And so it begins...(rough)

Exhausted, he lets out all his relief in one long sigh, "Thank Heavens that's over."

These are becoming exceedingly more difficult every time. The only reason to keep up this Burden, is that there is solace in human kind's survival. What they don't know and what they don't have to endure themselves keeps the race alive. The few branded, unlucky ones help keep the balance among Men and the Unknown. The task itself is but a small part of the Burden carried by these few unholy beasts. The Ruse is a much more exhausting and debilitating process. Forbidden from telling anyone who they really are or what amazing talents they possess. Hell, they hardly even know who else among the living also carries the Burden. There are a few though who have broken the rules. Those who have revealed secrets to the humans, thankfully these secrets are mostly written off as fiction or tall tales. Hated by those who abide, these greedy unfaithful compromise the task. These beasts are not beasts in any noticeable way. They are not dragons, monsters, or any other boogeyman sort. Just normal everyday individuals. They are among us in our lives. Professionals stay hidden well, taking up a Ruse in lives that align well with the real task at hand. Few get greedy, make costly mistakes, or become one of the Unfaithful.

This beast that lays in a heap under the light of the moon is one of the professionals. Expert in every way of concealing himself and yet accomplishing his tasks with surgical precision. As the drug subsides within his muscles and bones, he begins to take on his shape that most would notice. Frail, lanky, and unkempt would be the way most describe him. This is his Ruse, chosen masterfully and has taken years to perfect. A far cry from his shape branded upon his soul by The Director. That shape would be forever burned into eternity.

"Cletus!' a voice came ringing across the plain. "Cletus!"

"Goddamit I hate that name," his voice a deep rumble but slowly increasing in pitch to more of a squeak.

Soon a small crippled man collapsed upon him. "Are you alright? I heard screams like that of a swine being beaten by its master. What happened?"

"Nothing, just a coyote that I had to shoot so that it would leave us alone."

"Are you sure thats all that it was, sir?" said the small man.

"Dammit, Claude I am fine! Now fetch my horses so I can get this buggy back to town so that I can start the Process."

The Process was to most people in the small town simply the burial process. In actuality it was something far more complex.

"Yes, sir, right away sir"

While Claude rounded up the stock, Cletus began wrapping the body in the fine blankets used to preserve the sight of the ungodly creature sprawled before him. The word amazing was all that he could think of. He had done this numerous times over the last century, but yet it still inspired him with awe each and every time. The blankets preserved the human nature of the creature so that no one but he himself could see it for what it really was. And what were they exactly? He has never been given this answer, not so far anyway. He had his theories, but no way of proving any of them. He did as he was told, that's all that really mattered right now. The opposite proved to be too dangerous and painful. He had learned that lesson all too well only a few times. Determined to figure out this devious task, he seeks information in books he has found in his journeys. Some have helped and others have just been more fiction and tall tales. Each time that he finds out that the information in a certain book is only fiction, he becomes furious. Cursing these Unfaithful authors for their damnation and spoiling of useful information for their own greed. At times he has tracked down the Unfaithful and slain them himself just to end their treachery. This is not necessarily looked down upon by the Director. They will eventually be killed anyway and the more he erases, the less the Director's Clan will have to eradicate.

"I have found the horses, sir. One seems to be maimed by the wolf."

"Shoot it."

"SIr?"

"Do as I say, then harness the rest to the buggy. Quickly, we are losing the light of the moon!"

This violent attitude was strange to Claude. Cletus had never been so thoughtless in years passed, but was increasingly so lately. He knew something was wrong, but what?

"The steeds are ready sir," the shaken Claude stated.

"Very well"

They arrived in town just before dawn. The whorehouse lights were dimming and some of the hotel lights were beginning to come alive. A few drunks lay scattered along the street, laying in odd positions. Many had tripped and landed just before passing out from the night's libations. They headed straight for the Office as Cletus liked to call it. In fact, it was nothing more than a butcher shop with a parlor. He dreamed of one day working from a respectable establishment. Far-fetched ideas in a world of harsh realities. He was doomed to live out his duties in this shit town. As they passed the saloon, the Blue Moon, Cletus spotted the owner out of the corner of his eye staring at him from his balcony. Sirus, the owner, was a very evil looking man. Years of hard living, and also hard drinking, had made him leathery and very intimidating. Cletus was persistently harassed by him, all the while knowing if given the chance he could snap Sirus like a twig in an instant. Not now; the townspeople feared Sirus. The more they feared Sirus, the less focus would be put on him. He needed this cover even if it was at a cost.

"Here we are sir," Claude said with a bit of relief.

"Excellent. We have a big day tomorrow. Lets get this corpse in the Office and catch some much needed rest. We will start the Process in the morning."