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How to Survive Camping - the dapple-gray stallion
If you’re new here, you should really start at the beginning and if you’re totally lost, this might help.
I haven’t been honest about my bargain with the horse-eater. I intend to bring it the dapple-gray stallion as promised, but according to my timeline. After I find who the horse-eater is here to kill. I want an ally, because the enemy of my enemy could potentially be a temporary friend. I say ‘temporary’ because I have no illusions that these entities won’t turn on me as soon as I cease being useful. I’ve seen that already with the harvesters. At least with my recent victories I feel I can now bargain with these things, instead of beg.
The campground has been quiet lately. I feel like it is holding its breath. Waiting to see what I will do next.
And I have been waiting too. Waiting for some indication as to who the horse-eater’s enemy is. I’ve made my own inquiries, where I could. The thing in the dark was uninterested in my questions.
“I am not WHOLE,” it rumbled at me, halfway through my explanation as to what I wanted to know.
I wanted to tell it that yes, of course I remembered, but it’s not like I can enter the gray world on a whim here. However, when you’re dealing with an entity that literally shakes the ground when it talks, it’s hard to keep a coherent conversation. I struggled to keep my balance but there was one final shake to punctuate the end of its sentence, the earth beneath me jumped like a trampoline, and I went over backwards. When I picked myself up there were five branches stabbed into the earth at my feet.
I took the hint and left.
If the thing in the dark is the horse-eater’s enemy, then it clearly cares more about me bringing the rest of it out of the gray world and will be no help until I do so. I can only hope that it can contend with the horse-eater without being whole, because I haven’t a clue how to go about that other than taking the opportunity when it presents itself. If it presents itself.
A problem for another day, I guess.
Beau was gracious enough to inform me that neither him nor the harvesters are the horse-eater’s enemy. I have the feeling that he knows who it is but is unwilling to share. He glanced aside when I asked him bluntly. Then he put his knife away and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets and began to walk away. I thought I’d be clever and use the fact his back was turned and he thought knife sparring was over to take an opportunity, but it seems I still have a long way to go before I can surprise him. He stepped aside and back at the last moment, letting my knife travel past him, and then with his off-hand he grabbed me by the throat.
Then he lifted and threw. I barely had time to register what was happening - my world was upended, I saw the sky - and then I hit hard on my back. It knocked the air out of my chest and by the time I rolled and sat up, wheezing, Beau was a good distance away, his shoulders sullenly hunched.
Sparring practice was over and he was not in the mood for games. That much was apparent. I suspect that his silence is self-preservation. He’s already made an enemy of most of the campground by assisting me. The horse-eater may regard him as only a nuisance right now, but he won’t survive angering it by giving me information that I probably shouldn’t have. He has no desire to be my personal Prometheus and suffer the consequences as such.
So instead I waited for some clue. A skirmish, perhaps. I scoured the campground each morning for any sign that something had happened overnight, but for once things were peaceful. I’ve finished out the camping season and aside from the odd sighting of the children with a wagon, this has seemed like a normal privately owned campground. I suppose everything is lying low. I wish I could claim it was me they were frightened of, but I think this is not actually the case.
That was my genius plan. Wait to find out who the horse-eater was enemies with and then make an alliance with them before bringing the horse-eater its steed. Was my genius plan.
The dapple-gray stallion has returned and I can not ignore it any longer.
The old sheriff showed up at my house late last week. He’s doing quite well, all things considered. Driving on his own and he gets around on his prosthetic just fine. And when he showed up at my house, he was in uniform.
“Uh, you didn’t… run for sheriff?” I asked tentatively as I let him in.
“I’m a deputy,” he replied.
“Weren’t you going to stay retired?”
“Well, the new sheriff wanted to have a deputy whose only responsibility was the campground. I’m doing this as a favor.”
“A favor to her or to me?” I asked.
“Both of you,” he grunted.
So yeah we had our special election and we’ve got a new sheriff and I guess she’s not really looking forward to working with me. Which is fine. I’ve got a good relationship with the old sheriff already. This suits me just fine.
I brought him coffee and he told me what the problem was. There’d been some sightings of a large animal roaming around at the edge of the county, out where there was nothing but distant farmhouses, teetering on the verge of becoming old land themselves. They thought it was a bull, but the handful of cattle ranchers in the area said they hadn’t lost any animals recently. The new sheriff wanted me to take a look at it before any attempts were made to capture the animal.
Just in case.
“I hope it’s a bonnacon,” I said, grabbing my jacket. “I’ve always wanted to see one of those.”
Google that. I dare you.
The old sheriff drove us out to where the sightings had been. They happened after dark, so we departed at dusk. The timing was what made the new sheriff nervous enough to want my expertise before sending anyone else. This sort of work was not unusual for my family. The old sheriff often called on my parents and then me when there was something odd happening anywhere in the county. The sheriff that I handed over to the dancers… not so much. I was relieved that the newly elected one was at least going to work with me, even if she didn’t seem interested in dealing with the campground directly.
We parked the car on the side of a road that traveled between two plots of land. Fields stretched to either side of us, barren save for the mounds of hay looming out of the twilight like ancient barrows. My plan was to get a good enough look at the creature to confirm what it was and then leave. We weren’t equipped to deal with hardly anything. Certainly, I had my charm vest and my bag of supplies, but those were mostly for humanoid monstrosities. The animal ones don’t always have such a simple solution. It was often mundane tools and the skill of the hunter. If you’d taken my suggestion and looked up the bonnacon, you’d know that there is no charm or ward to save you. Your best defense is cowering behind cover and hoping none of its flaming excrement lands on you.
If you didn’t google what a bonnacon is yet, you’re really regretting it at this moment, aren’t you?
I watched the east and the old sheriff watched the west. Neither of us spoke much. He asked about my brother. I asked about his wife. Then after that we just sat in tense silence and waited. There’d been enough sightings of this creature that I had high hopes that we’d get a look at it tonight. It didn’t seem shy.
Sure enough, at about an hour before midnight a shape emerged from the distant woods. I stared at it a moment, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t seeing things and that there was something moving across the field. Then I raised my binoculars to get a better look. Beside me, the old sheriff shifted in the driver’s seat. He was looking as well, upon realizing that I’d spotted something.
“Well it’s not a deer,” I said.
Too big. It grew only larger as it moved closer and its form grew clearer in the night haze. Finally, it turned sideways, facing the direction of the distant farmhouse, and we could clearly see its profile.
“That is NOT a bull,” the old sheriff said.
I didn’t reply right away. I knew exactly what it was and my heart sank at the sight. I knew this was going to happen. All of you knew it too. It was inevitable, considering what kind of year it is and what has been asked of me.
It was a horse. The largest horse I’ve ever seen. Its legs were thicker than telephone poles and its height would rival an elephant. The moonlight glistened on its back and it shone like silver. A dapple-gray stallion, grown impossibly large in its years away from the campground. A fitting steed for the horse-eater.
“Time to go,” I said with barely restrained panic, putting the binoculars away.
“You know what this is?” the old sheriff asked.
He wasn’t starting the car yet. I mentally cursed myself for not being the one to drive.
“Do you remember the horse that ate Louisa?” I sighed.
“Your father said he killed it.”
The old sheriff swore under his breath. He took another look through the binoculars.
“How the hell did it get so big?” he asked.
I told him. How it ate the other horses. How it has probably been roaming free all these years, eating what prey it can. Growing large and strong and now it had returned, drawn here by the campground’s influence.
“So that’s why we really should be leaving,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’re not prepared to deal with a murder horse right now.”
The old sheriff ignored me. He was still watching the dapple-gray stallion through his binoculars. Then he set them down and turned the car on.
But he didn’t drive away, as I was expecting. He turned the car around.
“It’s heading towards the farmhouse,” he said.
I sank down lower in the passenger seat and covered my face with my hands, groaning dramatically. It was likely useless to protest at this point. The old sheriff was going to go running in, just as he had with the vanishing house, and all I could do was think of a way to salvage the situation. Maybe we could grab the occupants of the house and flee with them? Get them out of the dapple-gray stallion’s path and let it find some other meal tonight - like a hapless deer or maybe a coyote?
The old sheriff pulled into the gravel driveway and put the car in neutral. He told me to go around to the side and keep a watch out for it. He’d wake up the family and get them into the car. I was grateful that he was at least going with the plan that involved running away, even if we were making a detour first to bring some people with us. I hurried around to the side of the house and scanned the field, searching for the horse’s location. Nothing. Anxiously, I raised the binoculars and swept them back and forth. It’s a horse as big as an elephant, how the heck could I not be able to see it? The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I knew that we were running out of time. Behind me, I heard the old sheriff pounding on the door, trying to rouse the family inside.
The knocking abruptly stopped. I realized, belatedly, that I hadn’t heard voices or the door open. I turned, just in time to see the old sheriff round the corner. He paused at the edge of the house, drew his gun, and fired three shots. Then he turned back at me and he didn’t even have to yell at me to run. I was already on it.
The horse had gotten around us. I don’t know how something that big could be so stealthy, but it’d done it. It’d gone around the house and cut us off from the car.
There was a barn. I yelled at the old sheriff to make for that; we could climb up into the hayloft. It wasn’t a great plan, as far as they go, but it was all I had. I knew in my heart that we couldn’t outrun a horse, but we had to try. And I also knew - and I hated myself for this thought - that I could outrun the old sheriff.
I knew that he’d let me. And that he’d turn and fire off the rest of the bullets in his pistol before he let the horse overtake him and catch up to me.
I hit the barn door without hearing a single gunshot. I shouldered it aside and fell into the interior, desperately hoping we’d find, I dunno, sheep or something inside that the horse could eat instead of us. No such luck. There were tractors and other machinery, but no animals. I ran for the ladder leading into the loft and finally, halfway up, I dared to look behind me.
The old sheriff wasn’t far behind. He hit the ladder and climbed and then we were both up there, on a narrow platform that was used to store tools instead of hay. From outside the barn I heard the heavy thump of immense hooves on the packed earth. They paused and I heard a horse whicker.
“Maybe it didn’t see us go inside,” the old sheriff whispered.
“There’s no way,” I hissed back. “It could have caught either of us. It’s toying with us.”
This is a thought I’ve had for a long time. The horse could have killed me itself, back when I was a child. It had the opportunity. Instead, it coerced my brother to do the deed. It wanted me to die at the hand of someone I loved and it wanted him to carry the burden of blood when - if - he came back to himself.
The horse wasn’t merely hungry. It was cruel. It didn’t kill to eat, it killed for the suffering it caused.
The minutes stretched on, measured only by the frantic beating of my heart. Beside me, the old sheriff carefully reloaded his gun. There was nothing but silence outside. Then - I don’t know how long after we took refuge in the hayloft - the door creaked. We both tensed, I reached for my knife, the old sheriff readied his gun.
A man stepped through the doorway. He carried a flashlight in one hand and a revolver in the other.
“Is someone in here?” he called. “I saw the car in the drive. What’s going on?”
He moved into the interior of the barn, sweeping the floor with his flashlight, searching for whoever was hiding inside. I covered my mouth with both hands, for I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
Behind him, the shadow of a horse’s head and neck had appeared in the open barn doorway.
It sidled past the doors. Its bulk was so big that it had to duck and its sides barely fit through the frame.
The sheriff made to raise his gun. I knew his intentions clearly as if they were my own. He would shoot the stallion in an attempt to drive it away from the unsuspecting farmer. The horse already knew we were here - it had to, this was all just a game to it. But to be shot at again, at such a close range where the sheriff was bound to hit… that would be an insult. This would no longer be a game. And perhaps the man would escape in the ensuing commotion, but the old sheriff would not.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him backwards. I wasn’t stronger than him. But I only had to hold him back for a moment. Long enough that there would be no one left he could save.
Below us, the man screamed in terror as the horse reared over him, a towering giant, its head almost touching the barn. Its brown eye shone at me like a pit, the edge a thin milky white line of sclera. Then it came crashing down like lightning. Its hoof slammed onto the man's head, driving his torso down into the ground. Like it was swatting a fly. The body exploded into a ruin of blood in all directions.
Then the horse bent its head, bit down on the corpse’s leg, and ripped it free. It swallowed it with one bite and the crunch of bone between its molars filled the air. I did not relinquish my grip on the old sheriff. He was no longer fighting me, but I felt his muscles trembling under my fingers. I didn’t know if it was from anger or from fear.
Bit by bit, the horse consumed what was left of the man. Finally, it raised its head, its muzzle stained with blood. It turned to go. It left a pulpy mess behind, the man’s head and upper body no longer recognizable as a human, smashed like overripe fruit beneath its weight.
Neither of us moved until the sound of the horse’s hooves faded away entirely. The old sheriff was the first to react.
“Dammit Kate!” he roared at me.
And he shoved me away from him. Violently. As if I repulsed him.
“You couldn’t have saved him,” I whispered from where I landed, too shocked to move.
My heart hammered painfully in my chest, like it would break. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid in my life as I was in that moment, worse than all the times I’ve been in danger of losing my life. I hadn’t realized it would hurt this much, to see someone I trust and respect staring down at me with such anger in their eyes.
“I could have tried,” he spat. “It’s more than what you do.”
I guess I deserve that. No one changes overnight and I have a long legacy behind me.
In my classes at college, while I was getting my business degree, they talked about conflict. How to de-escalate. Move towards common ground. We had a mock negotiation and the other side was briefed out in the hallway to come in fighting, to yell, to call their partner a liar and a cheat. And if they fought back, to keep escalating. If they gave ground, keep taking. When my partner yelled at me, I yelled back, and only once that brief flare of anger was exhausted did I do what the professor wanted us to learn - talk about our issues and work it out and come to a resolution.
This time, it was not a brief flare of anger. It was an inferno. All those years of resentment finally finding an outlet, a single person I could yell at. A lifetime of being held in check only for want of a target. And it spilled out like the dam had broken, a boiling sea that consumed everything before it and ran through my veins as hot as molten steel. I yelled at him. I reminded him that hadn’t I been the one to save him? Hadn’t I risked my life enough times already? I hadn’t turned the land old. I hadn’t invited these monsters here. I took this responsibility because no one else would. Because no one else could. And they hated me for it, they blamed me for it, when I was the one marked for death at the beast’s claws.
The last one surprised even me.
At the mention of the beast, some of the frustrated anger drained from his face. He turned his back to me, picked up his hat, and gruffly said that he needed to go. And he left.
It wasn’t until my anger had cooled somewhat that I realized he was my ride back to the campgrounds and I was going to have to call and wake up Bryan to come drive me home.
The old sheriff and I haven’t talked yet. I hope it’s just because he feels as guilty as I do and next time he has reason to come out to the campground we can sit down and apologize to each other for the things we said. But perhaps it’s too late. All these years I’ve taken his assistance as a silent approval of how I handle the campground and… I was wrong.
He’s never been happy with what I do.
I’m a campground manager. My family has a long legacy of keeping these things contained to our land and I’ve carried that tradition on. It’s a simple exchange. We protect the town by feeding it the lives of outsiders. Transient campers that come and go and whose deaths can be explained away. They weigh lightly on the conscience of the town, who lives in safety and never learns their faces and never carries the weight of their deaths.
I, too, did not carry the guilt of what happened to them. Not until I started talking to all of you and suddenly all my campers weren’t so impossible to relate to that I could view them as idiot fodder.
I mean… some of them are still idiots. But that’s besides the point.
It’ll take a long time to change my legacy. I don’t know if I can. After all, didn’t I let that man die? The old sheriff thought he could save that man by sacrificing himself. Perhaps he thought that was a fair exchange, but to me it wasn’t. I couldn’t let him die. It was selfish, but I can only hope he’ll understand that. And maybe, if I can save everyone else from the stallion, that will be an apology he’ll accept. [x]
Read the full list of rules.
Visit the campground's website.
Summer Information Thread - Series 29
Thanks for the award last week!
Forza Horizon 4 | Series 29 Update
Latest FH4 Release Notes: November 17th, 2020
The newly released Porsche 911 Reimagined by Singer is awarded for reaching 50% Summer Completion.
FORZATHON SHOP (changes at 7:30am Pacific)
- 600 FP Car: 2019 McLaren 720S Spider
- 350 FP Car: 1972 Hoonigan Chevrolet Napalm Nova
- Clothing: Ken Block Race Suit
- Clothing: Ken Block Helmet
- Wheelspins cost this series: 40FP & 150FP
- 50% Summer Completion: 1990 Porsche 911 Reimagined by Singer (newly released Exclusive model)
- 80% Summer Completion: 2006 Hummer H1 Alpha Open Top (previously available Exclusive model)
- 50% Series Completion: Backstage Pass - Click here to see how it works and what cars are available
- 80% Series Completion: 2013 Jeep Wrangler Unlimited DeBerti Design (previously available Exclusive model)
PHOTO CHALLENGE - 3%
- HEADLINETRIO - Photo contains two other drivers; Photo contains the Horizon Festival Mainstage
- Reward: Super Wheelspin
FORZATHONEarn 100 FP from the weekly challenge plus 10 per Daily, plus Bonus for all, double for owning the Lake Lodge
Weekly Challenge - 15% TotalMust be done in sequence to count.
- Own and drive the 1993 McLaren F1
- Win 2 Road Circuit events in your McLaren F1
- Earn 15 Ultimate Speed Skills in your McLaren F1
- Win a Street Scene event at The Marathon in your McLaren F1
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- Earn 2 stars or better at any Speed Trap
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- Earn 3 Daredevil Skills
- Closely overtake while racing to earn 3 Pass Skills
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- Earn 2 Awesome Drafting Skills
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- Reward: Super Wheelspin
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- Reward: 1992 Lancia Delta HF Integrale EVO (previously available Exclusive model)
- As of Series 24 you don't have to win the event to earn the reward.
- PR Stunt: Whitewater Falls Danger Sign | 551.2 feet
- Reward: Super Wheelspin
- PR Stunt: Derwent Reservoir Speed Trap | 190.0 mph
- Reward: Super Wheelspin
- PR Stunt: Carden Creag Speed Zone | 95.0 mph
- Reward: Super Wheelspin
- Championship: "Sheer Driving Pleasure" | Road Racing | (A800) BMW
- Reward: 2010 BMW M3 GTS (previously available Exclusive model)
- Championship: "Simplify, Then Add Lightness" | Street Scene | (A800) Lotus
- Reward: 2016 Lotus 3-Eleven
- Championship: "Power, Beauty, and Soul" | Street Scene | (S1 900) Aston Martin
- Reward: 1958 Aston Martin DBR1
MONTHLY EVENTS - 21% Total
- Monthly Rivals: 1987 Mercedes-Benz AMG Hammer Coupe at Moorehead Wind Farm Circuit - 6%
- Online Adventure: Requires 1 Qualifying race to get ranked - 15%