Flashback The Order Of Things: Pecking Order

[Theur]

60th Summer, 512 A.V Petches! Theur thought; blood oozed out from his right foot down to the rocky ground below but he did not curse because of the wound. As he moved to examine his foot, he froze. Spontaneous as it might have been Theur did not dare move, a feeling deep within his gut told him not to. Frozen but strangely aware, he began to pick up on things he would have surely missed; though his vision fixed on his foot, Theur spotted a line of ants climbing a leaf and a spider not too far off; Theur felt the rocks pressing on his legs, some sharp some not so, one wet; Theur could smell his own blood, taste the sweat on his lips. He could even hear though faint, the distinct sound of crunching. At once he sat, erect, a normal person would have left all to quickly to boot but like all children Theur was curious maybe more so than the average child. It was this curiosity that made him stay and listen but he still dare not move from his spot. Theur could pick up buzzing insects and of burrowing things, birds of all sorts, crickets and more but the sound he wanted he could not find. Instead he picked up a more vivid sound; snarls. One…two…three Theur counted the time between each snarl mouthing each number but uttering no sound. Like how one counts the difference between lightning and thunder, maybe Theur could tell if the snarls were going further away. It didn’t help in the slightest, sometimes they were soft, loud or in quick succession but he did realize it was only one thing that made the snarls. A small hill separated the snarls and him. A short walking distance really, already Theur’s wound had already turned to a scab. He could walk it if he really wanted too; being a little closer wouldn’t hurt he thought. AWWOOOOOOOOOOOO A loud sound travelled across the plains, reverberating within Theur himself. Though the midday sun was at its peak Theur began to shiver, cold sweat began to form and fall from his skin. That one noise that infernal howl; a wolf they called it and it was staring at him. There was a certain spot within Sunberth where blood and the slain flowed freely; the aptly named Blood pits. On several occasions he was brought there by Dra’ Ravi, he called it “appreciating the other fights” Theur thought otherwise. The fights themselves were never fights couldn’t be called fights instead of fights these were acts of excessive violence and brutality. It was on a few of these occasions that Theur saw wolves horrible fantastical ferocious beasts. Never has Theur seen a wolf lose to a man bare handed; Often a wolf still manages to kill armed foes. As he recalled this memory a fear took hold of him as two black eyes devoid of pupils studied the boy. Fear took hold of Theur in its death like grip whilst, memories of men’s death to wolves rushed without end. The results were plain to see; Theur wasn’t breathing, his sense of touch turned to needles, his hearing became monotone, his eyes couldn’t focus. Theur’s fear was as high as any tower and as wide as any river and yet something aside from fear began to stir. It began to surge and thrash; and it began to fester and grow. A rush began to take hold of him, seized him except this feeling was more than just a biological feeling, it felt more natural to Theur. Excitement? Adrenaline? Wrath? He asked himself but no answer came, his eyes caught his spear and wicked thoughts began to enter. Thoughts of impalement, wolf blood and fights began to pregnate his mind. It was all he could think of and all that made sense to him all that made petching sense to him. It was a feeling that all fighters feel, a feeling his other life was so well acquainted with; a strong desire for blood began to brew. The boy would have laughed if he could, to get something only a battle should have brought out and more so to be found in fear? Perhaps Dra’Ravi trained him so or perhaps the wilds brought something out of Theur. Fear of wolves and this instinct that stems from fear fought for supremacy within Theur whilst the wolf remained motionless watching then leaving behind the hill continuing whatever business it had. The whole experience barely lasted beyond a chime and yet when the wolf left, Theur failed to register the fact until a whole chime passed and not a second later before Theur moved again. There were clear signs of disbelief written on his face; traces of relief and lingering feelings of fear and of his experience manifested themselves in his legs. Theur wanted to know why it didn’t kill him like all those fighters years ago. Theur was ready, a hundred situations ran through his mind and all a hundred ended with him coming up on top. It pestered him and festered within him until curiosity got the better of him. When Theur saw the wolf again he turned deathly white. All notion of him ever winning was clearly a delusion on his part, an immature childish delusion. What he saw he drank it all; he saw remnants of men in and around the beast, the remains of a wagon and the oxen that pulled it, he saw the weapons that failed to kill and he saw the wolf red from tip to tip with white a white spot on the belly and with an eye on him. The wolf Theur saw was massive larger than any he had ever seen. The eye told him to leave and when Theur didn’t get the hint, it growled him. Soon Theur was flying; he passed his bloody rock in moments and over the first hill in seconds. The sound of nothing was a good sign that it wasn’t following still Theur wanted distance between him and the beast. Scared he was and yet as he ran, an awry smile found its place.