Laughter. She was laughing. The creature on the ground found some humor in this situation. Stigandr tilted his head to the side, not sure of what to make of her laughing. He was never one to laugh, as it was a human concept beyond his understanding, but he knew it was not something to expect in this situation. Pain and anger were more appropriate, emotions and feelings he understood. His muscles were tense but he had not moved too far away, which was a mistake as she reached up fast enough and quick enough, his attention diverted by her odd laughter, letting her rake four claws on the left side of his face. Skin peeled aside where her claws touched, leaving four cuts on his cheek that let hot, crimson blood flow.
His feet carried him back several feet, his head snapping back around to look at her in anger, his eyes wide in shock, terror, hatred and a readiness to fight. He felt that he had been chased, backed into a corner, and now his only choice was to fight. She had hunted him and would hunt him again, seeking his scent out like the predator she was and tracking him to a new place, a new location to fight.
Her voice was sweet and soft, but there was a touch of something darker, deeper, crueler to it as well, like a fine dessert touched with poison. It calmed part of the horse but at the same raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Her monologue intrigued him, drew him in with the sultry sound of her voice, breaking and re-breaking his ability to hate her, to focus on what she had done. She spoke of killing, kissing, loving and bedwarming. She talked of purpose and meaning. This talk was deep, meaningful, and beyond the Kelvic's mindset and ability to fully comprehend. He found her attractive, though it made his head foggy in a strange way, like it was a spell almost. He had enjoyed their kill in a base level until he remembered who she was and what he had seen. He did not want to kill her, he only wanted to defend himself and his life. He would kill her if he needed to, but that was it. He was not a predator as she was.
His eyes locked with hers, watching her, dancing to her lips as they moved, beautiful white teeth hidden behind soft and tender lips. They were inviting, tempting. No! He screamed in his head, bringing his eyes back to hers. Bartering coins, exchange. The words she spoke were about that, but he felt they were not in mizas. She was alluding to something else.
Brawls? Was that it? She talked about that and he knew it meant to be fighting. Fleeing...yes fleeing. He should take this chance and go. He started to turn, ready to flee as her voice grew husky, the night's seductress tempting him to stay, to warm himself with her body, to cast his fears aside.
Run! Flee! Escape!
The words echoed in his head. Bending down, he grabbed a rock and palmed it a moment. The weight was odd in his hand. The corners sharp and dull, round and flat. It was not commonplace for him to handle rocks, but he had seen a man do this in a fight before. Getting a tight grip on it, he turned and threw the rock at the woman on the ground, feeling it leave his fingers in a fashion that felt so odd to him, so foreign. Throwing a rock was a new experience in itself, especially one so heavy when he never threw things.
He did not wait to see where the rock went, not aiming with any semblance of skill, just trying to hurt and distract the predator. His body turned as his left foot stepped out, the sandal hitting the ground hard as his fight foot pushed him forward down the street.
I must escape. Run! Get out of here!
Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. The rapid beat of his heart. The pounding of his feet on concrete, or was that the blood pounding in his head? It did not matter. He needed to be free.
Down one alley, up the street, down another alley. His sandals hit the road, one after the other, propelling him forward towards his destination, where ever that might be at. His hands were becoming raw from being used to push himself off of building walls, helping to turn him at the speed he was traveling so he did not fall while trying to turn sharply.
His body was coated in sweat, the salty liquid stinging the wounds on his cheek as the drops dripped into them, the pain triggering his muscles into faster rotations, faster movements, the fear and need to get away once again fueled afresh.
He recognized where he was heading. Clarity hit him as he registered the path of his feet. He was going where he felt the safest at. The Northern Wilds. The smell of grass, of trees and flowers filled his nostrils. Freedom. Home.
He only hoped the predator had not pursued him. |
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