"Why do I have to carry all this stuff?" Justin huffed. Gregory turned to glance backwards down to hill towards Justin. He carried a large, hefty bag that sagged against the older wolf's shoulder, full of heavy equipment. Justin carried a small holster, no bigger than a large shoe. Gregory's bag was the size of his son's torso, and beside it stung two long, thin bags the same length as his thigh. "You're only carrying one camera, and it's your own" replied Gregory. Justin huffed, trudging along up the hill. "It's still heavy" he moaned. Gregory shook his head and continued up the hill. The moon was high, and now that the pair were getting into a clearing far from the city, the moonlight was the only source of light around. This was no burden to the two, who seen the world through different eyes. They stopped, and gazed out over the horizon. The city lights shimmered down below, like a sea of flickering yellow stars. Justin trudged up beside his father, and said "I'd rather have gone to a concert or something." Gregory shook his head, "You want to go to a concert, you'll need to buy your own ticket. Now, try to enjoy yourself?" Setting his backpack on the ground, Gregory flipped open its lid and recovered a few battery-powered torches. He handed a couple to Justin, and asked him to help spread them around the clearing. Justin obliged, popping a pair of earphones into his ears to allow some music to keep him entertained. Gregory recovered his camera, and began to spool some film into it. The camera, an old model built in the eastern block of Europe several decades earlier, whirred in accommodation. Justin tugged out his earphones, and dug his own camera free from the small pocket he had strung over his shoulder. His was a light, sleek digital model. "Can we get some shots of the forest, at least? That'll be more interesting than the city." "In a while" replied Gregory, as he unfastened one of the long, thin bags to reveal a sturdy tripod. He set it on the ground, and began to fasten his camera to it. "Look up at the moon, Justin. What do you see?" Justin glanced up. The moon hung in the sky, looking rather unimpressive. He shrugged. "Just the moon." His father shook his head. "It's more than that. In ancient times, our kind worshipped the moon, as others worshipped the sun. Do you remember the legends I told you long ago?" Justin sighed, dreading to hear another parable. At times like this, his father could seem so... old. Like a relic from the time before the fall of Rome. "I think you mentioned it to be a few decades ago" he answered. Gregory nodded, "The legend goes that in those days, mortals would worship the sun and the moon in equal measure, while we vampires would kneel to nobody. In that time, the moon shone almost as bright as the sun, and her light would weaken us just as did the sun. So..." Justin dropped down to sit on the grassy hillside, grasping the tripod in one hand as he tried to secure his camera to the top of it. "So we caught the moon and dragged it down, and drank its blood. I know the story, dad" he commented, finishing the story The elder wolf nodded, "And the followers of the sun grew angry, and attacked us, forcing us to release the moon back into the sky, where it continues its cycle to this day. And that's why its surface is scarred, and why its light is cold, and why it cannot harm us." Justin knocked the legs of the tripod into place, and slipped a memory card into the camera. "I know the story." "But you don't know the lesson behind it, lad." Justin rolled his eyes, "You didn't bring me all the way out here for a lecture, did you?" Gregory was quiet for a moment. "No. You're right, I wanted us to enjoy the night. And you're not interested in photographing the city and the moon, are you?" Justin shook his head. He enjoyed photography, that much was true. But he needed an interesting subject, and the city landscape just didn't interest him. "I'd rather photograph the forest, y'know." His father nodded. "All right. Tell you what, I'll get the exposure and shutter speed on these cameras set. You take one of those torches and find something more to your taste to shoot?" Nodding, Justin grabbed one of the torches and looked down towards the forest. The idea to come to the forest in the first place had been his - his father (and sure, some of the more effete and snobbish vampires eschewed the term in favour of the more dramatic 'sire', but Justin didn't care for such official-sounding titles) had been suitably impressed with Justin's behaviour recently. Following an incident that had occurred when Justin attempted to babysit a friend's younger siblings, the wolf had been grounded for several weeks, during which time absolutely no events of any description had occurred. Justin had been as good as gold. Which had been a massive shock for everyone. Gregory stood behind the camera, sliding the exposure to its longest setting. "Don't go too far, either" he shouted. "I won't" called Justin, already halfway down the hill. The darkness of the trees almost blocked out the moonlight. Justin swung the torch back and forth - not because he could not see, but because it was simply easier for him. The light would illuminate the scene of any photograph, making it easier for him to picture how the image would turn out. His own eyes had no trouble with the night. He liked the dark, and he enjoyed the feeling of the forest. It felt almost alive. It felt almost at peace. For a moment, he turned off the torch. The darkness surrounded him. Justin thought about his own ability, the power to weave and manipulate shadow, and considered for a moment as to whether it was that which drew him to this type of location. His sire, whose abilities dwelled more in control of the minds of humans, seemed to gravitate towards the urban realms of the cities. Perhaps, thought Justin, there's a logic there. Or at very least a connection to one's own spirit. Gregory felt more at home among the city, populated as it were by humans with minds he could enrapture. But here, in the darkness of nature's own kingdom, Justin felt momentarily at home. Then a thought crept into his mind, drawn from a memory from far back in his mind. In his memory, he was a child, a mortal child, barely seven years of age. He sat with his mother on the pew of a church. His mother was pious, he remembered, and expected Justin would take communion. The boy had no interest in such things. The idea original sin made him feel indignant, even to this day. But it was the words of the priest that spoke to Justin's mind; an old man in a jet black coat, who warned that beyond the boundaries of civilised society, outside of the walls of the cities and in the heart of the wilderness, nature itself was unsaintly. The idea crept into Justin's mind again. Somewhere, perhaps in the space between the creaking trees and the whispering shadows, far from the sanctuary of the home and safety of God's people, that nature itself was Satan's own church... A hand fell onto Justin's shoulder. The wolf yelped and turned, swinging his torch upward to catch sight of whatever had touched him. He was certain his heart would miss a beat, if it were indeed beating in the first place. He had been so caught in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard the breathing or the heartbeat of the figure who had approached, who surely had to be Gregory. After all, who else would it be, this far from the city? It then occurred to Justin that his father didn't breath, and had no heartbeat. This was someone else entirely. The figure was about half a foot shorter than Gregory, and thinner, with sharp limbs. He held a small torch in his own hand, and a small backpack strung over his shoulders. His denim jeans were dirty, and his leather trench coat was speckled with mud. Against his chest swung a round blue gemstone on a necklace. Beneath the weathered brim of a battered stetson hat peered the strong eyes of a fox. He held up both hands, palms open, "Whoa, careful there." Justin held the beam of his torch's light at the man's face. "Who are you?" "Relax," said the man, "It's okay. Name's Mitchell, I'm on business." "What kind of business do you have in the middle of the woods?" asked Justin, demandingly. Mitchell smiled, lowering his hands. "I'm an investigator. Kinda like a detective. My work brought me out here." Justin nodded, his eyelids narrowed, keeping his focus on the figure. "What's a young man like you doing this far out in the wood, anyway?" asked Mitchell. Justin scowled, "Mind your own business." Mitchell nodded, and stepped back. Justin noticed the figure's boots, they were especially dirty. He had been out here a long time. "Look," said the fox, "Maybe you can help me out here." The wolf shook his head, "I don't think so. I think you should leave." Sighing, Mitchell thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. "All right, if you insist. But listen, kid, you shouldn't be out in the forest on your own. It's dangerous." "I can take care of myself" retorted Justin, his impatience showing in the tone of his voice. Mitchell shrugged, "I don't doubt it. But I don't mean just regular dangerous things, like muggers or rapists or anything. There's things out here in the dark. Nasty things. Get my meaning?" Justin nodded, slowly, taking a step back. "You one of them, then?" he asked. The fox shook his head. "Not quite. Here, catch." With that, he slipped his hands from the pockets of his coat, and threw something towards Justin. A small, glistening object. As with most people, Justin's body acted instinctively, grabbing the thrown object in mid-flight. The very moment he grasped it, he released the object with a cry. He clasped his hand, realising how badly his palm was stinging. It felt hot, like a burn. He glanced down to see just what the object was. On the ground, among the leaves and roots, was the object, a small silver crucifix. Justin clasped his burned hand, and cursed under his breath. Mitchell grinned, rising to his full height. He reached up behind his back, into his backpack, and pulled free a small and neatly compact crossbow. "And looks like I've just found you" rasped the vampire hunter, and fired. The first crossbow bolt sailed only a fraction of an inch above Justin's head. The second struck against the bark of a tree as the wolf pulled the forest's abundance of shadows over him, throwing himself down into their darkness. The hunter swung the light of his torch across the area, dispelling the shadows and causing them to melt away - but it was too late, the wolf had already crossed through the shadow realm and back out from another shadow, far deeper into the woods. He caught his breath, and tried to listen to the air. He knew that this situation would be his own doing - perhaps he hadn't fully disposed of one of his victims adequately, maybe the tattoo artist. Or maybe that damn Doberman's memory had leaked back, it could have been anything. Any slip up, and some damned fool vampire hunter had caught wind of the story. He closed his eyes. He hadn't travelled far. Hopping from place to place through shadows like that required focus, making it far too difficult to use accurately when under fire. And he just hadn't been paying enough attention. There. The hunter was downwind, about thirty yards. He pressed his back against the trees. Carefully, he pulled the shadows up around him. Moving them carefully, he tugged them into a makeshift jumpsuit, concealing him in the darkness, right up to his eyes. So concealed, he started to move closer. staying close to the trees, Mitchell ran the beam of light from his torch across the ground in front of him. Justin pursed his lips tight. Justin was certain he could make a grab at the hunter from behind with a few shadow tendrils, just so long as the fox didn't see him before it could happen. He inhaled, and as Mitchell swung the torchlight away from where Justin lurked in the darkness, the wolf made his move. From the shadows that drifted across the forest floor behind the hunter, three elongated tendrils of pure solidified darkness spread from the natural shade. They spiralled upwards, working their way through the air as if they were skeletal fingers that flexed in the night. Turning, their sharp ends twisting downwards towards the hunter, they readied to strike. And with that, they lunged. Only to meet against a sharp, snapping blue haze that crackled through the air barely a foot above the hunter's head. The tendrils reeled back, a deft sizzling sound filling the air, as they dissipated into vapour. Mitchell swung the torchlight in an arc. Justin cursed, as the light fell over him. The shadows that engulfed his body shimmered away. He stood bare, prone in the torchlight. The fox didn't hesitate, bringing his empty hand to his belt and then arching it upwards in an underhanded throw, his thumb flipping the stopper on the small silver vial of holy water as he sent a cascade of the liquid in Justin's direction. The wolf dived for cover, but with the torchlight filling the area there was perilously little space for him to navigate. The light did, however, cause several of the nearby trees to cast an especially sharp shadow of their own, so the wolf leapt for them, just as the water hit. Hurrying over to the trees, the fox glanced around, looking for the injured vampire. But Justin had made it into the shadows barely in time. The wolf almost fell out of the other side, managing to steady himself at the last second. A fall at this height would have been especially painful - this jump through the shadows had delivered Justin into the very treetops. Slumping against the upper branches, Justin glanced down at his tail. Several burns had etched their way into the hair of his tail. Further down, the water had hit almost entirely across the leg of his jeans. The few burned strands of fur would grow back, he knew, his tail would be fine. He unfastened his jeans, pulling first one leg, then another free from them, knowing that if the holy water trickled down onto his foot, it would seriously hurt him, perhaps render him unable to move. Sliding the jeans carefully over the branch of the tree, he looked down at the forest floor. That damn hunter had some kind of protection, Justin thought, remembering his tendrils dissolving into the air with a flicker of blue light. He obviously knew what he was doing, and had come prepared. Justin noticed the stream of torchlight brushing its way through the trees below. Justin's mind ran to what kinds of protection the hunter could have gone for. Some kind of charm, perhaps. Or a blessing. No, blessings would be too difficult to come across, and needed to be reapplied. Difficult for hunters to do on the go. He didn't seem to be carrying any enchanted blades. Maybe that gemstone he wore was an amulet of some sort. That seemed likely. Amulets were easy enough to use on the go, just the type of thing a hunter would need. Justin closed his eyes, and pulled the shadows up into his hand. He was starting to feel thirsty, which meant his power would be running low. There wasn't anyone around he could feed on, either. He knew that if he couldn't take the hunter down soon, he'd be helpless. Genuinely helpless. He tried to focus on his sire, channel his thoughts through his blood as Gregory could do. His father could do it so easily. Justin couldn't. He hoped his father could hear or sense the pursuit. But he couldn't be sure. A thought came to his mind, that maybe the hunter had got to Gregory first. There was a myth among vampires, that destroying one's sire could destroy the child as well. Justin didn't know if that was true. Nobody did. It wasn't exactly something that vampires queued up to test out. Justin grasped a hold of the shadows he'd pooled in his hand, and moulded them into a long, elaborate dagger. He clasped it tightly. The hilt shifted, small strands of shadow essence leaking from between his fingers. One chance, he whispered to himself, that's all I'm going to get. Justin waited for Mitchell to pass below, and leapt. The fox turned at the last moment, but without enough time to react aside from raising his arms. With one grip, he managed to grasp a hold of Justin's wrist, but Mitchell's leg buckled and both figures fell to the floor amidst a flurry of leaves. Justin pushed his way closer, clasping his shadow blade tight. With a single triumphant slice, he cut the amulet from the fox's neck. It fell to the floor, the last of its power shattering Justin's knife in a glistening explosion of blue light. Justin stumbled backwards, barely holding himself upright. Mitchell glanced down at the amulet that lay among the charred leaves, and snorted. The hunter tugged a long, sharp object from the confines of his coat. It was wooden, carved and sharpened to a fine point. Justin gritted his teeth. The hunter was willing to go down fighting. So be it. He called to the shadows. They didn't listen. The wolf tried again, pulling the tendrils of shadow with his mind. As best he tried, his mind's hand just couldn't get a grip. He'd tapped the last of his energy reserves. Without feeding, he had used all the power that he could call upon. Which meant that he was no stronger, no faster, no smarter than a mortal boy. He backed up, until his back hit a tree. The hunter stepped closer, each step measured, deliberate. The fox was grinning. Justin thought for a moment, wondering if this person was enjoying this moment. Justin's eye fell on the stake. He wanted to run, but the hunter would be faster. He wanted to fight, but the hunter would be stronger. He slumped to the floor, among the leaves, and looked up at where the moon should be. But the moon wasn't there. It wasn't there, because it had been hidden from sight. In front of it, covering its light surface, shimmered a swarm of bats. The exact number of bats was incalculable. Their cries were deafening as they descended. Mitchell turned to look, dropping his wooden stake in the process. Without his amulet to protect him, they swarmed him. Their numbers enveloped the figure, cloaking him. He staggered back, struggling to keep his balance, as more and more of them coated his figure. And from within their writhing carapace, which twitched like the surface of a twisting cloak, the bats cried "Get away from my son, you filthy creature." When the bats parted, their wings had become the back of Gregory's coat. The swarm had coalesced into his form once again. He clasped the hunter in one hand, holding him like a rag doll. The figure's eyes shimmered, his jaw slack in obedience. Gregory dropped the hunter onto the floor. "Sit there" he whispered. Mitchell pulled his legs into a sitting position, among the leaves and roots. Justin scrambled, half-running and half-crawling across the floor, and ran into his sire's arms. Two hour later, both Gregory and Justin had finished photographing the clearing. Justin was flicking through the photos on his camera's view screen, while Gregory transferred his rolls of film from one pocket of his bag into another. "Did you drink enough?" asked Justin's sire. The boy nodded. Gregory smiled. "What do you want to do with him?" Justin glanced over at Mitchell. "You're letting me choose?" he asked. The older wolf shrugged, "Well, I think you should have a say in it. Don't you?" Justin thought for a while. He expected that his sire would expect some form of draconian punishment, perhaps an execution of some sort. Living through the 1500s could do that to a person's tastes. But Justin had other ideas. "Y'know, the guys at school would think it's awesome if I had a butler" he answered. Gregory arched an eyebrow. "You're serious?" Justin nodded. "You said it's my choice. That's what I want." His sire sighed. "Right. A butler. Sure." Justin beamed, and continued to gather their equipment. He slipped his camera into his small over-shoulder bag, and then handed the bag to Mitchell. "Carry this" he instructed. Gregory rolled his eyes as the former hunter reached out and carried Justin's bag for him. "This is going to go to your head, I just know it" he mumbled. Justin just gave a light smile, as the three of them walked through the forest. "And by the way," asked Gregory, "Could you explain to me where your pants have gone?"