talien
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Jack Frost: Part 7 – Dreams of Sacrifice
He paged Hammer over his cistron. “Hammer. HAMMER! You awake?”
There was a grunt on the other side. “I am now.”
“I think we should investigate the lake.”
“What lake? Crow Lake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’ve had a weird dream. About Indians.”
“I miss Blade too.”
“Who?”
“Blade? Our deceased teammate, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
Hammer sighed on the other end. “I’ll get Howell.”
Jim-Bean awoke in the throes of adrenaline reaction, the "fight or flight" reflex of a physical threat. He was also hungry.Jim-Bean was part of a Creek tribe, one tribe of a far-flung people who lived and thrived throughout the woods and hills and rivers of the land. It was winter, and the tribe was worried.
People had begun to disappear. First it was thought to be but a normal part of the cold winter, but five people had vanished, and the cold nights were sometimes filled with a terrible sound, a howling like the most mournful of spirits, lost in the stars; and when that howling was loudest, some people were filled with a terrible hunger for the flesh of the dead.
The old shamans told stories of the wendigo, a giant spirit who could appear in any form, a winter spirit that hungered for human flesh. The shamans knew a way to drive off the wendigo, but it was a terrible way, a way they learned from an old and hated tribe long ago.
Jim-Bean was taken by the shamans to save his people. The shamans led him up the red earth of Blood Hill, and he lay in a stony place atop the hill. The shamans then climbed down the hill again, and from a distance they prayed, singing songs with unknown words until the night deepened and the stars gleamed in the cold black sky overhead.
Then the cold grew deeper. The gleaming stars turned from white to blue, then purple, then yellow, shifting in pastel hues and swirling, melding, knitting a beautiful mist of cold colors. The mist filled the sky.
Then came the howling, deeper, louder, filling not the sky but the soul, and black eyes peer forth from the glowing mist.
The shamans' song had stopped. Jim-Bean was cold, so cold, and he knew the wendigo by its terrible obsidian eyes, and the wendigo looked upon him with hunger.
He paged Hammer over his cistron. “Hammer. HAMMER! You awake?”
There was a grunt on the other side. “I am now.”
“I think we should investigate the lake.”
“What lake? Crow Lake?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I’ve had a weird dream. About Indians.”
“I miss Blade too.”
“Who?”
“Blade? Our deceased teammate, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
Hammer sighed on the other end. “I’ll get Howell.”
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