Chapter 1
Arron startled awake, his body tensing in anticipation of the unexpected, which didn’t come. He sluggishly gathered his thoughts while taking in his surroundings. How long had he been asleep?
Looking up, he could see the two moons high in the sky, telling him the night was already half gone. Everything appeared dark in the absence of fire, or glo-light, with only vague luminous reflections off trees providing any depth of view. The surrounding low lying scrub land cast eery double shadows on the ground, making it difficult even for a trained eye to see what might be skulking out there - and Arron could see nothing.
Suddenly, he remembered where he was, and why, and frantically cast his ‘emote’ around him in an effort to discover any immediate danger.
His ‘emote’ was his reason for being here. Wild as he was, the talent overly strong in him, he was highly dangerous to everyone near him. The Elders had ruled, two days prior, that unless he controlled it, he would be muted and cast out. In frustrated anger, he had challenged them, and won. However, in the process he had lost everything, as in their defeat, he had clearly demonstrated to everyone the danger he posed.
Whilst they could no longer mute him because he had injured their ability to do so, he was nonetheless, shunned and evicted from his home. His parents, distraught and heartbroken, insisted he could not stay. The whole community turned out to force him beyond their borders - he became an outcast. Driven out on the desert plain with no supplies, under an unseasonably hot sun, the long day had weakened him to the point of exhaustion. Finally finding somewhere to shelter, he had stopped to rest, leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Drummit!” He muttered, angrily at nobody but himself. Now was not the time to reflect on what had happened, he needed to place wards at all of the approaches to his location. He might already be too late, he realised, as he nervously cast his thoughts outwards, seeking any threat, praying to the Lord Watcher there would be none, but equally certain there would.
He frantically searched, mentally quartering the area around him. Sector by sector, he cleared a path, mapping wildlife, setting trip markers, then moving on to the next quadrant, recovering the ground he had lost by his ill-timed slumbering.
He became aware of movement, sensing a large animal close by. It was broadcasting hunger and raging over a lost kill. Now it had smelt a new food source within its foraging range. As the beast followed the drifting scent of its prey, it arced its nose left to right, centering on its target. It was stalking Arron.
Sitting in near dark, unable to physically see far, he was suddenly and desperately aware his time on this world might be coming to an abrupt end. The Grith, the most ferocious and voracious predator on Sar, had Arron in his sights.
Sensing the animal’s closeness, Arron’s sensitive ears pricked as he heard the padding sound of the animal’s heavy clawed paws, as the Grith approached close to him. He could barely stifle his panic now. It had begun deep in his bowel, turning the contents to liquid, causing unwelcome pressure that searched for release. No! He would not stain himself, not now, not ever. The fear and revulsion brought him to his senses, and he calmed himself, mentally chanting the litany which would bring him to his centre allowing him to recover his self-control.
He had just seconds left, and if he did not use them wisely he would be food for an unthinking beast, and his family would be down their first-born. He could visualise his Mother weeping while his Father stood stoically by her side, a hand clamped to her shoulder, the only concession either would make to their loss.
Now, he had to draw himself together and face his fears, knowing he had no time left for arrogance and stupidity. It left him with nothing, but the fear of imminent death.
He controlled the physical urge to void himself, and pushed outward seeking the focused mind of the Grith. He sent forth fine tendrils of suggestion into its brain, taking control of the animal’s conscious movement. Instinctively sensing, more than feeling, the thought patterns that controlled its actions, he concentrated hard. Sweat beaded his brow, instantly cooling in the night air.
He focused on changing the Grith’s emphasis, dampening its instinctive primal urges to kill and rend, imbuing calmer, more relaxed thoughts. Its memories no longer centering on food, and the sensation of ripping flesh, instead resonated those of a contented mate with pups feeding off regurgitated meat.
Arron sensed hesitation and knew he was there, in control of the animal’s mind. Then he almost let go, his lack of training causing him to crucially lose concentration in the last split second. He caught himself in the act, and renewed pushing with all of his mental might into the creature’s mind.
None too soon he brought the Grith to a halt. So close that he could feel its large hot fetid breaths on his naked shoulder inches from his neck, the intended act of ferocity now frozen by Arron’s grip on its mind. One small slip now would be all that was needed and he would be in its jaws.
Through his inability to remain awake he had left it too late to fumble now. He had to rigidly hold the animal's mind while he sought the means with which to change its perception. As Arron clawed mentally deeper into the thought processes of the Grith, he visualised what he needed. It had a mate, hidden in the rock cleft a few miles from here, and pups. Two of them.
Giving it satisfying thoughts of a successful kill and a full stomach full of fresh SAR meat, Arron directed its desire to return to its den. There, it would wonder where its full belly of food had gone, before going out anew to hunt, with the angry snaps of his mate at his heels.
Arron sighed as the heat of the Grith’s breath pulled back, replaced by a cold draft. He opened the eyes he did not remember closing, to see the animal had vanished.
He had succeeded in overcoming his first near death experience and it was - amazing.
As his body relaxed and leaned against the stone of the cliff, the cold shock of rock against his back brought his mind back into sharp reality. Before he could draw a fresh breath, Arron sensed a new danger. Pushing his mind outwards, he counted their mental signatures, and was gripped with new fear.
