Tyrl of the Tomah

The smell was faint at first. It wafted through the very soil, coming up from below him, not carried on the limited air current. The smell was rancid. It held subtle hints of putrefaction in it. He paused, sniffing, abhorring what came to him but knowing that he must suffer through it until he knew what it was. It was old. It was ancient. It had settled into this earth below Morganland for a time he could not visualize. It was ugly. It was malevolent. It stank of an absolute, pure evil. Absolute, pure evil. It had settled here long before humans had occupied the land. It was not of this earth. The smell was comprised of many awful, hateful things not found in even the worst parts of the surrounding land. And it was diabolical. That settled into his gut. As soon as he understood the naked malevolence seeping out from this evil under the earth, he hurried out of his tunnels to the surface. Emerging, he paused briefly in the dying light of the day, breathing in the cleaner air, allowing it to cleanse his nose of the evil. When it had receded enough, he scurried quickly to get out of Morganland. His instinct knew the ground to be tainted. While the smell did not reach this level, he could sense the tendrils of evil reaching up. He scurried back to his family’s habitation, and did not stop until he was sure the evil no longer lingered beneath him. It was full dark by the time he stopped. The moon was not to come out tonight. Feeling safer in his homeland, he found a bush to curl under and fell into an exhausted, and disturbed, sleep. He awoke in the light of a red dawn. As his eyes fluttered open, he brought his hands to his face. He brought his hands to his face – He brought his hands – Hands. He splayed his fingers wide. His fingers. His hands. He pressed them – hands – against his face – pressed them – against his face – his hairless, furless face. He was awake. He was returned. He was human once again.