  Too loud.  The shoes had been cheap, but the noise was a problem.  I had forgotten to muffle them before I left.  It was already attracting them.

With each step, I felt them coming closer.  They arrived in ones and twos from above the grass, at first.  They were the weaker ones, sent to scout by their master.  Easy to deal with.  I dealt with them first.  

More.  Many more.

It shouldn't have been too difficult for me to handle.  I was young and well trained.  

A scream in the near distance.  Someone not as young.  Nor as well trained.  

I stopped.  They turned their attention away from me and listened to the scream of their brethren's prey.  I took the chance.

Sprinting, I looked for shelter.  These things were fearsome and quick, and to the untrained, it would appear that there could be no solace from them.  But there is shelter everywhere if you know where to look.

They don't like burrows-- or holes.  And they don't like water.  

My shoes were betraying me as I ran, and they took notice.  There!  A refuge.  I plunged in headlong.

Strange that creatures that only operate in deepest of the night dislike the dank darkness of holes and burrows.  They saw me enter.  They slowed.  One by one, they left.

The sun was rising.  One more day.



[Written on my late night walk home from our war room for the Chicony trial in 2013-2014.]