Crimson is Our Favorite Color

The Summoning (1)

When I write fan fiction I do my research, so please, PLEASE, tell me if anything in not as it should be. Make sure to tell me what you think of this in the comments as it really would make my day to hear anything. If you have not read the Wildcat's Claw book then I suggest you brush up on it, as there will be many references to it. And last, but not least, this book will be separated into four stories, each one may be several parts long. Enjoy!

Also, PS I don't own any of the spirit animal books, or copy write. I just kinda felt like I had to write that sooo...

Gransfen was doing all he could not to think about the fact that he probably only had a few hours to live left. But of course imminent doom is not something that can easily be brushed aside. His bare feet were raw and had deep gashes from the sticks that he had been forced to trod on to escape Dion. He recited the list of things he had, it was alarmingly short, and consisted of only two objects, the first was a stick that he had found a while back , useful for putting his weight on, to relieve some of the pain in his foot, but also possible useful to fight with if a predator came along. Who was he kidding, if it really came down to it what could he really do with a stick? Poke a bear? Even with his limited hunting knowledge he knew that poking an enormous animal was not going to help at all. The second object that he was carrying was a large yellow stone that his mother had slipped him before he was thrown out into the wilds with no food, water or clothing. Just the thought of her sent waves of pain through him, ones that had nothing to do with the deep cuts, and soon-to-be frostbite covering his body. He was never going to see his family again, never to feel the warmth of his father's forge, never to taste the roast turkey dinners that his mother prepared on his birthday. His stomach growled loudly. He continued thinking of the gravy sauce, and sweet corn that would go along with it. His stomach growled again, louder this time. Gransfen stopped, was that his stomach or was that something else. Gransfen froze, slowly turning around expecting to see some large beast ready to pounce and tear him limb from limb, instead he saw only the dull green of the trees.

Gransfen turned back, realizing that he was fully and truly lost. Not that it mattered, as even if he knew how to get back, the Crimson Raiders would kill him. Gransfen knew that he had been stopped too long, in northern Eura, nights could be deadly if you were caught unprepared, and "unprepared" pretty much summed up Gransfen's whole life. He had been unprepared when he had almost died in that fire a few years back, when some kids had locked him in a shed and then set fire to it. He had been unprepared when he almost died again last winter when he contracted a mysterious illness. And he was completely unprepared when the Crimson Raiders had come and stolen a year's worth of harvest that was supposed to last his village until next spring. He shivered, and looked up. The sky was darkening, not with the usual sunset colours, but with the rotted, purple colours of a storm. At least rain would bring water, Gransfen was so thirsty that he knew he might die from thirst before he died from cold, although he figured that it probably didn't matter as both would be rather unpleasant deaths.

He decided that even if it meant that he was going to die of thirst or cold or whatever other possible ways to die, he just couldn't take another step. He could no longer feel his feet so he fell down rather than lay down, and the ground wasn't any more comfortable than standing up. Sharp sticks poked his back, his neck, his legs, and now that he thought of it sharp sticks kind of poked everywhere. He was too tired to stand up again, too tired to speak, or even move at all. He closed his eyes. Lighting flashed close by. He felt a warm breeze caress his face, he relaxed. Then out of nowhere a growl sounded that definitely was not his stomach. Despite himself he opened one eye and screamed, on top of him was a truly enormous brown animal. His previous exhaustion left him, he sprinted, not even caring that he couldn't out run such a thing. Gransfen didn't even look where he was going, seeing wasn't important, only running. He could hear enormous crashing right behind. All of a sudden he wasn't running he was falling, rolling, down, down. He covered his head, as rocks opened up, gashed and cut. Then he was wet. Very, very wet. He hadn't taken a breath beforehand so now he breathed in a lung full of water he choked, coughed. It burned. There was no up, only down. No light, only murky darkness. No joy, only pain. Gransfen could only form one thought: this is worse than starving. Then with an impact that made Gransfen see spots he hit something big, hard, wet and poky. Using whatever this large thing was he hauled himself out of the water and took a gulp of air that made his lungs sear. He blinked and tried to orient himself. It had felt like he had gone miles, but in reality it had probably only been a few yards. 

A reminder to tell me what you think in the comments below.