The Long Night Descends

Sian's ears twitched lightly in the breeze. He narrowed his eyes at the setting sun until fine black dots suddenly appeared in his line of sight.

"Danger!"

He roared in terror, shoving Baine aside with a slap.

A deadly arrow flew past them, its sharp arrowhead shearing off several strands of mane. Had he not tilted his head at the critical moment, it would have embedded itself in his forehead.

Baine grunted as he fell by the cliff's edge, half his body hanging in midair. He was only half a step away from falling off the top of the totem pole.

Though it had looked extremely dangerous, at least they had kept their lives.

Baine stared blankly up at the sky as a dense rain of arrows descended like the opening act of death itself.

"Protect your neck!!!"

Sian's terrified shout rang in his ears. Before Baine could react, a sharp pain exploded in his backside. An enormous force flipped him over, sending him sliding completely off the cliff.

"Aaaaaah!!!!!"

Fortunately, Baine's sluggish mind could still distinguish his companion's warning. He desperately adjusted his posture in midair, then fell screaming.

After kicking Baine off the totem pole with one hoof, Sian gritted his teeth. He leaped down, then rolled neatly to disperse the impact of landing.

A sharp ringing still lingered in his ears. With no time for lingering fear, Sian seized Baine's hoof and dragged him backward with all his strength, all the way into the shadow of the totem pole.

"Get ready!" He gripped Baine's hand tightly, breathing hard. "Run toward the shadow ahead to the left when I count!"

Baine nodded through the pain. He painfully pushed himself up, hunched over trembling, and followed his companion's movements.

Sian pressed the back of his head against the pillar. He clenched his teeth and focused with all his might, sweat nearly soaking his back.

The sounds of arrows striking wood continued, but they were becoming more and more sparse. He listened silently, counting.

After more than ten seconds, the barrage of arrows slowed.

Now! Sian's mind sharpened as he seized this brief chance to catch his breath.

"Run!" Risking his life, he leaned half his body out, swiftly pulled an arrow free, then dragged Baine forward in a desperate sprint.

The two of them rolled into the tent's shadow without any dignity, landing sprawled on their backs. Only then did the shock of escaping death hit them. They gasped for air, their hearts pounding as though they would burst from their chests.

The two young Tauren looked at each other with difficulty. They saw the same bewilderment in each other's eyes, but even more than that, the joy of surviving certain death.

Baine's eyes had even turned slightly red, as though he would start crying the next second.

Sian did not laugh at him, because he figured his own expression was probably no better.

"So ugly..."

He wiped his snot with his sleeve, rubbed his sore eyes, and suppressed the urge to cry. He forced out a miserable smile. "But... we survived..."

Baine held back his tears and nodded desperately.

The two little ones sat collapsed on the ground like that, silent for a very, very long time.

Only after they had calmed down did they notice the arrow in Sian's hand.

This arrow was very different from those used by Tauren hunters. Its shaft was shorter and lighter, while its arrowhead bore two cruel barbs. At a glance, it was clearly not meant for hunting.

Sian asked quietly, "Have you seen one before?"

Baine examined it for a while, then shook his head.

"If you used this for hunting, every shot would ruin a perfect hide. An experienced hunter wouldn't make that mistake."

"This is for battle." Sian's tone was heavy. "We've been attacked. This is a war..."

His palm tightened slightly, and the arrow shaft snapped with a crisp crack.

"It was the Centaurs..."

Baine's voice was hoarse as he asked with difficulty, "We... what should we do now?"

Sian lowered his head and thought for a moment, then slammed his fist into the ground. "We're going back to the village! Whether it's to protect ourselves or for anything else, we have to get back to the village first!"

He coughed violently several times, then clapped his hands and sprang to his feet. Extending a hand to Baine, he asked, "Can you still stand?"

Seeing little Sian covered in dust and dirt, Baine hurriedly rubbed his eyes and sniffled twice. He gave an awkward smile. "Of course!"

He grasped his companion's hand and struggled to his feet. Stubbornly, he patted his backside to prove he was fine, only to stagger from the pain, his mouth twitching toward the sky.

"Ugh... we'd better walk slowly..."

Baine painfully rubbed his backside, clinging to Sian's arm and sucking in breaths through gritted teeth. He also complained about his companion's heavy hoof. "This is all your doing!"

Landing backside-first in a flat-sand goose-drop pose... it really did sound painful.

"By the way, you should train your agility too." Sian forced a smile. "If your coordination is too poor, you won't even be able to climb a tree properly."

"If you keep foolishly training nothing but strength, you'll only end up as a brutish bull."

"Oh..." Baine gave a gloomy grunt to show that he understood.

With Sian supporting him, he gritted his teeth and took several steps forward. Fine beads of sweat immediately appeared on his forehead.

"Bear with it." Seeing this, Sian sighed. "I hid a bottle of Dad's medicinal wine in my waist pouch. Once we find somewhere safe, I'll rub some on you."

But Baine shook his head and stared absently at the distant hollow.

"Why are you acting so awkward? Are you embarrassed?"

Seeing this, Sian joked, "Why weren't you embarrassed when you were rolling around naked in that mud pit? Or do you want me to tell Xiao Na about it?"

"Why do you always bring up such awful things?"

Baine rolled his eyes, thinking that Sian had been rolling around quite happily back then too.

Yet they tacitly chose not to dwell on that subject.

Baine silently watched the dust rising in the distance and softly asked, "Why... why are they attacking us?"

His voice was full of confusion, mixed with a hint of searching. Sian immediately understood that his companion was seeking an answer to an impossibly difficult question.

Sian fell silent, his young Tauren eyes flickering.

After a long time, he sighed softly. "Because this is a war."

"Because... this is a war?"

Baine stared silently into the distance, quietly repeating his companion's words as sorrow gradually filled his eyes.

"Yes." Little Sian sighed, speaking with difficulty. "Because this is war."

Little Baine said nothing more.

As if venting, Sian savagely punched the tent's wooden beam twice. He felt incredibly cowardly, because he had not answered a single question. He had merely kicked the problem away like a hypocritical liar.

But a more practical question suddenly interrupted his self-loathing.

Feeling the slight pain in his fist, little Sian suddenly froze. He had noticed something strange.

Tauren tents were sturdy, but they were ultimately made of leather and wooden frames... so why had the Centaurs not set them on fire?

Though he did not want to admit it, those bastards truly were skilled with burning arrows.

At that thought, little Sian suddenly grew restless, because he felt like they were sheep in a pasture, while a shepherd was waving a whip called conspiracy and driving them step by step toward the pen.

Sian looked back at the dazed Baine, hesitating to speak.

But something unexpected happened. Little Baine suddenly raised his head as though he had sensed something. He looked at his companion's face with complete focus.

"You have something you want to do, don't you?" Patting his companion's shoulder, he said softly, "Then go do it!"

Baine smiled earnestly. "I'm not very smart, but I'll always stand behind you!"

Always? Sian thought. That was truly an incredibly precious trust...

Looking at his companion's earnest expression, he wanted to say something but could not get any words out. In the end, he could only nod heavily.

Finally, he glanced back lightly. It had seemed that someone was watching them just now, but when he turned around, that prickling sensation on his back disappeared.

Not long after the two young Tauren supported each other and left, the earth rippled. The raised soil gradually gathered into the form of a creature with a man's upper body and a horse's lower body.

This watcher had observed their entire escape, but he had not delivered a killing blow.

While hidden in the shadows, he had made no effort to conceal his malice. It was both arrogance and a display of his stealth, as well as naked contempt for his opponents.

This had always been his way, but this time, something seemed to have gone wrong.

"Did they notice me?"

The watcher muttered to himself before sneering. "How could that be? If even those warriors cannot detect me, what ability could an ungrown little bastard possibly have to see through me?"

"This must be my imagination!"

As he spoke words to comfort himself, he took a red-and-black flower from his chest. Thorny vines and brambles adorned its petals, making it look incomparably evil.

He brought the evil flower close to his face, and it immediately released blackish-red smoke.

He took a deep breath, his ugly face full of satisfaction, then let out a blissful, delighted moan.

"Praise you! Great being! Your mighty power intoxicates me, as wondrous as your generous blessing!"

The Centaur knelt upon the earth in the humble posture of a devout believer. Holding the evil flower in both hands, he offered the most reverent prayer to the void.

"According to your will, I have found her offspring..."

He paused slightly, the corners of his mouth curling upward as though testing and calculating something.

"Here... I regret to inform you that the noble bloodline of nightmares does not flow within that bastard's lowly body. He is merely a useless pawn."

"Thus... I believe his value is limited to using news of his death to provoke..."

Before the Centaur could finish, a violent surge of black smoke erupted from the flower bud. Against it, the petals became savage and terrifying, as though expressing their displeasure.

"I am terribly sorry! My lord, I should not have used my lowly thoughts to speculate on my master's grand intentions. Please forgive me!"

He knelt in panic, repeatedly begging his master to forgive his recklessness. Yet his panic swiftly turned into delight.

Scarlet energy streamed from the flower bud once more, flowing across his palm in harmony with the Centaur's repeatedly shifting emotions.

"Really! You are truly willing to grant this glorious undertaking to me?"

The Centaur raised the flower high above his head and looked up at it in ecstasy, as though facing his master directly. Even his voice trembled from overwhelming excitement.

"Thank you for your grace! I will torment him by the cruelest means, making him scream as he meets his final death!"

"When the time comes, I will offer his head to you, and you shall stage a terror and despair of cruelty!"

Raising both hands, he whispered fanatically, "And when all is over, under your blessing, I shall shed this lowly shell and become an existence alongside you. Your supreme power will drag this world into an eternal nightmare!"

"For... the Nightmare Lord!"

Gazing at the blood-red sunset, the monster standing upon the high ground muttered madly as the Nightmare Flower in his hand scattered into scarlet smoke.

Time returned to a little earlier.

A Tauren wearing linen clothes collapsed in agony, an arrow having pierced his throat.

His limbs convulsed as both hands futilely clutched his neck. Despairingly, he felt the agony of suffocation as air slowly slipped from his lungs.

The horse-bodied, human-faced monster grinned viciously as he admired his handiwork. He was neither in a hurry to finish his task nor anxious to loot the spoils, because he knew those possessions were destined to belong to him.

Not only the things inside this tent, but everything owned by these lowly creatures would belong to the noble race of Centaurs. They were the true rulers of this land!

These weak, tiny fools with nothing but imposing bodies did not deserve to live in this world at all.

Ah! Rule! What a wondrous word, intoxicating like rich wine.

Yet he felt that was not enough, because mere dominion was far too empty.

So what was suited to accompany rule?

Power—there was no doubt about that.

Thus, while the monster was intoxicated by his own mighty strength, he suddenly saw something flash before his eyes. Then, a warm sensation slid across his cheek.

Hm... was this what power felt like? It stung a little.

He thought this as he felt the strength in his body gradually fading.

The Centaur's corpse crashed heavily to the ground. A feathered arrow was lodged in his right eye socket, violet light flowing over its shaft.

A middle-aged female Tauren clad in leather armor burst through the broken door. With a quiver on her back and a loose hood over her head, she moved lightly. Her build was well-proportioned, her face cold, and her brown fur neat and clean.

She held a wooden longbow, faint light radiating from the carved patterns on its limbs. It had been her arrow that delivered the fatal blow that ended evil.

She deftly tossed aside the bow and rushed forward. Kneeling before the Tauren whose throat had been pierced, she tore open his bloodstained clothing and pressed hard against the horrifying wound.

A black-furred Tauren hurried in after her and cautiously pulled the door flap shut.

He seemed somewhat older than the female Tauren. Gray flecks had appeared in his feather-adorned braids. His expression was solemn, and he held a crossbow in his hands, giving him an imposing air.

After assessing the situation inside the tent, he silently stood guard at the rear.

The Centaur's shot had been exceptionally vicious, cruelly tearing through the Tauren's carotid artery and windpipe. Though the woman had done everything she could to save him, blood still gushed endlessly, and the wounded man's life was draining away at a terrifying speed.

He was in great pain, yet he continued to hold on stubbornly.

"Hold on! You will be saved! There are healers here!"

The woman's forehead was covered in sweat and blood, and even her comforting words sounded pale.

"Xiao Na!!!"

She turned her head and shouted behind her. A small Tauren girl hurried over in panic, tears welling in her eyes.

She was a young Shaman priestess. She too knelt down, trembling as she summoned Shaman magic in an attempt to save the Tauren's life.

A stream of pure water gently swirled in her hands. The girl used all her strength to heal the terrible wound, but the effect was minimal.

His injuries were far too severe. Even the healing water could only slightly ease his pain and restore enough strength for him to open his eyes.

The woman freed one hand and tightly grasped his clenched palm, hoping to pass on the hope to live. But his hand was as cold as stone, and she could not even feel the slightest tremor.

The Tauren struggled to open his mouth, but only more bloody foam bubbled out. Blood flowed backward into his lungs, bringing intense pain, yet he no longer had the strength even to cough.

He could no longer make a sound.

"Please... don't die... please... please..."

The little Shaman's healing spell did not stop for a single moment. Her words were incoherent, and tears had already streamed down her face.

She desperately begged the water elementals for help, but they were destined to be unable to save this life that was fated to fade.

The moment of farewell soon arrived. The Tauren's flame of life had reached its end.

His eyes suddenly became clear and pure, like a miraculous final burst of life. With vocal cords that should have been incapable of producing sound again, the Tauren conveyed his final obsession.

"Beware... beware... deep within the earth..."

The Tauren finally laid down every burden and closed his eyes in relief.

A comfortable warmth enveloped him, and the pain in his body miraculously began to fade. Soon after, he gradually stopped breathing.

Tamara Bloodhoof silently rose to her feet. She placed one hand over her heart and gently laid the other across the deceased's forehead. This was the tribe's rite for bidding farewell to a warrior.

"Compassionate Earth Mother," she recited the eulogy aloud.

"One among us shall return to your embrace. He was brave and kind. With our most heartfelt wishes, we pray that the wind may accompany him gently, and that the grass may whisper his name."

Tamara lifted the deceased's hands, folded them together, and gently placed them over his chest. He looked as though he had merely fallen into peaceful sleep and would awaken in the first ray of sunlight tomorrow.

"Great Earth Mother, beneath the gaze of An'she and Mu'sha, may his soaring soul possess your swiftness. We pray that his soul may fly safely to you, until we too join him in death."

"We came from you, and we would all return to your side."

The elderly hunter stepped forward as well. Solemnly, he clenched his right fist and struck it against his chest, offering the highest salute of a warrior. Silence was speech without words.

"May An'she light the road ahead of you."

The little Shaman, her face streaked with tears, gathered her courage and stood up. She lit a small oil lamp and gently placed it before the deceased's head. The road to a distant place was surely lonely; she hoped that kind people would have light to keep them company on their journey.

At last, she could cry aloud. No one could blame her, because she was only a very young child, yet she had already tasted the sorrow of parting that should not have belonged to her.

"Good child... good child..."

Tamara held the little Shaman tightly. At that moment, she was not a sharp-witted hunter, but a gentle mother.

As if she were her own daughter, she softly stroked the child's back with tender hands, murmuring gentle words.

The youngest daughter of the Rune Totem family had suffered a heartbreaking farewell at the very start of this pitch-black night. But this long, despairing night was far from over.