Eiren hid behind a hedge and pressed his hands to his knees. He should have expected this response, this desperate attempt to secure him once again, but he wasn't any less startled by the calls for his name. Lord Van Wyk had arrived shortly after he escaped to the grounds, and from the sound of the whistling, and the howling in response, the Lord had enlisted the help of the furious greyhound.

This did not bode well, but as long as he made his way to the lake before the dog made its way to his throat, there was still hope. Unfortunately, his main path to the waters was blocked by the priest, who Eiren could see from his hiding place. A shotgun was balanced strangely in his arms, and the gardener walked beside him, similarly equipped. Had Father Bele turned so quickly against him? Of all the inhabitants of Kelfordshire, he sensed that the priest was most sympathetic to his cause, and it almost hurt Eiren to see him armed and looking for him.

A branch cracked nearby, and he fled, pressing himself into the hedges and further into the gloom.

Father Bele marched outside and scowled into the setting sun. He and Rodebret were to wait for the dog to arrive, but Eiren's sudden departure had thrown everything into chaos. The Lord had arrived only moments after, the screaming of his daughter and learning of what happened sending him into a cold rage. He had turned around and walked right back outside, whistling for his dog.

The priest did not know what would happen to Eiren if he was caught, but he did not want the result to come to fruition. Rodebret and he discussed - very quietly and quickly - the matter of the notorious dog, and it was agreed: they would have to kill the beast before it killed Eiren.

I care not for his vile whims anymore, Father Bele thought with a dark conviction. Let Eiren do what I could not, and quit this forsaken place! He turned to Rodebret, and the gardener nodded. Hefting a gun on his shoulder, courtesy of Rodebret, the priest gave the near-gone sun one last hard look and set off for the graveyard at Hatchhanger Abbey, feeling as though the night was quickly closing in on him.

Eiren clutched his precious maps and papers, jammed inside his notebook, to his chest and moved his feet desperately across the Kelfordshire grounds. He could not spare the frequent looks he threw behind his shoulders, but neither could he help himself. The fear of the hunter turned him into a small animal, forced into a tunnel too tight to breathe. His heart seized in his thin chest; his lungs seemed almost to cave in on themselves.

He was terrified of the Lord, and his questionable priest: was Father Bele sympathetic to his cause, or was he a pawn in converting and killing the rebellious members of the Estate? Either way, he could not afford to waste time - he needed to get to the lake, and soon.

Hiding in the crypts, Father Bele and Rodebret held their guns with nervous attention. Any sound at all caused the priest to jump violently. After he had shown the sinister crypts, filled with the corpses of the most important Van Wyks, to the gardener, he hadn't been able to sleep at all. Visions plagued him all through the night, and the echoes from under his head continued for hours. Even now, with guns and the presence of somebody more physically capable than himself, he was loathe to remain for long in the unlit cave.

Father Bele was certain that the greyhound had been scurrying in and out of the crypts, sneaking kills into the graveyard. The smell in here was only enhanced by his inability to see - vision being useless, his scent was unfortunately enhanced.

Up above, he heard a gunshot, and he wept inside. Lord Van Wyk never let his prey escape, and he was indeed after Eiren now. Run, boy! Run, damn it!

A gunshot cut into the darkness, breaking the silence of the woods that surrounded him. He gasped and tripped, pitching forward onto the grass. The papers spilled forth and he barely held in a shriek of despair. He groped for a moment - the moon was selfishly being sucked in by the clouds, erasing the available light. Eiren squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before forcing his clumsy feet back under his frame, and with the papers back in his arms, he darted forth once more.

The gunshot was a painful reminder that he had horridly underestimated how much he was wanted at Kelfordshire Castle. He wondered in a detached sort of way if his pursuers cared whether or not he was killed, but the thought was quickly stifled as he recalled how close the shot had been.

He threw a pained glance up at the moon, slithering out from its place behind the clouds. Where he was going, there was no sign of those great beams of light, and for that, he was glad. Hopefully, he could make his way without being spotted, but with the shrewd eyes of a man used to hunting at night, Eiren felt that his chances were growing slimmer the longer he took.

"I think... I can hear somethin', down that way." Father Bele could not see where the gardener pointed, but he could only assume it was further into the foul void before them. The crypts were not terribly large, not with the reluctance or selection most of the Van Wyks had shown towards producing offspring, but still, the empty room ahead was prepared for many generations to come.

His foot scuffed against the side of a heavy sarcophagus, and he bit back a curse. The sound echoed loudly in the room and masked the sounds that ricocheted in earnest where Rodebret had noticed.

"Prepare yourself... I don't want to waste time getting a perfect shot when it's in here."

"Of course, Father." The tension weighed on the priest. His heart quailed, and he begged Eiren onward, wherever he had run, before the dog caught up to him and dragged him like a rat to the Lord.

A howl - quick and sharp - echoed across the grounds, and it was followed at once by another bullet, this one splitting the air by Eiren's ear. His mouth filled with blood as he bit his tongue, smothering an exclamation, and his body jerked backward. They're helping each other! he swore inwardly, spitting and pressing himself against the fencing for a moment. He looked back over his shoulder, but he could see nothing beyond the fog and the looming shadows of the statues. Go! he urged himself, and he let out a whimper as he continued his race.

After a few more staggered seconds of running, he came to the corner, the bend in the fence that marked the edge of the property. The lake was not far - he was sure of it - and he threw himself to the earth. He pressed himself into the dirt and clumsily dropped his things, spreading open the pages of the map in the dark. He looked up desperately. It seemed the lake was just ahead, but he saw nothing, nothing other than the damned statues. They seemed to be everywhere, as a part of the estate as the hound seemed to be.

Sliding forward, he reached his hands out to the statues, pulling himself along and there, faintly revealing itself amidst the fog, was the lake. It was gray and still and empty, but Eiren still sensed something, that peculiar notion of life and sentience in the water. The feeling unsettled him greatly, but he had to ignore it.

As though hearing his sentiment, the dog let loose a cry, and a final bullet tore the night apart, clipping both Eiren's cheek and the foot of the statue before him. Unable to hold in a scream, he threw his hands over his head and ground his teeth together. You must do this, he thought, panic and fear swallowing up anything more complex. He slid behind the statue and clawed at the ground, the dirt cold and unforgiving. In a moment, a small hole appeared, and he hastily slid his things inside. It was crude and easily spotted, but he hoped, with his heart in his throat, that the contents of the diary and map would be overlooked as long as he was missing. He hoped that he had not misjudged this desire to keep him on the estate, but there was no more time for planning, no more time for preparation.

Eiren stood, shaking horribly, and swallowed, the coppery blood grating down his throat. He looked down at the lake, like an endless, hopeless mouth. It was time. There was either nothing after this, or everything. Life, or death. Freedom, or resignation. Eiren Adair took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, began to pray.

The noises increased tenfold, shattering the silence. The gardener said something to him, but he couldn't hear anything other than those horrible echoes. At least, he thought without any degree of reassurance, ghosts aren't the ones responsible.

Something scuttled and scuffed in the dark, and the priest nearly fired a shot out of surprise. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but before he could turn the gun, Rodebret's voice was in his ear.

"Aim at the center; I'll protect the entrance. I don't want it gettin' outside."

Father Bele nodded, not realizing the gardener could not see the movement. Aim at the center, he repeated to himself, feeling the gun waver and shake. Aim at the center.

There! Loudly, against the floor, something clacked and stumbled, but before the priest could register that they were heavy gasps and breaths, and not the precise snarls of the greyhound, he had pulled the trigger into the middle of the blackness. A peculiar, withering breath took to his ears, and his stomach sank. Was this what death sounded like? Had he at last killed the horrid greyhound?

It did not die, not yet, but the priest was petrified. He could not have pulled the trigger again if the dog was upon him, and he closed his eyes, ready for his long-awaited death.

"Have you got it?" The gardener shouted from up by the stairs, and the priest squeaked out something in the affirmative.

"It's not dead yet," he cried back, shaking violently as the odd scuffling grew closer. Kill me quickly, he thought, tears of desperation coursing down his grey face.

Suddenly, a silver light filled the room. The gardener had opened the crypt doors, hoping that an injured dog would not be so keen as to run past him.

Bathed in the reflections of the light, unable to find his proper footing, was Eiren Adair. His hands clutched at his stomach, a red smear blossoming rapidly against his soaking shirt.

Eiren? The priest froze and stared. This made no sense! Why... why was he here? Where was the dog?

"H-help... me," the dying man gasped, a look of confusion and fear mingling wildly on his face. "F-father...!" Shock rooted the priest to the ground, and he could do naught but stare as Eiren stumbled to an empty sarcophagus and fell in.

"What in the seven hells..." The gardener came rushing towards them, but when he saw the look the priest wore, he came to a worried stop.

Slowly, his eyes traveled from the shaking, crying priest and down to the corpse that lay in the open grave. Up above, another howl echoed, an antagonizing, laughing call.

I have killed another, the priest thought numbly, before crashing to the ground in a faint shock.

And so it was, that Eiren Adair, the last heir of Kenton Abbey and the Kelfordshire Estate, slipped from life to death, and at the hands of the woeful priest.