At first, his mind refused to name what he was looking at. Had you been in his position, your mind would do much the same.
The shape of what he saw stood partially veiled between two crooked trees, motionless enough to pass for warped bark if one didn't stare too long.
But Kenneth had learned long ago that the difference between scenery and threat often came down to patience. Besides, it wasn't like he could look away even if he wanted to.
So he watched. And the forest watched him back in return.
The figure staring at him was all kinds of wrong. Not grotesque or make-you-want-to-barf kind of wrong, at least not in the obvious way battlefield carnage often was, but worn in the manner of something assembled from memory rather than design.
It stood nearly upright. Key word here being nearly.
Its spine bowed subtly forward, as though burdened by an invisible weight, while its arms hung too long at its sides, fingers grazing the tops of the grass without quite touching.
