--

The tall grass brushed around Kurt's knees as he wandered the clearing, and he reached down to pluck another flower and add it to his basket. He was far outside the borders of the village--past the edge of the forest, past the stream, past the far reach of the crude wooden watchtowers around its perimeter--well out of the reach of safety. Kurt's bravery was the sort found in tales, however--and heedless of the warnings he'd heard since childhood, he simply loved being in the woods. His bare feet relished the soft, moist earth that clumped around his toes, the sound of the branches rustling overhead, the constant hum of life around him. The forest seemed to cross arms around him, cradle him close, a safe haven in which he could thrive.

Besides, the best herbs grew in the forest's depths. He shifted his basket--quite full from an afternoon of gathering--to one arm before leaning down to pluck a final addition. It was a sweet-smelling red flower that he'd only found hiding in the little thickets of hazel around the river bed, and he added it quickly to his collection.

Satisfied with the day's work, he straightened up and slipped up the hood of the curious red tunic he always wore when he went outside. The woods were deceptively cheerful, alight with the sounds of wildlife and the lively stream that cut through the thick, elderly trees, and Kurt hummed cheerfully as he hopped across the stones jutting out from the rushing water. He walked briskly down the trail he'd found through the woods until he approached one of the watchtowers. He'd been certain to go past this one on his way into the woods, since he knew this particular watchman would never tell on him for going out of bounds.

"Rory!" he called out, waving. "I'm back."

The mousy-haired boy at the top of the watchtower swallowed the bit of apple he'd had in his mouth and pushed down his hood. He leaned over the ladder to wave back at Kurt.

"Come on up!" he called. "I've got some food up here."

Kurt climbed up the ladder and set his basket down on the dusty wooden floor. Rory handed him an apple and glanced at the collection of flowers, his expression quizzical.

"Y'know, are those flowers worth givin' me an 'eart attack?" he asked, half-serious.

Kurt laughed. "Yes indeed, my friend. They're rare herbs, you know. They don't grow in the town proper. And I have yet to give you a heart attack by going out of bounds, because nothing happens, so calm down." He took a big bite of apple.

"Point is," Rory continued. "It's out-of-bounds. Ya know what's out there, Kurt. They're--"

"Oh enough with the lecture," Kurt said, waving a hand. "I know. I promise I can take care of myself. And for your information, these are for my father. For--his medicine." He cleared his throat nervously.

Rory sat back, and for the moment let the soft sound of blowing leaves take hold of the conversation. He glanced down to check on the ground below, then regarded Kurt thoughtfully.

"You ought to consider becomin' an 'ealer with them herbs," he suggested. "I know your dream is to sing in the city an' all, but maybe it's better to stay close to home, what wit' your father's 'ealth."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Kurt with little conviction. He tossed the rest of his apple into the basket and got to his feet. "And with that, I ought to be getting home to him. Thank you for covering for me again."

"Anythin' to 'elp ya," said Rory with a weary sigh.


Shady Hollow was just a half mile up from the watchtower, a farming community that was all at once tight-knit and sprawling, weathered in by years yet still flourishing with youthful effervescence. The grass was a rich, deeply saturated green, the crops proud and tall and fat, the stream sparkling as it tumbled down the waterwheel. Kurt passed a few children as they played, careful to swing around as to not run into any of them, and made his way down the small cobbled path toward his house.

It was a busy little cottage, blanketed in ivy on the outside and all rich dark wood within. The kitchen was bathed in sunlight from the open window--and the rays fell upon Kurt's wide assortment of plants and flowers, his stacks of books, the treasures and knicknacks he insisted on keeping despite his father's weary protests. The rich, heady scent of herbs permeated the place, layered over the smell of dust, of paper, of firewood. For a home that housed only two, it was well broken in, well loved.

Kurt walked into the kitchen, put a cauldron on the fire, then got to work.

His hands moved swiftly through the basket, sorting the herbs into batches as the pot boiled behind him. Heart thrumming with anxiety, he seized the spellbook he kept under a loose floorboard near the stove and paged through it. He found the spell he was looking for and followed it as closely as he could--(from his secret stash of ingredients he dropped in a crow's foot and the eyeball of a sheep, and from the basket he was sure to add the red flower he'd found in the forest)--all the while keeping a watchful eye out for his father.

With every ingredient he dropped into the potion, with every magic word he spoke, he poured in one wish-- That this would be it. This would be the spell that cured his father.

Since childhood Kurt had known that his father was in poor health--an ailment of the heart, as the physician had said, but they didn't have the money for medications and treatment. Frustrated, Kurt had taken matters into his own hands. Everyone in Shady Hollow, including his father, thought he was simply practicing herbal medicine--and he kept up the lie, fearful of what would happen if anyone knew the truth.

He knew what happened to people like him. To witches.

Once the brew had started cheerfully bubbling Kurt knelt by the ashes in front of the fire and took the poker in hand. He drew little symbols in the white, feather-soft dust as he breathed in the sweet perfume of the cooking herbs, losing himself in a trance. He distinctly remembered the voice of his mother, whispering beautiful words to him which he now knew to be spells--and the memory cloaked him like a warm blanket, soothed him as he finished the incantation and straightened up. He quickly stamped out his drawings and lifted the pot off the stove, transferring its contents to a kettle. Just as he began fixing his father a cup, he heard the man shuffling in from the bedroom.

"Oh-- Father!" Kurt scolded, setting down the kettle. "You should be resting!"

"What do you think I've been doing all afternoon, boy?" Burt muttered in reply. Despite his gruff demeanor he reached around to ruffle the hair on the back of Kurt's head. "Making another foul-tasting thing for me to drink?"

"It's herbal medicine," Kurt corrected gently. "As I've told you many times before. It makes you feel better, doesn't it? You've told me that."

"Only to get you to shut your mouth," Burt mumbled in reply, but Kurt knew he was only teasing. His father was like an old bulldog, unamused and rough around the edges--in nearly every way the opposite of Kurt, who was like a skittish barnyard cat-- But still, they worked. Somehow they'd met halfway, making their little half-family whole, balancing each other perfectly.

Kurt brought his father the steaming up, which Burt took and sniffed at, wrinkling his nose. He took a sip and grimaced, but said anyway, "It's good, Kurt. Thank you."

And there it was, their family relationship in a nutshell.

Once Kurt was sure Burt had drank a few sips, he bustled about getting ready for voice lessons. The house went quiet, and Burt didn't speak again until his son was at the door tying up his boots, ready to leave.

"Now, you remember what tomorrow night is, right?" he said in a tense voice, holding his cup of tea tightly.

Kurt sighed; of course he knew. "The feeding," he replied, and felt a shiver despite himself. No matter how many times they went through the motions every month, the strange ritual never stopped being ominous and confusing.

"Right," said Burt with a nod of his head. "So the woods are a little more dangerous than usual, this close to the feeding, you know that. I want you inside the village borders at all times, and home before sundown. And tomorrow, I want you indoors. Is that understood?"

"Yes Father," said Kurt warily. He watched Burt for a moment, biting his lip. "How are you feeling?"

"A little more awake at least," said Burt with a shrug, but Kurt knew that was a good sign; his father was prone to understatements. The herb mixture had to have been working, he thought, and cursed himself. If only he'd taken more than one flower from the woods earlier...

"Aren't you late for your voice lesson?" Burt's voice cut through his thoughts.

Kurt shook himself and moved around to plant a small kiss on his father's bald head. "I'll be back by sundown," he promised. His father's overprotectivenss was irksome at times--especially when Kurt had been a child--but he had grown to appreciate it. It was only natural; they were all each other had, after all.

He put up his hood and walked back out into the sunshine.


Kurt hurried across the village and up the hill to the church--a stately white building half-tucked away in an overgrowth of trees, old but steadfast, weathered but upright. He entered quietly, and a bright smile lit up his face at the sight of his vocal instructor.

Adam was quite a bit older than him, a tall man with an utterly charming smile that never failed to make Kurt's heart do backflips. He matched Kurt's grin with one of his own, welcoming him inside as his last student walked out.

"Kurt," he greeted. "I've been looking forward to seeing your lovely smile all day. Come in, let's warm up."

The compliment certainly made Kurt's cheeks warm up, and he carefully tried to contain his nerves as he sang a few scales along with Adam's piano. As the lesson progressed Kurt felt himself get more and more relaxed; singing really was his favorite thing to do. It lifted his spirits like no spell ever could, took him somewhere perfect, somewhere infinite.

Adam was the only person around who truly understood Kurt's dream to sing in the city. Kurt's friends were supportive, certainly, but whenever Kurt brought up his dream to them they almost always went tense and quiet. To suggest leaving the village was to tread dangerous waters-- Kurt knew that, and yet he couldn't accept the prospect of a future spent entirely within its confines. He'd heard tales of the city, of its opulence and its limitless possibilities. He longed to just see it, to glimpse it with his own eyes, even if he knew his father would never allow it.

"Your voice is a treasure, Kurt," Adam always told him. "It deserves to be shared with the world. I'm honored to be able to hear it as often as I do, but it's a great sin that your songs may ever grace the ears of only one man."

Kurt's voice soared high to the vaulted ceilings of the church, and he got lost in each song, stringing them together into one. When the last number was finished he descended, and opened his eyes only to find that Adam had been watching him. His gaze, while normally soft and appreciative, seemed much more intense than usual. Kurt's throat went dry and he swallowed, tugging at the bottom of his tunic.

"Breathtaking," said Adam, slipping off the piano bench. "I fear I have little more I can teach you, Kurt."

"Oh please," said Kurt, ducking his head to hide his grin. "I was a little off key, you can say it."

"I can lie if you'd like," Adam laughed. "If that'll make you come back for more lessons. I would hate to be robbed of the chance to see you each week."

Kurt's cheeks lit up. "I'll see you at the town gathering this weekend," he offered, and Adam chuckled. He was suddenly very close, and Kurt's heart took a leap up into the base of his throat, lodging there.

"As lovely as you and your voice are," Adam teased, "sometimes I fear your brain might be full of mush, little one."

He mussed Kurt's hair; Kurt pouted, quite crestfallen. Adam was prone to teasing him, but Kurt could tell it came from an affectionate place--most of the time, anyway. Right now, though, his smile was genuine.

"You've grown quite magnificently, Kurt," said Adam gently. There was a moment's pause in which Kurt was left to ponder what that meant, and then Adam was patting him on the back.

"Run along now," he was saying. "You'll give your father my best, won't you?"

"Of course," said Kurt. Suddenly there was a little bubble of hope in his chest, the sort that a sunny day and welcoming smiles could bring, and his heart settled back into a comfortable place in his chest.

He gave Adam a little wave then bounced out the door. The sun exploded in his eyes as he stepped outside, blinding him, so he didn't see his Rachel approach and was entirely unaware of her presence until she grabbed at his hand, startling him.

"Come on, Kurt!" she said brightly. "Let's go to the stable."

As his vision adjusted he could see her cream-colored dress, thick dark braids and megawatt smile. He nodded and let her drag him off to the stables, which had become their favorite place to hide away and talk. No one ever went in there but the stable boy Dave, and he never said anything. He did tend to stare at Kurt, though, so Kurt was relieved to find that he wasn't around as they entered and flopped down upon a large stack of sweet-smelling hay.

Rachel immediately began to regale him with the mundane events of her day thus far, and he listened to her prattle on with feigned interest as he played absently with a piece of straw. Normally he'd make a better show of listening, but he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened in the chapel--and thankfully, before long Rachel seemed to notice that his mind was clearly elsewhere.

"You seem awfully distant," she said, pouting. "You didn't look very concerned when I told you about the frog I had in my throat this morning, and that's rather rude, you know."

"Oh I--I'm sorry," Kurt assured her quickly. "I'm terribly sorry about your frog, Rachel. I'm just-- You're right. I am a bit distracted today."

Rachel's gigantic eyes got even bigger, and she scooted closer, her skirt bunching about her legs. "Explain yourself! It isn't about your father, is it?"

"Oh no," Kurt replied hastily. "It-- Well, it isn't bad. It's..." He trailed off, and his cheeks glowed bright pink. Rachel's eyes sparkled.

""It's Adam, isn't it?" she deduced, perceptive as usual, and burst into delighted giggles. "Oh Kurt, did he court you? I knew he had eyes for you, I simply knew it!"

Kurt visibly shrunk, covering his face with his hands. "Rachel, I-- Calm down, please, it really wasn't-- I'm not sure... He's known me since I was a kid, and he's..."

"Oh hush," Rachel scolded. "You are wonderful and smart and charming and of course he wants to court you. What did he say?"

Kurt's voice got very small, barely audible. "He said he wanted to find something new to teach me so he could continue seeing me. But he says that sort of thing all the time, he's likely just teasing..."

"I'll be the judge of that. What else did he say?"

"Well, I..." Kurt tugged his hood over his head, trying to hide in it. "He said...um..."

"Um what?"

"That I'm...lovely."

The resulting shriek was deafening, and Kurt covered his ears tightly to muffle it. "Oh Kurt, that's splendid! You must let him court you, Kurt, and then you can get married and live in a little cottage together and it'll be so wonderfully romantic and I'm so terribly jealous, Kurt--"

"I never said anything was going to happen!" Kurt interjected sharply, tugging his arm away from where she'd been squeezing it painfully. "It's far too early to think of marriage, and besides, I doubt my father would approve. And I have to focus on his health, in case you've forgotten."

Rachel let up, sitting back, frowning. "But Kurt..."

"But nothing," Kurt replied, perhaps a bit too harshly. Rachel looked hurt. There was silence in the stable for a while, broken only by the sounds of the horses and the footsteps of the stable boy crunching from the distance. Kurt could see the outline of Dave's large shadow along the wall, and motioned for Rachel to quiet down. He looked over at her, suddenly contrite.
"I'm glad you're hopeful for me," he told her, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "But--"

"Kurt," she interjected quietly. "You deserve happiness."

Another pause went taut in the air, and Kurt patted Rachel's hand awkwardly. "I am happy, Rachel. I promise." Suddenly he didn't want to be in the stable anymore. He wanted to go home and read, be with his father--and besides, Dave was staring at him again. He didn't like how that stare made him feel.

He got to his feet and brushed himself off, much to Rachel's dismay. "Wait, where are you going?"

"We both ought to get home," he told her gently. "We have a big night tomorrow, don't we?"
Her face fell and she visibly shivered. "Right. The feeding."

"Right."

Kurt helped her up and walked her out of the stable. They hugged and parted ways, and Kurt fell into deep thought as he headed home, barely looking at where he was going. His chest felt heavy--and though it was always weighted down by secrets, it seemed even more so. It hurt to lie to Rachel-- The truth was, he wasn't happy, and he would have dearly liked to try something out with Adam, but things were more complicated than he could ever tell anyone.

He sighed heavily as he pushed in the door, and found his father asleep in the chair he'd been sitting in before. Kurt gently picked up the half-empty cup of tea from the floor beside him; it had gone stone cold. As he moved to pour it away and start his chores for the evening, he felt a great sense of loneliness. It would be nice to share everything with someone, to love and be loved, to have a partner just for him.

But his witchcraft wasn't the only thing he was hiding.


Night fell, and Kurt was bathing. He quickly dragged the rough sponge over his skin, squeezing it so the water he'd warmed up trickled down his body and kept him from getting too chilled. As usual, he focused on his upper body first, on the parts of him that felt normal, and then--

He looked down at himself, at the parts that weren't. Slowly and tentatively he brushed his hand between his legs, felt the softness of the folds where there ought to have been something else entirely. Usually he cleaned that part of himself hastily, got it over with quickly, but tonight he lingered for just a moment.

The fact that something so small changed his entire body so much was infuriating. He doubted Adam would respond well if he knew Kurt was a male with what he understood to be the lower parts of a female-- And who would? Kurt's father had told him since childhood that he had to keep it a secret, or else he'd be labeled an abomination against nature.

But nature made me this way, he thought bitterly as he cleaned himself slowly but thoroughly. There wasn't any blood, thankfully; that part of the month had already passed. Still, Kurt was angry. He was angry that he couldn't be a normal boy with a normal father and a mother, that he couldn't leave this smothering little town, that he could never have the body nor the life that he wanted.

The self-pity was there only for a moment--and he let it take its hold, let it sit there like a sour stomach for only as long as he would let it. Then he was drying himself off, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead. If anything brought the village together as one with a swift and effortless finality that no other event could achieve, it was the monthly ritual of the feeding.

It would be a distraction, at the very least.


The day of the feeding dawned eerily silent, as it usually did. Kurt was up with the sun, and did most of his chores before his father was even awake. Burt had ordered him to stay inside, but Kurt couldn't bear the thought of a day spent entirely without the touch of nature--so he crept outside, walked underneath the low-hanging clouds that stretched over the village like a dirty canvas.

Villagers were already dragging out livestock to slaughter, working together to gather an adequate amount to present to Them. Kurt was young, but he'd heard plenty of tales about feedings that went awry, that didn't provide enough livestock to please Them, that resulted in the worst tragedies Shady Hollow had ever known.

Kurt had been very young when Burt first told him about Them--and naturally, his inquisitive mind had had to know more. He'd taken to reading about Them on dreary evenings when the indoor chores were done and the weather discouraged the outdoor ones, and he'd never before came across a subject that was talked about so profusely yet still remained so mysterious. No one quite knew who They were or where They came from, but the closest description Kurt could find likened Them to the vampyr tales of old--ancient, ruthless creatures who devoured human flesh, whose presence was like the night itself, cruel and fleeting.

It certainly seemed to match what Kurt's father had told him. According to legend, the village elders had made a pact with Them when they had first settled in the hollow long ago. If they provided enough slaughtered livestock to feed Them on the first night of the new moon every month, then They would let the villagers live in peace. There were other rules put in place as well--that no villagers should wander out of the boundaries of the village, or stay out past dusk on the eve of the feeding--and if broken, there was a terrible consequence.

Kurt could see the Hart family dragging a slaughtered calf along their front yard, and he looked away, saddened. It seemed so cruel to give innocent animals to those monsters, but Kurt knew what would happen if they didn't. If the people of the Hollow didn't heed to Their every whim, someone would be taken. The last time the villagers had failed to meet their end of the contract, They had taken a young girl into the woods. It was unclear as to how and why They chose Their victims, but one thing was for certain-- She was never heard from again.

The sky lightened and Kurt knew it was getting later in the morning. He'd lost track of the time-- Quickly he spun around and walked briskly back toward the village, to his house. He headed inside, only to find Burt standing in the kitchen, looking nothing short of terrified.

"Kurt--" He wheeled on his son, and a look of relief passed over his face before it was replaced with anger. "Did I not tell you to stay inside today? What were you doing out there? I thought They had taken you, you foolish child--"

"It's only morning," said Kurt defensively. He stepped forward. "Father, you shouldn't get so worried, your health--"

"To blazes with my health!" Burt shouted back. "I tell you time and time again to respect my rules. And when you leave without telling me--"

"I went for a walk, father! Within the boundaries of the village, as you told me to!"

"I told you to stay inside--"

"It was only a walk!"

"Damn it, Kurt!"

Burt slammed his hand down on the table, startling Kurt. It had been a long time since he had seen his father so angry, and Kurt began to feel anger of his own begin to bubble to the surface. He'd cared for Burt alone for as long as he could remember--cooked his meals and made his medicine--and it seemed awfully ungrateful to him, that his father would choose to repay him by treating him like a child.

Burt's expression softened. His anger seemed to fade as Kurt's began to build. "Kurt," he said quietly. "I only want to protect you."

"No you don't!" Kurt cried out suddenly. "You want to hide me!"

He knew he was probably overreacting; every parent felt uneasy on the day of the Feeding, but Burt's overprotectiveness went beyond concern for Kurt's well-being. Instead of making Kurt feel safe it made him feel ashamed, as if his body were a vile thing to hide from innocent eyes, and it made his bones ache. It made his heart sick.

Burt looked stunned. Kurt shook his head and spun around, heading for the door.

"Kurt!"

"Don't worry father," Kurt snapped. "I'll be back by nightfall, so you may continue your noble endeavor to protect the village from your freak of a son."

He slammed the door before his father could say another word. The vilalge had woken up around him, and the air was filled with the braying of animals cut brutally short. Kurt ignored all of it, staring determinedly forward as he headed to the only place he could think of where he knew he'd feel welcome and at peace.


The church was, thankfully, empty. It seemed to be empty quite often these days, honestly, and Kurt could see why. His footsteps echoed around him as he walked over to the piano and sat down, and he inhaled deeply as his fingers fell on the smooth keys.

The instant he started to play he began to feel immeasurably better. Peace washed over him as he played something simple, something soothing-- He wasn't nearly as good a piano player as Adam, and his song lacked any real cohesiveness, but it was enough for right then. Music judged no one.

He didn't hear the door open or the sound of footsteps until they were right beside him. He looked up to see Adam standing over him, and he immediately drew back his hands, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, suddenly anxious. "I didn't realize you had lessons today..."

"They don't start for another few minutes," Adam assured him. Kurt made to get up off the piano bench, but Adam gently eased him back down with two large hands on his shoulders.

"Why don't you play me a song?" he asked, sitting beside Kurt on the bench.

Kurt blushed and looked away. "It won't be any good," he warned. "But if you insist."

He started playing a well-known hymn, and was only a third of the way through it before he tripped over a few of the notes. The verse was admittedly quite difficult--but Kurt had seen Adam play it flawlessly during mass, and to try it once more only to flub it again was too embarrassing for him to handle.

"I'm sorry," he lamented, drawing back his hands. "I'm a terrible pianist..."

Kurt expected Adam to argue with him, or perhaps tease him-- But instead the older man reached for Kurt's hands, gently lifting them and placing them back on the keys. Doing so made Adam's left arm wrap around Kurt's upper back, and Kurt felt his heart begin to race wildly.
Adam positioned his fingers and guided him through the verse. Kurt realized he ought to try it himself once it was done, but his mind had gone curiously blank-- And Adam still hadn't let go of his hands.

Deceptively gentle fingers slipped under his chin, lifting his head. Kurt was overwhelmed; the argument with his father was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't keep up as Adam's arm tugged him closer so Kurt was practically sitting in his lap.

The kiss was happening before Kurt even had a chance to react to the sudden proximity, and he was utterly still in Adam's arms, unable to even react in a way that wasn't detached, passive observance. Adam's mouth tasted like tea, he thought vaguely, then realized he wasn't sure if he even wanted to be tasting Adam's mouth at all. This was happening entirely too fast-- Kurt considered pulling away, but Adam's arm was very strong, and his other hand had started feeling Kurt's body.

Wait, Kurt wanted to say. He didn't know what was happening. This was too much, too fast-- He wasn't sure if he ought to try to kiss back, or do something other than just sit there, but he didn't know anything about kissing or even if he wanted to, and Adam's hand was sliding over his hip and thigh--

--nudging up his tunic, slipping in between his legs--

A screeching sound filled Kurt's head as his brain finally caught up with what was happening, and he shoved Adam away with all his might. He caught a glimpse of the older man's face--shocked and bewildered, surely horrified--and was loathe to think of what that meant. Panicking, Kurt all but flew across the church and was out the door before Adam could say a word.


He ran.

The ground was uneven beneath his feet and he stumbled, injuring himself more than a few times as he tore across the village, desperate to get as far away from the church as he could. He didn't go home. Home had his father in it, and every other building had people in it, and God he didn't want to be near people anymore, not now--

There was only one place he could go where he could be completely alone.

He could hear Rory cry out after him as he tore past the watchtower, muffled beneath the sound of twigs snapping beneath his feet and the roar of wind in his ears. The weather was taking a harsh turn, stirring branches overhead and churning the creek into froth, and Kurt could feel raindrops stinging his face as he ran and ran and ran. He didn't stop until his lungs burned, and for a moment he couldn't decide if he were out of breath from running or crying.

Sobs tore from his throat as he collapsed near the the creek bed, curling into a fetal ball as rain cascaded around him. A large branch draped with thick vines seemed to reach out and shield him, and he huddled beneath it as he cried harder than he could have ever remembered crying.

When he finally calmed down he realized he had no idea what time it was. The storm continued to rage around him, and Kurt couldn't recognize where he was anymore. Panic closed around his heart and he pushed himself to his feet, eyes desperately searching for the path back to the village.

The clouds were thick and dark with rain, and Kurt had no idea whether night had fallen-- He prayed that it hadn't, and focused on trying to get back to the perimeter. He'd explain to Rory what happened and they'd go somewhere safe and dry together, someplace warm where they could hide, and then Kurt could apologize to his father and to Adam and work everything out, make everything normal again--

A branch caught his leg and he shrieked, stumbling forward into the mud. Terrified sobs tore through his throat as he tried to find purchase, to pull himself up-- His hands flew about the filthy ground, searching through the darkness for something solid to grab onto, and one of them landed on something warm and soft.

An arm.

Horrified, Kurt moved closer and realized the arm belonged to Rory. His friend was prone on the filthy ground, covered in dirt and blood, struggling to stay conscious. Kurt moved to his side, frantically trying to locate the source of the bleeding and stop it-- But then Rory's hand darted up and seized him by the wrist, gripping it painfully.

"Run," he gasped, struggling for breath. Kurt could hardly hear him over the sound of the rain, so he leaned closer. Rory's voice was raspy but urgent, begging.

"It's Them. Kurt. Run--"

Kurt barely had time to react when another hand grabbed hold of him, closing around the hood of his tunic from behind and yanking him bodily to his feet. Terrified screams erupted from Kurt's throat and he fought as hard as he could, struggling and kicking as he was hauled back against a firm chest-- A hand clapped over his mouth, silencing him, and Kurt could only watch in horror as dark figures surrounded Rory's prone form on the forest floor. They closed in on him like coyotes around a fallen deer, crouched down, and suddenly Kurt could hear tearing over the sound of the rain, ripping flesh, chewing--

He could no longer bear it. His eyes rolled back and he slumped against the chest of his captor in a dead faint.

--