50th Spring 514 AV
21.38.16
21.38.16
It hurt, it all did. The cool stone pressed against her cheek, her mind swimming as things flickered into life. Fingers twitched, the feeling of mud clinging to her shins. For a tick she laid where she was, still and unmoving within the dark, the taste of blood within her mouth. For a moment her lips pursed, the dulled ache growing piercing within the side of her face. A ginger touch, a wince to the swelling beneath her eye and a sharp intake to the air. Her abdomen throbbed, she could feel the black bruising already rising up to the surface as she came too properly and the chaos of the scene opened itself out.
Blood, mess, a rip into the form of a dead man opposite her - tulwar still embedded into him. It was quiet, no noise, a silent scene. There was a spit of saliva, her hand pressing against the wall as she raised herself, a foot searching for solid ground. A blink, a blur of colours as she found consciousness and grasped tightly onto the hilt. A clench, her head looking around as she tried to remember what had happened. She was ambushed. Brutally attacked and yet left alive. Zandelia was with her too. Pulling the blade free she staggered, a slow seeping realisation making itself known. Where was she? Where was Zandelia?
Shoulders pressed against the alley wall, her voice croaking, "Web? Are you... where?" She paused, a long inhale as she held onto her side. Her fingers gave a pat across herself. The tulwar, the ragged coat, the kukri - her fingers hovered over the empty sheath of the smaller blade, her fingers only wriggling at air. That was gone too, "Web? Zandelia? Are you...? Zandelia!" A step forward, firmer than before as she turned her gaze. No, she was definitely gone. Or at least, not in the immediate area.
She gave a pivot, eyes turning about as she staggered from the scene. The past replayed itself, coming alive as she saw the tell tale signs of scuffles and fighting. The tulwar was slid away, a pause as she continued to try and come to terms with what was before her. Zandelia would not leave her alone - not unconscious at least. Even she knew that. She heard the screams and shout, the roaring cry to attack and stun. The struggling, the ripping of the kurki from her flesh, that knockout blow across her temple, that gasping for air. And the woman being dragged away.
Fallon's knees buckled beneath her. The weight of realisation bloomed within, her hands pressing against the floor. Eyes were wide, lips trembling as she tried to find composure. She swallowed, a clench upon the earth as she tried to focus her thoughts. They had taken Zandelia. No, it could not be the case. It would not have happened. Ever. She must have gotten away, escaped and hid. Fallon could not have blamed her for such a thing, she would have done the same - more so if the attention was directed to her.
Danger. She must be in danger. Or hiding. Or both. There was a grunt as she caught the glimpse of the eye patch discarded upon the ground. Reaching out she took it, fingers curling around the leather material before she turned her attention away - searching and looking for a clue. Prints, feet, dragging, there was a scrabble up to her feet. Quick steps, eyes darting as she saw the struggling feet and patter of blood. Where did it go to? Where did it lead? Emotions turned and convulsed, rising and falling as the staggering steps turned into a full pelt run. There was no pause, no skip of a step as she ran. Chest rose and fell, adrenal and panic rising up from her very pit and coursing its way through. She had to find her, now.
A skid and a stumble. Awakening limbs were spurred into movement, bruises and hurts stretched and strained. Scrambling, running, her eyes darted on through the gloom, chasing and following it into the night. Blood filled her senses, the pulse reaching up and consuming her. Hands traced, the clatter of steel within its sheath as she raced forward. Shoulders barged past those in the street, a slide as she felt the toes press into the ground. Footsteps covered footsteps, a trail of feet smothering the path she sought. Air burned in her lungs, urgency consuming and smothering her.
Where would she go if she was in trouble? Where would she hide? Her throat constricted, that sickly taste forming within her mouth. She was a fighter, not a runner, she knew that now as her body complained throughout its aches and her mind spiralled through the knowledge. The tents? The docks? To hide away in some bar? Eyes blinked as she crashed into a local, a flustered leap away within a mere breath and a hurried apology she was off again. She could not stop. Not now, not yet. Not until she found her.