#kicks him away AT FULL POWER LIKE A SKITTISH HORSE

[rexscanonwife]

1am HURRY POST CRINGE 🙈🙈🙈

[officialleehadan]

Nothing but Trouble

I know people love horses in Fantasy, but in the forests I’m from, they are... well... nothing but trouble.

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(It’s moving.)

Mikel felt the overwhelming urge to beat his head against the nearest tree-trunk, but to do it, he would have to dismount, and his horse might very well decide to bolt if he did.

“I know it’s moving,” he said and scrubbed a hand over his face as his horse eyed the river before them with his ears pinned back. “it’s a river. They do that. You’ve seen rivers before.”

(I’m not gong in there. It’s moving. It might eat me.)

Roan was a difficult mount on a good day, and Mikel had bought him so that his former owner didn’t sell him for leather. Prone to panic, sometimes biting, and puffing up so his saddle didn’t fit properly, only a druid could have made a mount out of the problematic horse.

As it turned out, Roan was his Familiar, and wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth.

Sometimes a literal kick in the teeth. Being a Familiar hadn’t sweetened Roan’s temper one bit.

Dammit, he had told his troop-captain that bringing horses up the mountains was a bad idea. They just weren’t made for this kind of terrain. The low-hanging vines made for thorny obstacles, and the horses were sinking into the sticky black mud of the trail with every step.

And now there was a river. 

He might be a druid, and a good rider besides, but there was nothing he could do when sixteen hands of horse decided that the river was going to eat them. 

The rest of the troop was staring at him, and Mikel sighed before getting off. He kept a good grip on the reigns,  just in case Roan decided to be a problem. With luck, he wouldn’t have to do this with every horse in the troop. Roan was the worst of them, and if he decided to be agreeable, the rest probably would too

“It’s water,” he repeated, and tugged until Roan bent to sniff cautiously at the river. “Yes, moving water, but it’s shallow. You would see if there was something in there that could eat you.”

(I don’t like it,) Roan told him petulantly, but he reluctantly allowed Mikel to lead him across the shallow river ford. (Water should not move.)

Mikel didn’t answer, and did breathe a sigh of relief when the rest of the troop horses discussed Roan’s river crossing and decided that, no, it was probably not going to eat them this time. Probably. 

“Everything alright, Druid?” 

Troop-Captain Yyves was remarkably patient, all things considered. Mikel resented him deeply both for being such a good man, and also for bringing the damn horses on this particular venture. 

“Peachy,” Mikel replied darkly and hoped his boots would dry before nightfall. It wasn’t a particularly warm day, but they would have a fire, and maybe that would help. He mounted back up and took the lead again. He was the guide for this whole farce of a mission. At least everyone was across the river now. “There should be a good place to camp not too far ahead.”

“Lead on.”

For a blissful ten minutes, Mikel dared to relax.

(The ground feels funny,) Roan said, and his ears flipped back like he was considering whether or not to snake back and try to bite Mikel’s legs. If he tried it, Mikel might just stake him out for the wolves. Getting a bridle on the stubborn creature was bad enough, even when Roan was cooperating. (I don’t like it.)

“It’s mud,” Mikel said, and resigned himself to the whole troop laughing at him. Poor fools. None of the other horses liked the mud either, and one or tow of them were contemplating what to do about it. “Of course it feels funny.”

(I don’t like it.)

“We’ll be past it soon, and I’ll wash your legs the next time we come to a river.”

And probably get bitten, kicked, or shoved over for his trouble, but that was life with his particularly, bad-tempered, Familiar.

(In the moving water?)

“In the moving water.”

Some of the soldiers were laughing at him. He tried to ignore them, and hoped their own horses were as difficult as his.

(I don’t like the moving water. It might eat me.)

“The river is not going to eat you!”

(It might. It’s moving.)

Horses. They were, on the whole, a decidedly skittish animal, and some were worse than others. Oh sure there were some, like the Troop-Commander’s hulking grey mare, who were trained for war. 

Roan was not one of those, and neither were most of the other horses in the troop. They were scouts, and needed speed over muscle.

Unfortunately, fast horses also tended to spook.

So of course, the moment they cleared the trees, and the mud, a vine fell across the trail, right in front of Roan’s hooves.

(SNAKE!)

“Oh hell,” Mikal muttered, and locked his knees into his saddle, grateful for his saddlehorn and the grip it provided.

Roan, almost at the same moment, began both bucking madly, and spinning in tight circles as Mikel did his best not to get thrown.

(SNAKE!) screamed one of the other horses, and began kicking in every direction, which only got the others going. 

(SNAKE!)

(WHERE?!)

(IT TRIED TO EAT ME!)

(RUN AWAY!)

“It was a vine!” Mikal yelled and tried to get his damn horse under control before the whole lot of them could stampede into who-knew-what. He could hear the snakes too. They were absolutely not interested in the horses, but there was no convincing the horses of that. 

Roan, of course, was having a full-force meltdown. He had mostly stopped spinning, and the bucks were getting less enthusiastic as the vine continued to not move, but he danced furiously in place.

“Are you done?!” Mikel demanded when Roan finally stilled. “It was a vine, not a snake!”

(SNAKE!) Roan yelped, and gave a little bunny kick that rattled Mikel’s teeth in his head. (WHERE?)

“There is not a snake,” Mikel snarled, and pushed his power outwards. Normally he didn’t need to do this with his own damn horse, but drastic times called for drastic measures. When he found Roan’s mind, he pushed down the panic and spread calm in its’ place. “It is a vine. Like all the other vines in this forest.”

(It was going to bite me!) Roan protested as Mikel spread his influence from horse to horse until all of them were calm again. With no sign of his previous panic, Roan stepped over the now-forgotten vine with an air of one who is doing something far below his dignity. (I had to warn everyone.)

“It was a vine,” Mikel growled, and cursed his horse, the troop-Captain, and this whole damn mission. “And if you try to bite me or buck me off one more time, I am feeding you to the wolves.”

(There are wolves here?!)

“What-“ Mikel didn’t even have time to grab on as Roan took off at his fastest canter.

Straight for the low-hanging vines.

Mikel’s back impacted with the muddy ground as the vines, and a branch, caught him clean across the chest. He coughed for breath and muttered dire threats as an actual storm-cloud began to grow directly over his head in response to his temper. 

When he glared at it, the little black cloud flashed with lightning and began to rain, directly and only on him.

Roan, the traitor, kept going and rapidly vanished down the muddy trail.

Yyves was laughing so hard he was nearly out of his saddle himself at the sight of his drenched, dismayed, druid.

“Someone go catch the horse,” he choked out between tears of mirth. “Druid, are you dead?”

“I am going to kill my Familiar,” Mikel said darkly, and glared at the storm cloud some more. It flashed with lightning again and gave an adorable little growl of thunder. “I told you that horses were a bad idea!”

+++

Uncollected Fantasy:

Below the Fog

Glitter Bold

God-Touched Tide

Into the Darkness

Turn Me

Wolf Moon

Blood Moon

Hallowed Halls Memorial

A Kiss to Heal a Broken Heart

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[kohakuhime]

Artemis had been on his way to the kitchen, Talia not far behind, when Sara popped into view. Her face was inches from his and cold air radiated between them. Her hands flashed for his shoulders. “Artemis!”

Artemis yelped at the contact, stumbling backwards to get away. Talia silently steadied him and Artemis straightened. “Sara, we’ve been over this before, don’t do that!” he snapped. “I don’t—“

“Artemis, help him!”

Artemis registered the distress in her voice and instantly sobered. Beside him, Talia stiffened. “Who? What’s happened?”

“It’s Abastor! Artemis, you’ve got to do something!” Sara begged. Her electric green eyes were lit with fear. That more than anything caught his attention — Sara was rarely afraid. “I can’t do anything, I’m bound to the house—they’re taur bucking, Artemis, he’ll break a leg—“

Taur Bucking. The latest “craze” to swing into the region, in which roving gangs of thrill seekers sought out, tied up, and used unwilling centaurs as rodeo horses. More than one centaur had ended up with dislocated hips or knees from this, even more with cracked hooves and broken legs and spines. Artemis had heard of it, but he had not thought anyone would target Abastor—the centaur was gentle-natured and well-known in this area.

Clearly, though, someone had.

Artemis was already gathering his magic, feeling the familiar charge in the air around him as it concentrated in his ring. The scent of ozone filled the air around them, and Talia inadvertently snarled at the change in the atmosphere. “Where?” he demanded, voice curt and thrumming in power.

“The alley down the street, I saw them haul him away—Artemis—!”

But Artemis did not hear the rest of her sentence, the air shifting and warping as the teleportation spell activated. Talia and Sara disappeared, and in their place came the outside world.

Artemis found himself in the middle of the road, down a ways from his home. The sun was starting to set and hardly anyone was out; he took a moment to reorient, and looking over his shoulder he noticed passing pedestrians avoiding a break in the road. He had overshot the distance, he realized, but he could hear raucous laughter, whoops and hollers, and the tell-tale clop of hooves on the cobblestone. Artemis followed the sounds with growing fury.

He turned the corner and stopped, the world freezing in place.

There were five men in the small cul-de-sac, each standing a safe distance away from the center of the road—in which a sixth man was astride the currently bucking and twisting Abastor.

Abastor’s arms had been bound behind him, his forelegs roped together; the rope was being held by two of the men, keeping Abastor from fleeing. A rope was looped around his neck, the end of which was wrapped around the rider’s hand. Abastor’s glasses were gone, face flushed and hair matted and tangled. He fought and bucked to get the offender off his back, giant hooves slamming into the cobblestone as he writhed. He danced in place for one moment more before he bucked once again.

“C’mon, Damon!” called one of the onlookers. “Let us have a turn!”

“He’ll kill you if I get off his back!” retorted the one named Damon, and as Artemis watched the man dug his heels into Abastor’s sides. The centaur’s back arched and he reared, letting out a strangled cry. It was evident that Abastor was tiring, however, and even more evident that he was scared; the rope around his neck was pulled back even harder and Abastor choked, staggering in mid-buck and stumbling but regaining his feet. His flanks and knees were slicked with blood.

Artemis’s vision tinged red.

“HOW DARE YOU!” he thundered, his voice echoing in the confined space.

Everyone jumped and seven pairs of eyes swinging to Artemis as he strode forward. His hand sliced through the air, magic pulsing through his fingertips. The rider was thrown violently to the ground at Abastor’s feet; whether through instinct or some shred of kindness left for his attackers, Abastor did not trample him and instead staggered away. He stood to one side, breathing heavily and legs trembling.

Artemis jerked his hand at the others gathered around, forcing them all into the center of the alley as he advanced on them. “What part of you thinks this is funny?” Artemis spat, watching them cower beneath his fury. “How dare you ride him?! How dare you — and within walking distance of my house, no less!”

One of them actually had the gall to look up and offer a timid, “B-but he’s part horse!”

Artemis rounded on the speaker, eyes blazing. The offender squeaked and shrank in place. “Whether he’s part horse or part unicycle, he did not ask for you to turn him into your form of entertainment! He’s no different from you and he has earned your respect, whether he’s full or part human!” he snarled. “Would you like it if I saddled you up and whipped you and used gods-damned spurs on you!?”

“We aren’t horses!” piped up another man, voice stronger.

Artemis’s eyes glinted and his hand moved, forming a sigil in the air in front of them. They didn’t even have time to protest before they had shifted, transformed into six donkeys. Artemis spotted a spare rope that likely would have been used on Abastor and used it to tie the donkeys together with a flick of his wrist. “No,” he said coldly, “but I’ve never seen so many jackasses in one place before.”

Artemis glowered at them in disgust as they registered what happened, fearful brays rising from the crowd. Fools, the lot of them. No respect at all for others, no kindness or caring for other people in the—

Artemis turned sharply when he heard a heavy thump behind him. Abastor had sunk to ground, breathing heavily and still shaking; his human torso had fully folded, hands and arms still feebly fighting to free themselves. Fury immediately melted into concern as Artemis hurried to Abastor’s side. As Artemis approached, however, the centaur stiffened and tried to stagger back to his feet.

Artemis stopped. He couldn’t risk riling Abastor up any further than he was—one direct kick from Abastor’s heavy hooves and Artemis could end up seriously hurt. “Easy, Abastor,” he said soothingly. “It’s only me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Abastor’s sides were still heaving, his hair hanging in his face. The centaur could not see beyond the curtain of curly dark hair. Still, he could see the tension bleeding out of Abastor’s shoulders as he sank back to the ground.

Artemis heard a small sound behind him and turned in time to spot Talia ghosting to his side. Green-gold eyes flitted once at the donkeys curiously, then flinted when she felt the magic surrounding them. She knew exactly what they were. “Talia, watch them,” Artemis ordered. “Not one of them leaves.”

He couldn’t help but feel slightly vindictive when Talia’s eyes flashed amber as she blocked their path and the donkeys all brayed in alarm. Even though they didn’t entirely understand why they were so afraid of her, the fact they were prey animals was controlling their instincts - and all prey animals naturally feared a werewolf.

With that situation remedied, Artemis then returned his focus to Abastor. He carefully approached again, and this time Abastor didn’t struggle to his feet. Artemis knelt, slowly brushing Abastor’s hair out of his face so he could see the wizard. His eyes went to the centaurs flanks, immeasurably relieved that the cuts were only superficial; a couple looked like they were fairly deep from the spurs, but nothing a batch of Mikel’s herbal ointment couldn’t fix. “I’m going to untie you. It’ll just be a moment,” he said soothingly.

Artemis dared not use magic. Centaurs were skittish around it to begin with and he didn’t want Abastor to hurt himself worse. Instead, he reached for the rope tied around Abastor’s neck—if Abastor suddenly panicked, he didn’t want that rope getting any tighter. He found himself hissing in fury and sympathy as he saw the ugly rope burn marring Abastor’s skin. “Hang on a moment, I’ll get this off you first.”

Abastor’s eyes found Artemis’s, clouded and dazed but trusting, and Artemis felt his heart ache. He might have found a way to protect his home and those who lived under his roof, but beyond the walls surrounding his home he did not have as much power to shield them. “I’m so sorry,” Artemis said gently, voice shaking. “This shouldn’t have happened, Abastor.”

The knot loosened beneath his fingertips and pulled away, and Artemis flung the rope off with disgust. It wasn’t too long after that when Artemis had the rope binding Abastor’s arms undone. Artemis was relieved to see something more coherent in the dark eyes meeting his.

There was a soft noise behind him, and Artemis turned to find Talia standing behind him. “Talia?”

She held out Abastor’s glasses, lenses smudged but intact and frames surprisingly unbent. Her eyes weren’t blazing gold, instead returning to that curious shade of green-gold. Her gaze flitted to Abastor, worry lining her features as she watched the centaur.

“Thanks, kid,” Artemis said, voice gentle. “He’ll be okay.”

Talia dipped her head once, expression softening at Abastor, and then she glided back to where she had been before. There was a new line of fury in her face and the donkeys all cowered beneath it.

“Artemis?” Abastor’s voice was hoarse and distant. It was the first word Abastor had spoken and Artemis was relieved to hear it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Can you stand?” Artemis asked, offering a hand. “I’ll get you taken care of at home.”

Abastor did not immediately react and Artemis felt a new spike of concern. If Abastor could not walk he would have to find a way to get him back. Teleporting with him was out of the question, but maybe Talia could—

“I can,” Abastor said tiredly, reaching for Artemis’s hand. Artemis had enough time to brace himself before Abastor hauled himself up, though Artemis nearly fell over and staggered as Abastor’s full strength pulled against him. Bad idea — next time Talia was going to do heavy lifting.

Abastor took a moment to gain balance, and then he took a step forward. He blinked, pausing in midstep at the sight of the donkeys. “Artemis…?”

“Not sorry for that,” Artemis said flatly. “If they want to be human again, they’d best figure out an apology for you. No exceptions.”

In spite of his weariness Abastor started to protest. “Artemis, I appreciate what you’ve done but I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me. The Summoners will hear of this and — “ “Oh don’t you worry about getting me in trouble, Abastor. I can handle myself. Thank you, though,” Artemis said warmly, touched by the comment. “Your concern is well appreciated.”

His gaze went to the nervously dancing donkeys and his eyes narrowed. “Anyways, I would love to see them try to charge me with anything,” he continued pleasantly, but his voice carried an edge to it. “As far as I’m concerned, these asses are the ones in trouble. Taur bucking probably falls under kidnapping in some variants of Summoner law, and that’s before factoring in the penalties are invoked by the laws of your people.”

“Artemis - “

“Tut tut, no arguing with Artemis, bucko,” said Artemis, feigning cheerfulness. “I’ll deal with them when the time comes.”

Noticing Abastor’s reluctance to leave and the dismay on his face, though, Artemis sighed. “All right, Abastor, but only because you asked. Talia, get him home and see if you can’t get Sara to bring some of Mikel’s ointment. I’ll catch up in a moment.”

Talia dipped her head to acknowledge him, then shot one last parting and scathing look at the donkeys. Artemis watched in satisfaction as the animals tried to scatter, panic lighting their eyes — Talia knew exactly how to channel the wolf without the full moon to help her. More importantly, she could do it without revealing what she was.

Artemis waited until his charges were safely away before he waved a hand at them, feeling the invisible sigil start to fade away. “I’ve given your voices back but don’t you talk just yet,” he said coolly. “You little peons have precisely one day to each handwrite five full pages of apology to Abastor, what you will do to show respect to centaurs in the future, and why you will never engage in Taur Bucking again. It needs to be heartfelt and dripping with sincerity. You will drop it off here, where I can come get it for him. If you’re lucky, Abastor will forgive you.

“If by the end of the day you don’t have those letters ready, and if it’s not sincere in the slightest, you’ll turn back into what you are right now. Don’t even kid yourselves into thinking I can’t do that from a distance, because guess what? I can.

“Now, do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of “Yessirs” and “I’m sorry” followed this, each voice drowning the other out as they bleated out their apologies. Artemis studied them, then focused on the sigil. “All right, then. As you leave this alley, you’ll turn back to normal. I suggest you go home and get started on your apologies.”

Artemis watched them go, the enchantment fading away as the men practically scurried away from him.

What Artemis did not tell them was that they’d be walking home stark naked, or that he had just cast another spell to remove any convenient hiding places or items that could be used to cover themselves. He also decided he’d “accidentally” forget to tell them about the donkey ears they still sported, or about the patch of fur on their foreheads that read “I’m an ass” that couldn’t be hidden or shaved off until they had done as they had promised

Oops. Oh no. What a tragedy. How careless of him. He had failed to fully lift the enchantment. Someone arrest him.

With another gathering of magic and concentration, he teleported from the alleyway with a crack. He could walk, but truth be told he was worried about Abastor and preferred to get home quickly. Mikel should be coming home soon anyways from visiting family, but since Artemis only had one jar of the herbal ointment and he had asked Sara of all people to get it….

Well. She was a self-proclaimed poltergeist. No telling what she would do.

[ennayork]

Killing Her Softly Pt 2

She would remember riding on her favourite gelding that she affectionately named Prince. A beautiful creature imported from the far off country that supposedly her mother hailed from on the continent. Her sister was riding behind on her own tiny silver coated jennet named Sparkle. Their guard, Jamie, guiding Sparkle by the reins.

Jamie was a constant presence in Leta’s life. He had been a security blanket and source of comfort to know he was always there within reach ready to draw his elaborate sword at a moment’s notice to protect the siblings. Jamie was like the knight in the bedtime stories Leta read to her sister. Leta didn’t need to fawn over the High Lord’s guards or flaunt herself before courtiers if she had Jamie. 

At least that’s how it used to be.

And for many more years to come Leta could recall how birds sang between the tree branches and the air smelt of the sweet perfume of the flowers. And then birds scattered and stopped their singing. The horses grew wary and skittish. And then the beast loomed out from the bushes.

True terror Leta decided after all was said and done involved lots of confusion, and that’s perhaps what made life or death situations so horrifying was because they didn’t make any sense. Time didn’t flow right, too fast at times then too slow at others coupled with lapses in time and memory. Senses swung wildly in and out of focus.

The next thing Leta knew she was repeatedly driving a dagger into a naga praying it was dead as her half-sister screamed in terror under her. And then she collapsed certain her own death was near from the wounds she’d received in the struggle. It was in a pain induced haze she was brought back to the manor. The world felt like it had been submerged under water her vision blurry and hearing dampened.

The entire time they transported her, Leta’s hand refused to release the blood soaked dagger she’d used because Jamie’s presence was no longer enough to assure her she was safe. It didn’t matter that his hand was on her shoulder trying to comfort her, or that the threat was gone. That dagger that she’d always thought would be useless to her was now the one and only thing she trusted in. It was her only reason for being alive. Death itself would have to take it from her.

She was aware that she was covered in blood from head to toe. Both her own and the naga’s. Her hair full of dirt, leaves, and branches from when she was pinned to the earth. Her father was mortified at the wounds on her face because of scars that would never disappear. She was grateful her father was a doctor. If he hadn’t been she doubted they would have gotten her to the village in time let alone found a doctor to keep her alive. Her father had come to life the second Jamie kicked open the doors bellowing and pleading for any form of help for his lady.

Servants rushed to drag furniture in place and snatch her father’s medical equipment and whatever else they felt he needed.  It was a long and brutal day and Leta would forever be thankful for the times when the pain was so great she’d lose her grip on consciousness and slip away. By the time her father was done healing her to the best of his ability her fate was still uncertain. He’d cleaned every single one of her wounds despite the agony it caused her. No matter how many times she cried, screamed and pleaded for him to stop he never did. She didn’t know if she should hate him or thank him for that. He stitched close the large gaping wounds on her abdomen and chest, applying bandages and medicines to speed the healing processes.

She was still in too delicate a condition to be moved. Her father didn’t want to risk moving her and reopening her wounds. Not just because her life was at stake, but because it’d mean more stitches and more scars. And more importantly blood spilled in the house on bed linens and expensive rugs. That was how Leta found herself sitting up in a makeshift bed near the foyer waiting all night to see if she would live to see the next dawn.

At this time her desire to be unconscious was gone because there was no pain. She felt like she’d wasted all her reserves to feel pain because there was only numbness now. And that worried her, so she forced herself to stay awake until dawn. If she was going to die before the next sunrise she’d be awake for every minute she had left. If she’d live then there’d be time later to sleep. 

She was reading by faint candle light to herself one of her favourite sagas. Jamie collapsed on a sofa that had been carried next to her bed. 

He refused to leave her side but was nonetheless exhausted from the day’s events as well. He’d promised her he’d only shut his eyes for a minute but that had been hours ago. She didn’t have the heart to wake him. Not after all he’d risked to keep her alive. Not after the grueling punishments her father threatened to give him for allowing a naga, of all things, to get that close to his precious daughters.

And that’s how Leta found herself witness to the front door of the manor being knocked in by a tremendous force. She jerked upright in the bed screeching in agony at the stitches that ripped and the wounds that reopened from the sudden movement. Her bed shirt was rapidly growing red with newly spilled blood she really could not afford to be losing at this point.

But perhaps bleeding out was the least of her worries when there was a raging monster in the foyer that was able to fluently roar in the common tongue. She knew what it was immediately. She’d read so many tales and heard so many stories that it had to be the High Lord himself. She’d only caught glimpses of him throughout her visit. Quick snatches of his face and voice. But she knew that this creature before her with curling horns and a powerful body was the High Lord. Blood covered his muzzle, dripped from his sharp fangs and soaked into his fur. His nails clacked along the floor of the manor as he left bloody prints.

An electric current of terror ran through Leta. The High Lord had just returned from killing someone or perhaps something. And now he was coming for her. She wasn’t sure where she’d gotten that idea from, but she was certain he was here for her next.

Jamie was awake in a flash to get in front of Leta his hand on his sword. Leta floundered around her, her hands madly sifting through the sheets she was buried in to find her parazonium blade. She’d never thought she’d ever wield the blade in her life. Now twice in one day the heirloom from her mother was all that stood between her and death.

“I demand to know who it was that killed that naga!” The beast bellowed. Jamie was trembling. His sword wavered in fright in front of him and he recoiled a step into Leta’s bed. He glanced back at her his eyes wide and petrified. Because there was no way to get out of this alive. “I did!” Leta announced with a surge of confidence she didn’t know she had. Ignoring the pain it caused her she forced herself out of her bed. Blood dripped down at her feet in small puddles. The sight made her woozy. As she strode towards the High Lord she left a trail of bloodied foot prints in her wake. If she was going to die, which seemed entirely certain at this point, she would go out doing everything she could to save Jamie, her sister and her servants.

She opened her mouth and her voice quivered, “I did it. I was the one that slayed the naga.”

The High Lord took one long look at her taking in the damage done to her body. From the claw marks on her face to the blood on his floor and seeping through her clothes. She watched as his eyes dropped down to the weapon clutched in her hand. It was a decorative blade. Her father told her that her mother only ever used it as a looking glass. She swallowed nervously hoping the High Lord didn’t think she was a threat for it.

“I did not want to die today,” she stated slowly her tongue having difficulty moving in her mouth as though she’d stuffed it with cotton. The beast turned towards her. The way its’ shoulders moved it looked as though it were getting ready to pounce. So when her legs gave out from under her which she attributed to dying of blood loss she thanked the nameless goddess because it would certainly be better than getting ripped apart by that thing.