Two Hearts: The Hunt [Slowly Editing]

Chapter Eight (Part I)

Unknown POV-

Glowing flecks of orange fluttered brilliantly in the darkness as the wind blew gently, shifting the leaves of the tall pine trees overhead. Like flaming fireflies they surrounded her, leaving tiny pricks of pain wherever they touched her dark skin. She watched as they rose up from the embers and ashes-shattered pieces of the smoldering phoenix that had threatened to burn down the entire clearing just moments ago.

She was tired, as was usual after partaking in such an intense, body-consuming event. Her limbs threatened to bow down to her weight, her joints sore from straining.

But she had done it.

Before her shadowed figures shifted restlessly, waiting for her to give them a purpose. Without her they were lost; without direction.

"Our plans thus far have proven to be successful," she announced, straining the voice that scratched against her vocal cords, worn out after years of using it for its intended purposes. It rasped when she spoke, as if sandpaper had found its way into her pipes and nestled there. "The Spirituum Obscurorum had their intended effect."

One of the cloaked figures stepped forward. She knew him as Maxwell, one of the most careful ones of them all. "Are you certain that all of them have been eliminated? We must be sure that not a single one managed to escape-"

"Come now, Maxwell," Elvira cut in, stepping forward as her foot landed on the thick pile of char and ashes before her. "Have some faith in our kind. We are certain that all Spirituum Obscurorum are back in the Otherworld, where they belong."

Maxwell shut his mouth, focusing his dark gaze on the leaf-ridden ground. Considering.

"Might I ask-what are we to do now?" another one from the group spoke up hesitantly, and the woman quickly recognized her as Helena, one of the younger ones. Recently graduated from Fairview Hill's Mill Creek High School. Studying to be a clinical psychologist at a local college.

The tired woman thought it was the best question she had heard all night. She raised her voice again, feeling as if some of the flickering ashes had made their way inside her windpipe and seared her. "Now, we must wait. Tonight is their first meeting, and we cannot expect much to happen straight away. Patience will be our closest ally as time allows their relationship to develop."

"But Priestess," Maxwell began once again, always calculating ten steps ahead. "Will this truly work? From what I have heard from the Young One, their characters are a deadly mix. Impossible to fit together. How will anything develop between two opposites in every sense of the word?"

Silence engulfed the clearing as no person spoke, waiting for a wise answer. Crickets chirped and owls hooted and the leaves continued to stir restlessly overhead, clinging to quivering tree branches.

"We must have faith," the Priestess replied softly, her voice not willing to strain itself any longer. "Faith in them. Faith in our purpose. Faith in the Young One. Faith in ourselves. This will work, it must or else-"

Her words were interrupted as a terrible sound ripped through her throat, leaving behind searing pain in its aftermath. Her wobbly knees gave way and she collapsed to the ground amidst twigs and dried leaves. Her thin, stringy hair curtained her bony face as she heaved heavily. She became aware that she was being surrounded by her people, aware that arms of intended comfort touched at her dark skin. Worried voices were drowned out by the sound of the coughs that rocked her body for a few more painful moments before they slowly, mercifully, faded away.

"Priestess! Priestess!" voices called to her frantically, pulling her limp body upright by holding her from her armpits. "Are you well? Shall we send a healer?"

"No, no," she rasped, straining her tired bones to keep her afloat. She pushed herself away from their grip, teetering precariously as she struggled to maintain her footing. "I am-I am well."

"You are tired and worn from the events of this night," she heard a voice say, although her clouded mind was in no condition to think of who it belonged to. "Let us all go and rest. As the Priestess said, things have only just begun. The stubborn immortal and the short-tempered shifter have much to develop, not only between each other but within themselves. Until then, we will rest on the words of the Young One and wait patiently until it is time."

At this, the Priestess said nothing. Murmurs of agreement traveled between the group of cloaked men and women.

She had not given much thought to the fact that this plan may not work. She refused to think of the dangers that threatened to arise if this risky investment had indeed proven to be a failure. So tired she could hardly breathe without making the extra effort, the Priestess let her mind rest on that single outcome of hope-she let herself believe in the power of fate and love. And with those beliefs, it suddenly became easier to stand upright. Easier to breathe.

This plan simply had to work. If it didn't, then it would be the definite end.... for everyone.

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Confused yet? Haha (;

I'll admit, this wasn't my best work but comment with your thoughts! Who do you think was that third person POV? And what's this nonsense about a Young One? :o

Thank you to all who are reading and VOTE if you really liked it! I'll be updating with the continuation of chapter 7 very, very soon. (: