In the heart of the Red Forest, Lowkey was slowly recovering. His deep wounds hadn't healed yet, but he was standing. In front of him stood the hybrid white horse, letting out a faint whimper from the aftermath of yesterday's battle.
Lowkey began examining the horse, then noticed its ears twitch toward him, accompanied by a peaceful look in its eyes. He approached and gently stroked its scarred and scratched head. The horse was clearly enjoying it.
"Do you like that?"
Lowkey spoke as he continued caressing the horse's mane. The horse let out a soft rumble, a sign of contentment.
Lowkey smiled and added,
"Then consider it my thanks—for saving me and protecting me."
The hybrid horse was truly beautiful: white, with a large patch covering part of its face, neck, left front leg, and part of its left torso. On its right side, its brown eye was encircled by a black ring, while the rest of the body was pure white.
After pulling his hand away, Lowkey stared at the horse thoughtfully before saying,
"I'll call you... Skyjumper. I think it suits you."
The horse neighed proudly and struck the air with its front legs, as if proud of the majestic name fitting its strong nature.
Then, Lowkey walked toward the corpse of the black horse, its head smashed beyond recognition. He scanned the body, his eyes widening a little more with each plague-infested part he examined.
"What part would make a decent lunch?"
He muttered faintly through clenched teeth, drawing a small dagger from his belt. He stepped closer and began slicing into its thigh. The sound of tearing tissue was disgusting, but he didn't care. He cracked the hip joint to free the leg.
The black horse's flesh wasn't easy to deal with—tough, yet lifeless. Dead tissue is still just dead tissue.
Lowkey tore the leg off and took a raw bite. His facial expression told all—disgusting taste—but hunger and need were stronger than flavor.
Sitting atop the black horse's corpse, he held up the leg toward the hybrid:
"Want a bite? It's not that bad… or maybe you don't like the taste of your cousin?"
He chuckled under his breath while chewing, the sound of gnawing annoying the hybrid's ears.
Across from him, the hybrid white horse assumed a "not interested" posture, before lying down as well—waiting for his new friend to finish his "meal."
---
After finishing his "gourmet" meal, Lowkey threw the black horse's corpse over the hybrid's back. He spoke in a sarcastic tone that bordered on serious:
"Carry your cousin for me, we might need him again."
Apparently, the hybrid would have to suffer through Lowkey's awful sense of humor before getting used to it.
The hybrid horse walked in silence, carrying the black corpse on its back, while Lowkey led the way as if he knew it.
Lowkey's ear twitched. He stopped, looked left and right, then crouched and placed his hand on the white sand beneath his feet. He glanced at the black tree next to him, its red veins glowing faintly.
Nothing seemed unusual. Everything felt too normal.
The horse's ears twitched from time to time as well, but they kept walking, even as the thorny branches scratched their heads, almost trying to dig into their skulls.
These events repeated themselves like a time loop—until they both finally stopped.
"Looks like we're not getting out of here anytime soon, my friend… or at least not easily."
Lowkey murmured, casting a side glance at his horse companion, then unloaded the black horse's corpse.
"I apologize for what you're about to see, but we don't have the luxury of choice right now."
He gestured for the hybrid to step back, then plunged his dagger into the black horse's belly, slicing from chest to thigh.
The stench of blood hit Lowkey's nose, causing him to space out for a second, but he quickly returned to the task, pulling out the intestines.
He kept pulling until the entire gut was out, then began measuring it against his arm, again and again—resulting in an approximate length of 27 meters.
But he wasn't done yet.
Next, he started separating the skin from the muscles. A wet peeling sound echoed, like ripping tape off plastic. Lowkey frowned from the grotesque sight, wiped sweat off his brow, and continued. After flaying the hide, he separated the meat from the bones, turning the corpse into piles of raw materials.
Any anatomist witnessing this would probably quit medicine and become a butcher.
"This is a good dissection job... Come here, horse. And don't assume I'm some psychopathic demon enjoying this."
A mischievous glint danced in Lowkey's eyes. Anyone who knew him would say his recent isolation in the forest—and everything before it—was starting to mess with his mind.
The horse didn't seem in great shape either. A faint snort escaped its nostrils as it approached Lowkey, gazing down at the piles of raw material—once a fellow creature.
Even if the black horse had been just another plague beast, and even if the hybrid was a carnivore—it wasn't easy to see the blood of your kind, let alone see them reduced to components.
The piles were neatly sorted: bones, muscles, intestines, skin, and a heap of random bits.
Lowkey took the skin and a breastbone, then stretched the hide across the sand, sprinkling it with sand to help the process using the bone.
He scraped the skin, removing fatty and fleshy residue. After finishing the laborious scraping, he buried the hide in the sand.
It wasn't much more than a bad tanning job on good leather. If he kept this up, Lowkey might earn himself the title of "The Butcher" or "The Tanner."
---
Half an hour after burying the hide, Lowkey began shaping it into two saddlebags connected by leather straps—something resembling a traditional pack saddle.
He punched small holes along the edges, then threaded through them with tanned leather strips, stitching the bags together.
Pride gleamed on Lowkey's face as he held his creation up like a newborn child.
"Look, hybrid horse, I made you a backpack!"
He glanced between the bags and the horse lying nearby.
The horse looked completely indifferent—perhaps even slightly annoyed.
Lowkey paid no mind. He stuffed the bags with meat and bones, then strapped the pack onto the horse's back.
He eyed the horse proudly, chest puffed and grinning:
"It's not perfect, but it looks great on you. But pride comes later—we've got work to do."