The Wild

[Deilakrion]

The hunt had gone on for long enough.

There had been a new presence in the woods, one that had ambled with a certain arrogance that was recognizable, even if the thing itself was not. The beast itself had the trademarks of a predator, and Deilakrion had watched it with a lazy smile and half lidded eyes. She'd followed it, expecting it to die, but instead it had made itself at home in her forest, in her territory, making itself adapt to the new terrain, the new area. She'd never seen anything like it before, with its large curving claws and long tail. It had short and stubby wings on its back. These were useless things, and one experienced in the way of dragons would recognize this base creature as some distant and dying relative that had not flourished so well.

She was curious beyond the posessiveness that made her wish to assure herself that this beast would not disrupt the small forest, and she stalked the thing from day to day, interested in its purpose. She could not know that the thing had gotten lost and wandered far from its home. It was interested only in survival. There was no fault to be put upon the beast for chosing the forest it had to come to a long halt. So it slunk through the forest, and the smaller beasts hid in alarm; Deilakrion trailing behind.

The beast happened to get too close to the fleshes one day, and Deilakrion found she had plenty of room for alarm when the thing startled two fleshes, and made to chase them. It was then that she decided to kill it. She could not have fleshes combing the forest for the beast, and finding her. She had no desire to stir up that particular nest -- she had decided to make the place somewhere to stay for awhile. Meeting fleshes was not a way to stay where she was. Stupid, stupid fleshes. No matter.

She chased the thing north, day to night, to day, harrying it though it was hungry and tired and not much of a match for her. By moon, she decided, she would take on the thing with her dagger and her wits, and prove once again that she was worthy of the Hunt. Yes, she thought as she watched the sun sinking towards the horizon, tracking the direction the beast had gone in.

Nightfall.

[BrakkUrGrath]

The sun was finally drying the muddy road as the Zhotunn warrior plodded along. His thighs throbbed with every step and he knew his wounds were probably serious. He had no medicinal herbs with which to treat them so he ignored them and plodded on. His belly growled again, and he determined he simply must eat something soon or he’d have to start eating his hide armor!

The road turned ahead, skirting a bit closer to a dense forest. He knew he simply had to find something he could kill, but his condition was deteriorating and he certainly didn’t relish another battle with a mad boar. “Rabbit … just one rabbit … just one plump rabbit and a bit of dry wood,” he muttered.

He fondled the tip of his axe, wondering if he still had the strength to swing it, as he found his feet stumbling off the roadway and towards the woods. Before he’d fully registered it, he was pushing his way through underbrush, scouting the landscape for anything he could eat.

His problem was he wasn’t sure what vegetation was edible. He knew almost nothing about plants, and very little about hunting. He felt as if he was seeking a good place to die. Before long he dropped to his knees. “This is as far as I can go,” he said to no one. “Either food comes to me here, or I go to the Halls of the Dead starving and begging for hand outs.”

He took out his rickety crossbow and fixed the crosspiece and pulled the string taut. Carefully he placed a bolt in the slot and propped it across his arm. “Surely,” he thought, “something lives here that I can kill. I’ve killed and butchered cows! I’ve slaughtered Humans! Surely a rabbit, or even a squirrel, will come around!”

He had no idea how long he’d dozed, only that he could no longer feel his feet. He raised his head and looked around him. There! he thought, a squirrel! He lifted the crossbow to take aim, making sure to have a good shot before touching the trigger. Then he squeezed … nothing! The squirrel froze against the side of the tree, as if inviting the bolt to strike him. Brakk had to force himself not to swear out loud as he aimed again carefully and squeezed harder. Then, suddenly, the latch clicked, the string flung the bolt forward, and Lady Luck smiled on him. The squirrel was firmly attached to the tree by a crossbow bolt through its back!

Brakk struggled to get up and instead flopped forward on his face. His legs were completely numb from the knee down! He dragged himself across the forest floor, straining to move the dozens of feet from where he’d crouched to where the squirrel waited, tempting, skewered to the tree.

Agonizingly he managed to slither to the tree and dragged himself up to where the squirrel waited. “Finally!” he said as he pulled it from the tree. It was puny, hardly any meat at all, and in his ravenous state Brakk completely forgot about the proper way to prepare it. He simply grabbed the tiny morsel and bit into its belly, fur and all, blood spurting from where his teeth punctured the skin.

He devoured the tiny creature, crunching its bones with no thought but simple survival. But it was gone too soon. Done with his meager meal, Brakk finally felt blood pumping into his lower legs again, accompanied by aching throbs in his wounded thighs. With effort he managed to get them working again and started walking gingerly through the woods.

He realized it was growing dark. He was still hungry, though no longer starving, and he had no idea how cold the night would become. He began searching for a place of shelter, and hoping for dry wood for a fire.

And then he heard crashing in the darkening woods ahead. Something large was headed his way. Before he could react, two female deer leapt over a patch of briars, skittered towards him a step or two and then careened at a sharp angle away from him. He had only a moment to notice the wild glaze of fear in their eyes before they disappeared into the dark wood once more.

He stumbled, frightened as much by the deer as the look in their eyes. And then he saw it. “A dragon!” he gasped. It’s long, sinewy neck twisted around, scenting the deer, and its jewel-like eyes flashed in the growing darkness. Brakk fell on his backside in shock as the creature slithered past him after the deer.

Its scaly hide flashed past him, its claws dug into the soft turf, its stunted wings flapped ineffectively, and as its tail whisked past Brakk thought to himself, “Its smaller than I thought it would be, and those wings … they’re tiny!”

But it passed him without incident, leaving the Zhotunn to merely wonder about what sort of enchanted wood he’d stumbled into. He stumbled into the dark a ways further before finally finding a place where a large tree, half hollow, had a fairly clear area in front of it, with plenty of deadfall wood nearby.

He gathered a few twigs, some dead moss, a log or two, and before long had a comfortable fire not far in front of the hollow tree. He snuggled into the hollow with the fire nearby and began to nod off.

[Deilakrion]

Sleep was inviting. Sleep was impossible. The night came and Deilakrion greeted it ready, having been patiently waiting away the day as she held herself ready for the task at hand. The beast looked ridiculous in the close-packed trees of the forest, it was terribly out of place, but it did not leave. She would make it leave. She smiled humorlessly as she tailed up behind the thing, dagger held at the ready to be employed for the kill.

Deilakrion never remembered what happened after that. One moment she was on her feet, poised to strike, the next thing she knew she was flat on her back with pain and blood spilling out from her hip. She felt rather dizzy, and her dagger was still held in her hand, ready to strike. What the -- ? Crashing noises somewhere down around her feet indicated what was happening, and she lifted her head just enough to see a fleeting glimpse of scales and fur, dinner on the hoof running away from a clawed monster. No way. Had she just been saved because of two deer?

Resolute not to think about it, Deilakrion somehow managed to get back onto her feet, though the details surrounding this rise were once again fuzzy. Her head was hurting, and her vision was getting a little dizzy. Was it the lack of sleep? She squinted down at her hip and started stumbling after the beast. It was only after she reeled away from a tree that she remembered looking where she was going was an important thing. The wound on her hip was not particularly large or deep, though it bled freely enough to warrant some sort of attention, and she found herself jogging a zig-zag trail, following nothing more than the sharp noises of broken underbrush. Even if she had no hearing, she could have followed the signs. Pitiful beast, so far from its home. This was no graceful predator of the forest. Probably, if she left it alone it would move on or die. But, as things went, the hunt had been blooded by her and so now she must continue it.

Continue. . .

Her blood rang in her ears, and her pulse leapt in her throat. Her vision got steadily more dizzy, and the colors around her buzzed and blurred together in some crazy reel. Like dancing. Like what? Suddenly she was down on one knee, pressing a hand to a tree, and blinking rapidly to clear her vision. What was? Blood loss, no, surely not, and she was tired, but. But. She frowned, no longer able to hear the beast in its chase. Had it stopped? Was it dead? No, she was staring down at the ground, shaking her head in tight little movements that made her hair shift and little bits of dead forest fall out. Her ears rang. She tried to look down at her wound, and her face was suddenly pressed against the forest floor.

It hurt a little, this new pain, and she rolled until she could look at it. Something wasn't right. . . no . . .

She started giggling, uncertain what she'd been doing just a bit ago, and rolled over onto her back, noticing a glow that had been persistent in the corner of her vision since she'd fallen. The forest was on fire. Wait, could that be? The trees above her were not burning. Were they? She squinted. Then, groaning, she turned her head, and saw the fire. It didn't seem to be caught on any tree or brush, and she marvelled at the self contained fire. She didn't entirely realize that then there must be a flesh on the other side of it, out of the line of sight of her blurred vision.

That didn't particularly matter. Mirth bubbled up around in her head, and she giggled again. Flames danced with the tree tops and the sky, and blood oozed from Deilakrion's wound as she lay not ten feet from Brakk's fire, oblivious to his presence and seeming almost as though she were drunk.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk awakened to find the morning crisp and clear. Smoke still lingered around the coals of his fire, though the flames had long since died out. He dragged himself out of the hollow tree and stretched, then winced at the pains in his legs and arms. Knowing the tell-tale signs of the aches in his joints he glanced at the sky, confirming that the low, grey overcast was a harbinger of coming snow.

He grabbed a nearby dead log and tossed it onto the coals, and then noticed a strange form lying in the dead leaves and twigs nearby. There was a person lying there! He hurried over and studied the form.

It was female, and naked except for a belt with a dagger tucked under it, and filthy even more than his own muddy self. Dead leaves and twigs hung in her hair, which itself seemed almost wild. She had pointed ears, likely she was one of those Elf creatures he’d heard about. Her skin seemed chapped or wind-burned. Scars adorned her body in numerous locations, but the blackened wound on her hip caught his eyes more than the others.

As he studied her, she tossed slightly and words came from between her lips, “Meat … beast … flesh. Flesh! No flesh! Hunt!”

She tossed a bit more as Brakk stared at her. It seemed certain to him that this strange Elven woman was going to die here. While that in itself didn’t trouble him much – people died all the time – he was disturbed that she should die here in his camp. That was a bad omen: death should not come to one’s sleeping place.

Brakk decided that the wound, while strangely black, didn’t seem immediately life threatening. It must be poisoned, or infected. Either way, since the woman was still breathing and muttering, he decided perhaps she wouldn’t die right away. He’d have time to find something to eat first.

He grabbed his crossbow and shoved his way through the forest underbrush. He knew from the previous evening that there were deer in these woods. Surely the gods wouldn’t force him to survive on squirrels forever! While his legs were sore from the mauling by the boar, they seemed to have improved on their own, which he took as a good sign.

He found himself a good spot and settled in to wait. It wasn’t too long before a doe and her fawn came into sight. Brakk threw a silent thanks to the gods and took careful aim at the fawn. As soon as he had a clear shot he squeezed the trigger and the unpredictable crossbow actually worked as it was designed! The bolt leaped forth and found the fawn’s neck.

The young deer at first leaped and bolted to run, but quickly stumbled and fell. Its mother nuzzled it briefly, lifted her head to scout the area and find the source of the danger, nuzzled the dying fawn again, and then bolted herself away from the area.

Brakk hurried over to the fawn, squatted beside it and stared into its glazed eyes. “Thank you, Deer Spirit, for allowing me to kill one of your own.” As he said the prayer of thanks he reflected back on the squirrel and the boar. He’d neglected the Spirits then. But when the Spirits are spiteful, they don’t expect anything from us, he thought. He pulled out his dagger and cut the fawn’s throat to end its struggle, then lifted it and threw it over his shoulder to carry it back to his camp.

When he arrived back at the camp, the female Elf was asleep. He had to look carefully to see her chest still rose and fell. Small breasts, could that be typical of Elven women? he wondered. He shrugged and carried his kill to the far side of his camp to begin the butchering process.

He cut off a chunk of meat, skewered it onto the end of a sturdy stick, and planted the other end of the stick so that the meat hung over the fire to cook. Once he was sure breakfast was underway, he returned to the carcass to continue butchering.

After he’d gotten deep into the rendering of the deer meat he’d almost forgotten about his guest. Suddenly a cry rang out, “Maggots! Filthy flesh!”

Curious, Brakk put down his dagger and wiped his bloody hands on part of the deerskin and wandered over to the naked Elven woman. She seemed to be still asleep, and probably dreaming. Her eyes were squinted shut but she tossed her head violently, causing bits of twigs to fly out of her matted hair. Rough words managed their way past her lips, “Not meat … not hunter. Easy kill, easy! No! Meat spoils hunt?”

Brakk watched her a few more moments, curious, but when she settled again into normal sleep, he shrugged and went back to the fawn’s carcass. Before long he was feasting on roasted deer meat and wondering what to do about the strange Elf on the other side of his fire.

[Deilakrion]

Consciousness was a fickle thing, and Deilakrion chased it like a flushed jack-rabbit at the top of its game, wild eyed and breathless. She was unaware of the words that dribbled from her lips, unaware of her mutable expressions that danced from tense to lax, eyes rolling and lips slack and drooling. Sometimes she spasmed, other times she lay still and stiff as though she had died. In her dreams, grey and sick with sweat and slick with blood, she killed and died many times, until she no longer knew what was what.

In her dreams, her villagers and the raiders hoisted her up high and befouled her, burned her, bled her like a pig and struck her down like a dog. In her dreams, she stalked them and killed them, mutilated them one by one. Her heart raced. Her breath stuttered. Where then, was the Hunt? This was nothing of her world, and she rose from the birthing waters slimy and whole, gasping, unable to breathe --

When she awoke, she didn't understand what awaking really was. Suddenly the world was there, as it had been there, and she remembered a chase, a hunt, a dance for the death, and she rolled around and somewhat upright, limbs out of her direct control and her eyes sluggish. She wiped the her mouth with the back of her hand and felt the world roil like a too big body of water, inviting and pure but dangerous beneath its placid surface. This surface wasn't placid. She felt it tumble beneath her, treacherous and inviting, a siren's call to luxuriate before death.

No! She struggled mightily, shaking off the poisoned detritus and slipping into the bounds of pain. Stiff, cruel pain, cutting at her with the edge of death, until she finally realized what awake was, and what was life.

This occurred in a span of seconds. When she was somewhat aware, blinking and head dipping low, held upright in a crouch by stiffened arms, she smelled burned meat. What . . .? "Maggotspawn." She growled, low and throaty, as her eyes raked the edge of the fire and settled on the pulled-pain center at her hip. The beast had scored her one. First blood. She leaned to the side as she pulled free her dagger and cut at the gash, black and tight, inwardly bloated by a day's worth of choked bodily fluids. She hissed as she spilled the blockage, draining it to the ground and wrinkling her nose at the smell. It was an absorbing task.

Yet, there is always a moment when animals realize they are not alone, and for Deilakrion it came as the fresh and sharp, healthy pain cleared her mind and made her alert to the forest and the inhabitants that filled it. She froze, a hunter's freeze, canny and wary and aggressive; head tilting to the side and dagger slowly extended away from her body. This way that, she looked around, until finally she turned to look at the fire. Turned, to look at Brakk. She did not talk, she did move. She only stared, wild and arrogant and haughty and above all, most displeased.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk had removed his hide armor and fur-lined boots and sat reclined in just his trousers. With his dagger he was busy flaking the dried mud from his armor, his belly once again full. He had more of the tender fawn meat roasting over the fire to be eaten later, and more he’d laid near the fire to dry for later still.

When the strange Elf began to stir he stopped, eyeing her again. He’d carefully avoided the strange creature, bothering neither to see to her wound nor to cover her nakedness. He’d left her to lie where she’d fallen in the night. There were stories told by his people about wandering madmen and women who had been touched by the Spirits. Those stories had led him to the belief that he should not risk touching the strange woman lest some of her Spirit-touched madness transfer to him.

He tensed slightly as she struggled to get her feet under her, and reached to make sure his axe was handy, but remained seated. He heard her cry, “Maggotspawn,” and the throaty growl that came afterward. He watched as she lanced the nasty wound and hissed as the pus and poison bubbled out of it.

And then, with an almost animalistic nature that reminded him of the fawn’s mother earlier, she became aware of his presence. Quickly the dagger flashed, it’s point aimed directly at the Zhotunn.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “There’s meat on the fire if you’re hungry.” He pointed towards the fire and then waved towards what little he had in the way of belongings, “I’d offer you my blanket to cover yourself if I had one. As it is, I have hardly enough to cover myself.”

He slowly stood but made no move towards her. While not terribly tall, only six feet, his breadth was often startling. He was fully four feet wide, broad and stocky, and dense with muscle mass and heavy bones. His fiery red hair danced in the breeze that carried hints of an evening of snow. The bone-decorated tips of his beard wriggled under his chin. His thick mat of chest hair seemed almost like fur.

“What’s your name?” he asked. “I am Brakk Ur’Grath of the Zhotunn, or at least I was. I suppose I’m just Brakk now.”

[Deilakrion]

There was trouble in her territory. Here, another interloper brazen and brass, bold as you please! He too did not belong, too big for the narrow gaps left in the lee of the trees. Only Deilakrion, slim and breezy, belonged. That the thing in question was a flesh was merely another insult. She adjusted her crouch so she was fight ready.

On a whole, she carried herself casually, once the alarm had worn off. It was only a flesh, after all. She could handle those. She assessed him in a slow fashion, eyes moving up and down his form with the sluggishness of tree sap. She did not respond to his hail, did not give him any response but to relax her muscles into a queer state of quiet that only seemed to put her more at a willingness to fight. Then she looked him, finally, in the eyes, and her lips skimmed back from her teeth into a lazy sort of sneer full of the basest sort of suggestion that he was nothing before her and looked funny, to boot.

She stood, slowly, not blinking and tipping her head this way and that. She lowered her dagger, flipped it so the hilt smacked back into her hand, and sauntered a step or two towards the fire. She swaggered with a fluid grace marred only by the jag in her hip and the small allowance she gave herself in the wound's consideration.

"Food." She pointed to the raw flesh by the fire with her dagger, not the mess that was currently being ruined in the flames. "Give." And then she jerked the tip of the blade towards herself, and the sneer became a smirk that became a grin.

[BrakkUrGrath]

At first, Brakk wasn’t sure if the strange Elven woman understood his language. She stared at him, apparently studying his large form, and apparently decided he wasn’t threatening because she visibly relaxed.

Brakk watched her as she stood up and stepped over near the fire. She ignored the roasting meat and instead pointed to the uncooked venison. Her two simple words clearly conveyed her intention. She wanted to make sure Brakk intended to give her food.

Brakk nodded and waved and said, “Sure, help yourself. It’s fresh too, just killed it this morning.”

Then he glanced up at the sky, the grey overcast seeming to settle lower and lower. He looked back at her and then waved up at the clouds. “I think it’s going to snow this evening. Are you going to be warm enough? I’ll build up the fire a bit more, but … you’re not wearing anything, and … I’m just wondering if you’ll be cold.” He wrapped his arms around himself and shivvered to convey his meaning more clearly.

Without waiting for an answer, Brakk turned to his boots, sitting on the ground and pulling them on. Then he reached over for his hide armor and slipped it back on. While he intended to convey merely putting on clothes for warmth, he also wanted to have whatever protection he could muster from the strange woman’s dagger.

Suddenly, Brakk realized how he’d missed just having someone to talk to, and even if the strange woman couldn’t understand, he still spoke. “I’ve been … well, let’s just say I left home a few days ago. I don’t know the region and I’m just sort of wandering right now. Is there a place nearby to get some supplies? I could use a blanket or two, maybe a new crossbow …” he slapped the piece of junk that lay nearby as he said this, and then continued, “In the last few days I haven’t seen any settlements, or even farms. Do any people live around here?”

He stopped talking and stared up at the woman who still stood beside the fire and the meat before tilting his head and narrowing his gaze. “Do you even understand what I’m saying?”

[Deilakrion]

He did not refuse her the food, but neither did he give it to her. She wondered if he was slyly setting her a trap while he sat there large and harmless, and she allowed that perhaps he was a stronger opponent than she'd first assumed. She would not take the food, not yet; it would do to take it when he was off guard. "Tchuh, flesh." She said, quite derisively, dismissing the majority of his spoken words as silly flesh talk that had no meaning other than to deliver comforting sound. Fleshes were ever talking, talking, talking, but never really saying much. Deilakrion was not so foolish.

He geared himself, making the distinction quite clear that he had armor while she had none, as if that mattered to the creature. She angled herself so the firelight shone off her scars, and stared haughtily down at him so that he might understand that even without armor she withstood fights and survived wounds. What need had she for some cowardly artificial shell? Ha!

While he was pulling up his boots and checking to make sure the fit was right, that was when she struck. She swooped in, snatched up the raw meat, and scampered back with it through the trees, right at the edge of the fire's circle of light, and she stopped and started shoving sections of it into her mouth. Juices spilled down her chin, dripped onto her sternum or collar bone or chest, and a squishy noise emitted from her mouth as she chewed with mostly open lips. It would be good to have a full stomach again, that she could rest and pursue the great beast that had stupidly decided to take up in her forest. She would just have to be more careful.

He was still talking.

She sneered at him, again, a chunk of meat stuck to the corner of her mouth and a few more bits still inside of her mouth when she called to him. "Go away! Go to fleshy land!" And then she made as if to shoo him off.

It was possible she could be ruder, but not by a whole lot.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk had just finished adjusting the straps of his armor when the strange Elven woman suddenly pounced on his uncooked venison and dashed towards the forest. “Hey!” he called, “Don’t take all of it!”

He struggled to get back to his feet, cursing the old injuries that caused so much distress when the weather was changing, such that it was. But just as he was sure the strange woman had stolen his food and disappeared into the forest from whence she came, he caught sight of her.

She crouched like some wild creature just on the edge of the firelight at the periphery of the clearing, shoving chunks of meat in her mouth as if she’d been starving for weeks. She paid no heed to the blood and saliva that dribbled from her chin onto her exposed breasts.

Just as Brakk had become convinced the woman could not understand him, she spoke her most coherent sentence thus far: “Go away! Go to fleshy land!” Her hand gesture accentuated the fact that she knew exactly what she was saying. She wanted him to go away and leave her alone.

Brakk stood there, dumbfounded. This strange woman was shooing him off like some pest! Like a fly buzzing around her fresh kill – HIS fresh kill!

He put his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “You know, among my people, I’d be entirely in my rights to kill you for stealing my food. But I can see you’re hungry. And I’ve cooked and dried some of the meat already, so you’re welcome to the rest.”

In spite of himself, he was intrigued by the strange woman. He softened his stance a bit, turning somewhat to the side and taking a few steps away from her to lean against a tree, crossing his arms. “So, you can understand my speech. And you clearly want me to go away, to some ‘fleshy land’. Only, I don’t know where that is. But you do, don’t you. I could use a guide, even one as … unconventional … as you. Tell you what, in exchange for the food I’ve given you, you can lead me to this ‘fleshy land’ you speak of. What do you say, deal?”

[Deilakrion]

Deilakrion made a sound at Brakk's words. It was the type of sound children might make before they are properly schooled into the proper societal behaviors where crass noises are definitely unacceptable. And then, she grinned at him with her teeth bared in what appeared to be a challenge of some sort, followed by a definite snickering noise. She was much more buoyant now with food in her system, even with an open wound. She was used to open wounds, and this one was nothing much to slow her down.

At the end of it she closed her mouth and her eyelids sagged halfway shut and she gazed at him as she put more meat into her mouth. Chewed, swallowed, wiped her lips with the back of her hand. She appeared to be unconcerned with the man, because she stood and stretched, belly bulging with the fresh food she'd eaten. Then she stuck one of those dirty fingers into her mouth and rooted around for awhile, until out it came with a string of fat that she flicked outwards towards Brakk.

She was considering him slowly, still staring at him. He wasn't to be trusted, no, but perhaps he might be of some sort of use, even if he was a flesh. And fleshes. . .

"Hunt." She said abruptly, sharply, decision made. "Hunt beast. This creature not help flesh now. Beast die first." Her problems were, after all, much more important than his. And then she smiled at him again with all the charm of a fish.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk stared at the strange woman. Had she really blown him a “raspberry”? She seemed … pleased with herself now, almost playful. And when she flicked some fatty substance she pulled from her mouth towards the Zhotunn, he knew her attitude had changed completely.

Then she explained her situation. Well, Brakk took it as an explanation. He had almost begun to feel he understood the strange Elven woman, “this creature” as she called herself. She was in the middle of something and needed to finish it first. She was hunting some sort of beast, and apparently, she felt it important that this beast die before she’d help Brakk.

Brakk had a sudden revelation: the dragon! Certainly she was hunting the dragon he’d seen the night before. Brakk understood. There were many times in his own life where an honor killing must be placed above anything else. And the “beast” had injured “the creature”. Her wound still oozed foul pus from whatever poison was in its claws. That was reason enough.

Brakk gestured at the darkening sky. Afternoon was fading towards evening and the thickening, snow-heavy clouds were creating a blanket that would bring darkness early. “I think it will be snowing soon and getting dark. I’ll build up the fire and we’ll wait until morning, and then, if you will let me, I will help you hunt the dragon that injured you. And once it’s dead and we’ve taken our trophies, then you can help me find other people.”

Without waiting for an answer, Brakk turned back to the fire and tossed another log onto it. And then he picked up a suitable stone and began sharpening his axe. That dragon might be tough to kill and he’d need a sharp edge.

[Deilakrion]

She nodded at the man, and that was that.

Deilakrion was impatient with Brakk's stodgy attitude and slow movements. She wanted to go now, not after some predetermined amount of time that only wasted opportunities to kill the thing. But, too, it would be unwise to go by herself, not when she had someone else to draw the thing's attention away from her. Far be it from her to trust the flesh, but to gain a chance to use the flesh as bait and to avoid further injury she'd wait. It wasn't like she got such an opportunity every day, after all, not when most fleshes had a tendency to either try to kill her or to use her for their own ends.

The tables would turn, then. Brakk worked at stoking the fire and attending other various fleshy needs that Deilakrion had no use for, and she made herself a comfortable spot at the base in one of the trees where the snow had penetrated due to a combination of branches and roots. There was not much snow to worry about, anyways; it had only snowed sparsely since winter had begun, and it had become partially melted as the temperatures fluctuated between warmth and cold. None of it bothered her.

She made herself comfortable in her little nest, and stared at Brakk as the evening wore on. She was a stone's throw from the fire, just enough distance that she would be able to hear Brakk if he tried to sneak up on her when she fell asleep. She could feel her tiredness creeping up on her, and her eyelids kept drifting down and down as she struggled to stay awake long enough to watch the other sleep first.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk stood in the clear common area at the center of his tribe’s settlement. The settlement wasn’t exactly a village, since his people tended to be nomadic, moving frequently following herds or raiding Human villages or other Zhotunn settlements. There were a dozen or so small, round huts built of saplings with skins tied over them. These housed small family units: a father, a mother, perhaps a young child or two, perhaps a grandfather or grandmother too old to tend their own huts but not yet ready to make the Choice.

The huts were usually arranged in a rough circle with a large central common area in the center. Several fires were scattered around the perimeter, tended by the individual family units, which were used for cooking or the drying of meat or various other functions. People would ordinarily be milling all around the central area engaged in their crafts, mending armor or weapons, rendering meat or furs, or simply passing the time.

In the very center of the common area was maintained a larger firepit, usually with a small fire burning constantly but occasionally stoked into a huge bonfire. It was one of these huge bonfires that burned now and the people were gathered in a large circle around it. It was the Killing Time.

Each quarter of the year, the elderly or sickly could Choose to end the burden of their lives by allowing a relative to kill them. It was a celebratory atmosphere and those who made the Choice were greatly honored and those who carried it out were praised for their courage.

Brakk’s father was there, one of the Honored Elders, and Brakk stood near him. He was supposed to be a Chosen One, recognized and praised for his courage, only Brakk was not being praised, but rather ridiculed. He was dressed as a small child, wearing a diaper and holding a blanket and a piece of bear fur stuffed with soft grasses that the children called a “Teddy”.

Brakk had tears streaming down his face. A boyhood rival, his cousin Kirok, led the people in pointing and laughing and insulting Brakk. After what seemed hours of ridicule but what was likely only a few minutes, Kirok turned to Grath, Brakk’s father. Brakk heard Kirok speak, “Honored Elder, since your son is such a terrified child, I would be honored to perform the sacred duty that he should be doing.”

Grath gazed longingly at Brakk, a look of deep disappointment on his face. Then he turned to Kirok, “I have no son. You may have the honor, son of my brother.”

And Kirok nodded, grabbed his axe, and killed Grath. And when the head stopped rolling, it gazed up at Brakk. Suddenly it spoke, “I have no son.”

Brakk suddenly snapped to full wakefulness with a start. His eyes darted around the clearing in the woods, confused at the change in scenery. He panted, his breath coming in puffs of steam.

The sun glistened off a blanket of white that adorned the trees and the clearing. Several inches of snow had fallen during the night but already the warmth of the sun was beginning to melt its surface.

And in the crook of a nearby tree was a naked female Elf, seemingly unaware of the chill in the air.

[Deilakrion]

Unable to sleep deeply with a stranger about and a cracking wound that had poisoned her, Deilakrion had trembled along the edges of unsleep. Restless, wary, ruthlessly squandering the hours she might have regained a portion of what she'd lost from the meaty-thing that would become her prey. Instead, she was down to bones and will to keep on, just enough fuel left in her to make a good attempt.

Still though, her eyes were flutter caught, and who knew when her stare slid from wilderness and surrounds to eyelids and back. She wasn't aware at all when Brakk awoke and caught sight of her. It was only from a messy slide of bare consciousness that a few moments later she was blinking back awake and pausing in the way of the wary to assess her surroundings before anything dangerous became aware of her.

One already was. She found Brakk, and his sneaky eyes, and immediately started to struggle up. It was difficult. Joints were stiff with the cold that didn't quite touch her, and her wound protested with hot dry skin that it wasn't ready to bend or move or do anything at all but lay quiet until it was reclaimed by muscle, fat and skin. She wobbled, and steadied herself against the tree that had sheltered her, and glared at the snow.

"Look! Look! Track fouled now. Tchuh!" She kicked at the snow, promptly regretted that, and glared all the harder.

She blamed him that the beast would be harder to hunt now with the snow laying over its hours old spore like a smooth wash of water over sand. Her temper rose, and she lashed against the tree with the flat of her hand, hard enough to smart -- loud enough to release her steadily bubbling ire.

"Flesh track." She snapped in a fit of pique, and frowned mightily at him so he understood the underscored, brazen, flaming, shrieking or else implicit in her words.