The boys huddled together, close to the orange flame and staring out into the night that surrounded them. The men,on the other hand, sat far apart, staring deep into the embers and chewing the dried fat of the bison they had pulled from their leather bags.

They were all far from home, but the men were familiar with the hunt and the land. The spears were close by, but only the boys grasped them with their hands so tightly that their hands turned white. 

“They’re close,” a boy said, quietly, and to no one in particular. His fear made him speak up, but his respect for the tribal elders kept his tongue soft. “The eyes of men, in the dark.” 

At the edge of the forest, just a few paces from where they had made their camp, was chaos. Growls, eyeshine that glimmered with each flare from the flame they had brought, and scattering leaves as the creatures paced quickly up and down the treeline, their teeth gnashing at the easy prey that lounged before them. 

The boy jabbed his spear into the darkness and looked around the fire, longing for one of the men to take the threat seriously.

The tribesmen largely had no reaction, but after a long silence, the eldest spoke:

“Do you know a man’s eyes to glow?”

The boy shook his head fast, and the eldest threw another stick of pine wood onto the fire.

“These creatures are not like us. Their eyes shine in the dark and the sun burns them up, like sap in a blaze. Why are you so afraid when your elders relax in the warmth of the fire?”

The boy trembled, and he felt the other boys relax beside him.

“How can your guard slip so low when they stand just outside the light?” the boy asked, fearing rebuke, but longing for a shred of comfort. “Their jaws snap in our ears, and their hunger stirs the ground beneath their feet.”

The eldest smiled, his white hair falling in front of his eyes. He pointed to the fire, and his smile grew. 

“Man’s fire keeps them afraid. We can sleep when they’re afraid.”

The boy felt his shoulders slump, and as the night continued with stories and laughs, and the venison from his own pouch soothed his belly, he felt himself slip into drowsiness.

The boy awoke, some few hours before daylight, when the night was darkest, and the wind was at its coldest, and every man and boy slept quietly under their blankets. 

The fire had dwindled, and the boy’s first few moments of consciousness witnessed the last breath of the flame, and the smoke that took its place drifted slowly for a moment before it disappeared in the icy gale.

There wasn’t a scream at first, only a dark figure: a man, in shredded furs that fluttered in the wind. The figure was bent over the eldest, its mouth to the old man’s throat, and in the pale moonlight, the boy could make out the dark red that pooled against the skin of the eldest, and gathered in the snow beneath his limp body.

Then came the shouts of the tribesmen, and the sudden silence as more cloaked figures snatched their lives with sudden, cracking blows. 

As the creatures fed around them, the boys shook, their foggy breath barely making it past their gasping lips. For now they were unnoticed by the beasts, but one thing was for sure.

They were in the dark now.