Beastly Read Free Page A

possession.
    In a bath of starlight, he pored over the jewel. By his count it was the millionth such inspection. The Beast grunted his frustration and let the medallion slip through his claws. Such a delicate bauble for such a crass being. It must have been crafted by a powerful sorcerer, the Beast reckoned. He often sensed power emanating from within, whispering in the stillest of nights.
    The Beast ran a claw over the medallion’s reverse, feeling the familiar grooves of the impeccable inscription etched by a forgotten author. The words were as foreign to him as his own origin. His heart sank a hair as it often did when he tried to force the memory free.
    Sometimes he thought the inscription was mocking him. Other times he imagined it was the forgotten incantation of an ancient spell. Perhaps a spell to remove a curse or to turn water into ale? He cared little for magic or for curses. In truth, the Beast of Briarburn would have given anything for the medallion to merely reveal his name.
    Frustrated, he pulled the cloak closed, burying the firestone in his mane. He flipped up the cloak’s cavernous hood. At night, but for his massive build, he would travel unnoticed. That suited him just fine. At the onset of his lonely march, the Beast had tried consorting with the world of Men, but found it more frigid than the bitterest winter. Even within the kindest of company, a cast of worthwhile comrades was rare in the finding.
    The Great Road was teacher of a great many lessons. Painful lessons the Beast had little intention of repeating. Lesson number one: Trust No One. It was far better to rely on oneself than to trust in another. For bread or for blood, there was only a man for himself .
    The Beast was no fool, however. Occasional cooperation was not without merit. But it was meant to be just that, occasional. And preferably short-lived. Things may have worked out for the better had that always been so.
    Shouldering a worn pack, he contemplated lesson number two. The penalty for forgetting lesson number one was usually a stiff one; such as being chasing by an angry mob wielding rusty farm tools. Or being shackled and caged. The Beast shuddered at that last thought.
    There was nothing worse than chains.
    He put the memory aside and started for the road, careful to avoid the slumbering critters. Vapor escaped from his snout in large plumes and snow crunched underfoot, while the winter wind whistled through the trees. The Beast preferred the season. He found it had a unique pace that suited him. In the wild, winter was able to freeze time itself, making things serene.
    The Great Road remained where he had left it the night before. Wagon tracks in the knee high snow had been freshly filled by the morning’s storm. He stared down the lonely stretch of cobbled stone. The snow covered road rolled through a serpentine series of gentle curves before disappearing behind a drift horizon of ivory. In the still of the spreading night the strange words returned, dancing amongst his skulking ruminations. In my heart, I know you’re there... He knew not from whence the words came. The mysterious voice chanting them in was ever changing, distorted like an echo in a cavern.
    With a huff he buried the strange voice and trudged off, leaving behind a trail of prints the size of foxholes. East had been his heading since autumn’s end. Tales from a score of inn keepers and pilgrims had provided countless leads, each one naming a wizard or shaman who may possess the skill to translate the mysterious inscription. The Beast snickered. The intellectual types never could resist the urge to prove how much smarter they were than everyone else.
    The moon finally appeared and began its nightly journey. Drifts of snow at the road’s shoulders glistened, mirroring the starry sky. Fox tracks dotted the land in the strange crisscrossing pattern they were notorious for. He would have appreciated the company of foxes tonight. He could have used one of their