Fast Falls the Eventide (Subbed for Peter)

[Substitute Author]

The eerie wail sounded again, seemingly part of the very air the search party breathed in. Peter shivered, drenched to the very core with cold. The rabbit walked along on tired limbs, now and then stumbling over the odd rock jutting almost mockingly from the ground, not daring to groan every time his paws were stubbed and scraped. The black rat behind him and slavers before him kept him in silence save for his ragged breaths.

Darkness, blackness, velvet sable, enveloping my soul.

All that Peter had left was his crow quill, though the tip had snapped off when he'd tried to escape the last time. The rabbit could feel its faint presence in the pocket of his trousers. Slipping his near emaciated paw into his pocket he stroked the silky feather mournfully, his heart aching to make use of it again.

Ink, black as midnight, dark as the tomb...

The slavers halted, and Peter nearly ran into Silus's back, stopping himself in the nick of time. The ferret and weasel had a lengthy conversation, but the rabbit couldn't hear them. He watched their faces, mottled by the flickering torch light, mouthing words to each other, whilst Peter continued to slowly rub the dark feather between his slender digits. It brought him little comfort in a situation such as this, though little was indeed better than nothing at all.

The lute, the lyre, the chill north winds do nothing to combat this.

The wailing grew louder.

Peter's eyes widened and his ears stood like ramrods. Was it coming for them? Was this the evil the rats spoke of constantly? The rabbit could not perceive why everyone was standing around so calmly, and how Ashira and Silus could even hear each other anymore. The wailing pierced his sensitive ears, a terrible and yet strangely beautiful dirge. Peter wondered what manner of instrument could produce such a note. 

Closer...

The rabbit shifted his bruised and bleeding footpaws restlessly, the crow's feather becoming faintly damp with sweat as he stroked it feverishly. The dirge intensified, sending several shivers down his spine.

Closer!

He could take it no more, and clapped his paws over his ears, the tips falling over his rolling eyes. Why were they all just standing there? Why didn't they move?

"Hey, longears, what d'you think you're doin'?"

It's here! It's here! The dirge, the song, hear how it mocks me! And now it comes to take me!

A piercing scream split the dark air, an unbroken, unwavering pitch. Peter was almost surprised to find that the scream issued from his own mouth, and the next thing he knew he was tearing through the tunnel. The rabbit had lashed out mindlessly at Sableclaw, knocking the surprised corsair flat as terror lent strength to his limbs.

Peter had no idea where he was going; all he wanted was to put as much space between himself and the terrible wail as he could. His heart thrummed madly against his ribs and his legs ached as he ran and ran through the darkness, his paws running along the wall. His vision was slowly adjusting to the lack of torch light but by now he had taken more turns than he could remember.

His footpaw caught in between two rocks and he sprawled face first to the cave floor, crying out as his ankle bones snapped. To his horror, the dirge had not decreased, but intensified. The terrified rabbit curled into a ball, weeping freely and nursing his ruined ankle. There would be no more running.

And then...silence.

"Please..." he uttered into the darkness, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the absence of the wailing. He pressed the crow quill to his heart with a quaking paw, shutting his eyes tight and forcing even more tears to stream down his damp face.

All Peter's feverish mind knew next was terrible, white hot agony devouring his entire body in its merciless grasp. But he did not scream. He did not even utter another plea. Instead, his mind wandered back to the cool summer evenings strolling across the soft grass to Lord Jeremiah's. That had been where he belonged.

O death...here is thy sting...

And then...

Nothing.

~

When the search party eventually picked up Peter's trail, all they discovered at the end of it was a small pool of dark lifeblood, and floating ever so delicately on top of it was a broken crow feather quill.