Other Of Wilder Things - A Writing Sample Thread

[DirtyBirdyAK]

Hi! I'm Birdy and a bit new around here, so I thought I'd make a space to share some of my favorite drabbly bits and flex some writing muscles. (If this isn't the right place, let me know~)
Some of these characters are ones I write often, others are one off creations that haven't seen light yet.

There's likely to be adult themes ahead, mostly of the emotional or physical hurt variety.

Enjoy.​

 

[DirtyBirdyAK]

• The Void
• Episode
• Kings and Slavers
• The Ranger

• 
  
  ft. Asteri of the Desert and at least one Eldritch Terror​
  
  Asteri stood on the wide plain at night, the air chilled and her breath marked by puffs of moisture. She glanced around her, unsure of how she had gotten there, or for what reason. Night alone on the plain was death even for one so well trained in the art of evasion as her.
  
  Far on the horizon, silhouetted against the starlit sky, lay the familiar shadows of Erendune, the rolling sands that marked the edge of their lands. As she gazed at the dunes, their shape distorted, clawing towards the sky. Their commonplace sillouhuette rose until the new shadow blanketed the stars, blocked the moon, and the world grew darker for it. A strange creeping tension in her chest took root as she watched the darkness progress until her head was tilted back, gazing up at the now black expanse of sky above her.
  
  Asteri could barely see it, but she felt the shadow reaching out to her. Long tendrils reached down from above, slipping easily under the edges of her mask and lifting it from her face. Cool air swept over her cheeks and she inhaled sharply at the sensation. Her mask drifted away before being dropped to the desert floor.
  
  “-ke..!” Asteri turned sharply, but as her eyes searched the horizon for the source of the voice a snaking tendril of shadow slid under her chin, turning her face back to the sky, and to the Void. “Wake up!”
  
  Asteri shuddered a gasp, launching herself upright from her furs but she had little time to take in her surroundings before something cracked across her face, leaving an angry line of heat over her temple, cheekbone, and upper lip. A shocked breath escaped her without permission as she clutched her face and stared up at the offender. Her brother stood over her, gazing down at her with a dark intensity she couldn’t place.
  
  “Get up,” he said sharply. Instinctively her lips curled into a snarl, baring teeth as she cradled her face, but she did as she was told, snatching her mask from its place at her bedside and standing. The switch in his hand twitched but he didn’t move, waiting. With a scowl she placed her mask over her face. Figures stood in the shadowed doorway of their home and Asteri’s already uneasy heart fell further. Her sibling stared at her a moment more before turning away, leaving Asteri to gather her things. She moved with a numb efficiency, and in only a few minutes she followed in her brother’s wake.
  
  Outside, the clan waited. Some lined a path meant only for her, others watched from the tops of mud huts or behind the broad sides of their wyverns.
  
  Hers waited for her, panicked and shifting uneasily at the edge of their settlement, held in place by their Elder. Her brother, striding toward her creature, threw a bag to the ground and walked away, not looking back.
  
  -
  
  Nothing had ever been so painful. Nothing had ever tested her so ruthlessly. She couldn’t look back. Asteri slumped forward in her saddle, mask tapping the scales of her beast as sobs shook her shoulders endlessly.
  
  The girl had never left the wastes. She wasn't even sure there was anything beyond the desert plains. She had heard stories of the others that lived somewhere beyond, but they were savage and greedy, and she only knew them by the dull brown of their blood on sand.
  
  So she urged Viren towards the rising sun and in that line, they walked. Asteri rode most of the time, but by the third day, her thighs had chafed and she took to the sands herself. At night they would bed down in whatever cover they could find, and Asteri would do her best to force down her tears. For the first week she was unsuccessful. Her wyvern knew something was wrong, and at night he would curl around her and press her close to him with a leathery wing. They were both young, but they had seen and done much together in their short lives. As all beast-kin, their bond would only be broken in death.
  
  Asteri settled into a numb sort of resignation, barely eating despite walking for hours on end, using her spear as a staff. Eventually she started muttering to herself and to the Void, quiet incoherent prayers. Sometime after, she stopped praying all together. Even if he could hear her, he wouldn't help her. She was an unjustified kin-killer, a murderer of the worst kind, and this was her punishment.
  
  Viren wandered only so far from her as it took to kill something, and as Asteri grew weaker and more despondent, the more anxious the creature became. Before long, she had even stopped lighting fires at night; she was ready to die. The wyvern wouldn't allow it.
  
  Weeks into their journey, Asteri's step faltered into a stumble, and she collapsed. Sitting on her knees she hung her head, utterly lost. Viren stood beside her a moment and huffed, sinking to his belly and pressing his neck against her until she was forced to drape an arm over him. Satisfied, the wyvern stood, taking her with him. He drug her towards an outcropping of rock where at least she would be shaded from the desert heat and laid down beside her, waiting.
  
  Night fell. It had been sixteen days since they had left her clan. Anyone else would have died, but Asteri's curse wouldn't allow it. The dark power coiled in her gut sustained her, if barely.
  
  When she came to it was to the low rumble of Viren's growl. She was vaguely aware of the dragon rising to his feet, snarling in a way only wyverns could, echoed back by the yips and chortling calls of plain-stalkers. The little things were largely harmless alone but this far out they ran in packs.
  
  Asteri rolled to her side, years of ingrained self preservation driving her to reach for her spear. Her fingers had just touched its hilt when teeth sank into her ankle and she was drug across the sand. Somewhere to her left Viren cried out, distracted and overwhelmed by the sand-stalkers while the rest of the pack went for the easier prey Asteri made. She kicked furiously, catching the lizard that had her in the jaw and swung her spear down to take another across the throat, but another simply took its place. And another, and another. Asteri thrashed and yelled, struggling to keep them off her long enough to stand. Viren leapt over her, swiping at the biting, snapping, clawing things attacking her.
  
  The struggle only lasted a few minutes, but it left both wyvern and master exhausted and bloody when the pack had finally felt enough loss to run. Asteri fell to the sand, panting, clutching a heavily bleeding wound at her shoulder. With slow and deliberate movements she dressed it, and then tended to Viren. The beasts had gone for his wings, the only soft flesh on him, but he'd done well in keeping them out of their reach.
  
  “We can't do this anymore,” she said roughly, finding a spot against a rock and tearing her mask away. Blood and sand and sweat clung to her face, and the cool night air felt good on her skin. The sting of her wounds and the shame of being overwhelmed by such lesser creatures did more good than bad; it reminded her that she had a will to live buried somewhere inside, one she would have to cling to. Her wyvern cast her a querying look. “We'll find a teacher. I can't be the only one with the curse.”
  
  They continued on and though Asteri remained weak, she started eating again. By the time the desert turned to scrub and scrub to trees, she had regained some semblance of life, though still she wasted away, her lithe frame far too thin. The wound that arched across her chest and around her shoulder was proving slow to heal, and she did her best to ignore the aching heat of it. Surely an infection was soon to set in.
  
  The first town they came across was too foreign and strange, its people darker toned and maskless, and Asteri gave the settlement a wide berth. The scents and sounds of their lives was too much for her. So they continued on following the road. People they passed stared openly, horses startled and people in carts yelled at them, some even threw rocks. This drove them from the well worn road and into the trees.
  
  It took time, but eventually Asteri began to understand what to expect from the outsiders. Surprise, confusion, and indifference were all standard. Occasionally someone would scream them away, or once they had bedded down they'd be run off by an angry crowd. She found that she had to trade things for food or places to stay, and she had no currency these others would recognize, so she and Viren spent much of their time hunting. It wasn't until they reached a much larger city that Asteri found what she was looking for.
  
  “Stay here, okay? There's too many here. I'll come find you tomorrow.” Viren wasn't pleased, but he slipped back into the trees while Asteri entered through the main gate, unhindered. Perhaps in a place so large, not only would she go unnoticed but maybe she would find her teacher too. She wasn't so lucky. Curious and unnerved glances were everywhere, but by now she paid them little heed.
  
  She spent the day wandering, entranced by street vendors and merchants, selling wares from places far away she could barely imagine. Women in long gowns walked by while men in metal armor escorted carriages and guarded shops.
  
  Eventually she came upon a sign marked by a lick of flame and strange symbols, but more than the sign, she felt the power inside. Hopeful, she opened the door. The space was cluttered with books, vials, plants, and cages.
  
  “Hello?” The power here felt very different from her own; it was light and warm and moving. From a back room a tall man emerged, wearing colorful robes that left the broad expanse of his tanned chest exposed. He stared at her, confused for a moment before he scowled.
  
  “You aren't welcome here,” he said quietly. Asteri took a step back and seemed to shrink.
  
  “I need help.” His glare narrowed and he pointed at the door.
  
  “I refuse to entertain a dark thing like you.”
  
  “Please, I…” Asteri chewed the inside of her cheek. This was the first mage she had found, and it felt like it was her only chance at saving herself. “I need a teacher, I can't go home until-”
  
  “You don't even know what you are do you?” The man sneered, cutting her off. “Get out before I kill you.” He paused. “I should. I'd be doing the world a favor.”
  
  -
  
  A month went by in much the same fashion, and Asteri hardened to the ways of The Others. The smaller towns they would linger only if they needed, the bigger ones Asteri would venture into alone. She was growing more and more dissatisfied with their lack of progress, and her strength had yet to fully recover.
  
  It was in a large town that Asteri left Viren and made her way into their streets, a cloak hiding her monochrome clothes. It helped keep eyes from her. At some point, she thought perhaps she was being followed; it had happened before. She was an easily identifiable mark, but after an hour or two of aimless wandering whoever it was disappeared. Night fell, and she did as she usually did, finding a warm stable to curl up in for the night.
  
  The horses didn't appreciate her being there, but she crept into an empty stall at the end of the stable, settling on a loose pile of hay. Cloak wrapped tightly around her and spear across her lap, she drifted off into strange shadowed dreams.
  
  -
  
  Spoiler: TW: Attempted Assault

  Asteri woke to her spear being ripped away from her and a strong hand gripping her calf and yanking into the center of the stall. Though being woken from a dead sleep, she gained her senses quickly and struggled against her attackers. There were three of them, all large men reeking of booze and musk. One of them put a knee on her chest, forcing the air from her lungs, but he clamped a hand down on her throat.
  
  “Nowh, nowh, little wild girl, we'll show you a good time if you stop fighting.” One of the men behind him laughed.
  
  “No, fight girl, I wanna hear you scream. What she look like under that mask, huh?” Despite her restricted movement and airway, this made Asteri thrash about once more, but the other men simply moved to stand on her wrists, making her cry out. The man on her chest struck her, sending her mask skittering across the cobbles and she turned her face back to him sharply, spitting blood from a split lip and throwing ruthless curses at him in her native tongue. He hit her again and again until she lay there in a daze, struggling for air.
  
  “That's a girl…” He eased down her body but though she struggled, it was fruitless. Hands tore at her clothes and she was sure they would have their way and kill her. She wouldn't have it. She wouldn't allow it. She refused to die, weak and exiled, at the hands of some outlander rapists.
  
  The fire started in her chest, an unbearable heat that leached into her arms and fingertips, so hot it left her numb and cold all at once. She dug her fingers into the hay and there it caught.
  
  Flames unlike anything any of them had ever seen leapt into the air, dancing in shades of black and grey. Everything they touched, they consumed. Both the men and horses screamed, but the sounds were quickly swallowed by the rush of power in Asteri's veins. By the time the fires slowed, half the city was gone.
  
  Asteri knelt in the remains of the stable, panting and exhausted. With trembling hands she pulled the tattered remnants of her cloak about her to cover herself, and fumbled for her mask. It was singed, but largely untouched. It was there that he found her at long last, sitting amid the uncontrolled destruction.
  
  "Little Grey Flame. We have found You."
  
  Asteri froze. She felt the voice more than she heard it. Wide eyes searched the rubble around her, but all she saw was smoke, moving lazily. "I don't know you." She tasted the lie.
  
  "All know Us. In the quiet stillness Our whispers are heard. In the curl of smoke, and the denseness of the mists."
  
  Surely she was dreaming. Perhaps the men and the fire and this were all in her head. She was still caught in the thrall of her mind. Her fingers tightened on her mask and she swallowed. The thought felt dirty. "You can't be Him," she whispered, throat tight with tears. The smoke and shadows around her seemed to grow more dense, shaping into something without clear borders but something nonetheless.
  
  "Reach to us, that we may commune."
  
  A long moment passed before she moved again, putting her mask to her face and reaching out to the darkness with trembling hands. A smokey, shadow-like appendage met her touch, and despite appearing as though made only of air, there was a weight behind the touch as it curled between her fingers. Tentative at first, before settling, and leaning just the slightest bit. Solidifying, it took shape and form, and fingers begin to be. Tears welled and spilled as she watched the creature solidifying before her with breathless awe.
  
  A mask of bone stared down at her from the darkness, gaze heavy and void. His touch was cold and his form still more suggested than defined. "You are," she hushed. She knew then in a way she had never known anything else that way she's never known anything before that she had been chosen. That he chose her. She had been exiled for the raging thing coiled inside her, but her curse was something none of them could have known. Overwhelming sorrow and something much more beautiful blurred in a roiling wave of emotion that cast her adrift.
  
  The god of her people, her god, The Abyssal Lord, the Void...
  
  He had answered.
  
• 
  
  ft. a combat medic turned EMT who as it later turns out, sees dead people
  

  Spoiler: TW: PTSD Topics

  For like, allll of it.
  
  Calliste was finally slowing down. Her breath was rough and uneven, and the scene was now flooding with paramedics, cops, and ambulances. She glanced across the scene, looking for Marco, or even Coal, but saw neither, and the quickly building tension in her chest would not wait for either of them. The fear rose like bile as her mind slowed enough to catch up - she turned away, putting her back to the chaos and almost running for the nearest alley. She slipped behind cover - no, not cover. There was nothing to hide from, she told herself. Regardless, she rounded the corner of a dumpster. Her skin prickled with heat, the back of her neck itching with dried blood and paranoia. Her lungs were suddenly starving for air. She turned sharply, throwing her bag to the ground and pressing her back into the junction of brick and steel, squeezing her eyes shut. “Shit.” Sliding down the wall until she was sitting against it she leaned forward, elbows on her knees and gloved bloody hands clamped together
  
  She tried to focus on oxygen, but there were bombs going off in her head, dust in her nose and mouth, and the not-so-distant clack of gunfire to accompany it all. Callie had had enough help to know what she was experiencing wasn’t real, but the panic it stirred was. How many people had she touched? How many dying people had she held together in their last moments? How many of them would have lived if she hadn’t moved to the next? The spiral of thoughts was falling dangerously fast.
  
  He’s dead because of you. And there it was, rock bottom. She sank lower, into a crouch.
  
  Tears rose with a strangled sob, breaking her grip to press the back of her latex-gloved hand to her nose and mouth. Come on. Come on. Come on. She grit her teeth around her body's efforts to wallow in her fear, in her grief, in her guilt. She seethed against it all, but she had nothing to focus on. With uncoordinated hands she peeled off her gloves, weight shifting forward from her crouch and onto her knees. She leaned to the side as she continued to gasp for air, barely feeling the pull of the wound on her side. It was wrong. She needed to feel it. Tearing the shirt of her uniform from her belt she raised the fabric, she grasped her bare side with her other hand and dug her thumb into the gash. She grit her teeth a moment, resisting the cry that eventually squeezed from her chest. She doubled over, her forehead finding cool pavement.
  
  The searing heat of the cut was her focal point, a bit of shock factor to get her mind back on it's tracks. It wasn't the ideal way to circumvent a PTSD fueled panic attack, but for now, it was enough. Her mind went blank save for the pain, and her lungs felt more her own. She released the pressure with a tight sound, largely unaware of the blood oozing into her palm.
  
  As the pain faded her thoughts came back but they were more orderly, the terror of being bombed distant and far less sensory. Minutes passed. She sat like that for some time, turning her cheek to the asphalt as she tried to regulate her breathing.
  
  When at last she sat up, it was with even breath and a wince. She was exhausted. Her body hurt. Worse, her mind felt numb. There was little to no emotion left to cling to. The panic had scrubbed her raw and then bleached her open wounds. Eventually Callie forced herself to her feet, finding that her legs had fallen asleep. She lingered in the alley, waiting until the feeling came back before grabbing her bag in a white-knuckled grip and rejoining the chaos.
  
  It was more orderly now; the police and other first responders were doing well, controlling the scene and establishing more formalized triage areas.
  
  “Cal!” The nurse turned at the sound of her name. The voice belonged to the charge nurse from the hospital. “Are you okay?” The woman put hands on Callie's arms and while she didn't flinch, she did pull away.
  
  “Yeah,” she said, voice distant to her own ears. She probably looked rough, and judging from the look on the woman's face, she did. Her coworkers eyes searched her for wounds, stopping on the stretch of bloodsoaked fabric on her side and stomach. “It's fine,” she said. “I've already released everyone I touched to the oncoming.” The woman pursed her lips.
  
  “Go home, Cal. I'll give the cops your info if they need it.” Cal nodded her thanks, but said nothing as she slipped away. She was in no position to argue. Walking through the disaster she recognized the shell shock on the faces of all those she passed. Even those just arriving to assist were stunned. The little town had never seen anything so devastating.
  
  It wasn't until she was walking up the steps to her apartment that she realized where she was. She couldn't remember the walk home. Fumbling with her keys, she eventually made it inside, dropping her bag on the floor and starting the process of getting off her uniform, the task made laborious by weak and trembling hands. She didn't want to look in the mirror as she stepped into her bathroom, but she caught sight of herself regardless. She was spattered in blood and dirt, her braid messy and loose strands of hair hanging around her dirty face. Her eyes were empty. Blood still seeped down her side from a gash no larger than the length of her palm. For now, she ignored it.
  
  When she stepped under the showerhead, the water ran red. She stood there until the water went cold, and then still failed to move, instead waiting until she was shivering with the chill of it. Whatever the case, the cold seemed to help refocus her, and when she stepped from the shower she was more herself.
  
  Standing in front of the mirror, she examined the wound at her side. As she’d thought initially, the wound certainly warranted stitching but that was something she wouldn’t even attempt. Her hands still shook too violently to allow acceptable work. Instead she pressed a towel to it and made for her work bag. She recoiled when she reached for it. It was covered in blood and reeked of smoke. Gritting her teeth she moved stiffly to her closet, dragging out a large bag with effort. Inside was all sorts of hodge podged medical supplies. Grabbing a gauze pad and tape she packed and covered the wound; it was the best she could do with her dexterity as it was.
  
  For a while she paced in her apartment, failing to feel at ease. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. Hell, she was barely able to sit. Pulling on a jacket she set her course outside, the 1911 tucked against her hip a familiar comfort. The nurse had no destination in mind, focusing only on the move of her feet over pavement and the far quieter streets. The late night air was cool on her face and in her lungs, but she was largely unmoved by it. She was too tired. Too numb. Too disconnected.
  
  It was only when she stood at the bottom of the church steps that she realized where her feet had taken her. She frowned. She’d failed to find Marco after the other technicians had arrived. She’d been… preoccupied. That, she felt bad for; leaving him to keep pressure on a woman who was bleeding out…
  
  So she trudged up the steps, her hands buried deep in her pockets. The doors to the grand place were closed and she almost hoped she would find that they held fast when she reached for them. It was a false hope; they were unlocked. Her next thought was that she would be turned away. But again, she was out of luck. The lights of the main cathedral were dimmed, but no one was present. It was empty, save for her. She hovered there uncertain, just inside the door for a long moment before the tightness in her chest pressed her forward.
  
  Callie sat at the end of a pew, wincing with the effort of lowering herself to the bench, and then again at the relief of at last coming to a rest. At least there was no sign of the priest. Unlike her first visit, Callie didn’t fall asleep. That wasn’t a possibility. Instead she sat trying in vain to relax into the wood, her eyes cast upward at the beautiful displays of devotion the church had mustered. She didn’t understand it; or perhaps she did. She understood where the need to feel more came from. She understood the desire to be secure, to feel protected, to feel like there was more, but she failed to find the faith to do it. It would be so much easier to just believe, to convince herself those who died in her care were going somewhere else, to think that her brother was in a ‘better place’. But her disbelief was not so easily suspendable, even then.
  
  Instead she sat, emotionless and hollow.
  
  She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, able now to think without the added stress of blood and adrenaline. She hadn't checked the news yet, in fact, her phone was turned off, but by her count she'd declared death for what… fifteen people? It wasn't the worst she had seen, but she had never seen anything so catastrophic stateside. Explosions, or, implosions as it were, weren't supposed to happen at home…
  
• 
  
  ft. a slave turned savage merchant
  ​
  Elki bent low over her wash basin, wiping at her cheeks and brow with a cool cloth. The water in the porcelain below had turned garishly red.
  
  “The Copper Skull will no longer fight slaves. Consider the trade dead. I’ve already assumed possession of your stock.”
  
  “You can’t be serious.”
  
  “Mistress?”
  
  Elki straightened, looking past her reflection in the mirror to meet Lillian’s presence. Or she tried to. Instead her stare fell on the woman that looked back at her, empty eyes meeting their mirrored image. The memory was only hours old. Red was still splattered across her neck and chest. Her hands strangled themselves with the washcloth, crimson dripping from them. Her hair was a nest of wintry strands.
  
  “I can. You’ve failed to make dues on your stockades. The Doshan as a whole in fact.” She dropped a bundle of falsified notices at his feet. “Your slaves are mine. And they are no longer slaves.”
  
  “Leave me.” Lillian hesitated at the edge of the room, long enough Elki turned slowly. “Now.”
  
  Her hands returned to twisting in the cloth as she looked back, choking the tremble from them.
  
  The slaver fell to his knees, tearing the bundle apart, spreading paper as though some piece of parchment within held the key to Elkylis Viren’s demise. The woman stepped forward, dropping to a crouch in front of him, the black velvet of her dress pooling atop the scattered ledgers. She took his face in her hand, grip tight and nails digging into his skin, forcing his eyes to meet hers.
  
  “I want to watch your defeat, flesh-monger. Tell me; what does it taste like?”
  
  Hate. Pure unadulterated hatred. “Blood,” he snarled. And then a line of heat. A lance of light plunging into Elki’s side. She jolted, sitting forward on one knee, but she did not waver. She grit her teeth. Someone moved behind her, Draigh likely, but not quickly enough. Her nails drew blood as her opposite hand gripped at his wrist just above her hip.
  
  She clawed at the sides of the vanity, baring teeth as she panted around the memory and the deep ache in her side.
  
  “The Copper Skull bows to no man. No King.” With a thin sound she forced his hand away, her own palm meeting the hilt of the dagger that had found a home in her body. “And certainly no slaver.” Her anger overtook her. The motion was smooth and fast, made simple by the grip she had on his face and driven by a lifetime of injustices.
  
  Blood soaked the sand and paper below her, but still she did not move. "It does taste like blood, doesn't it?" she hissed, pushing him to the side. He fell bonelessly, clutching at a grinning throat. It took every ounce of toxic anger in her body to force herself to stand. Her own blood seeped down her leg, but she ignored the sticky heat of it. The slaver's last living moments would be spent looking up at the woman who had defeated him, and she would show no weakness. "Like ash and rust.” But it wasn’t defeat she tasted. It was war.
  
  She screamed, a fist reaching out to strike the mirror in front of her.
  
  -
  
  It had been three days since she had slit the throat of the greater leader of the Doshan Triad. Three days since she had been stitched closed by a healer well bought in the early hours of the morning. She’d been lucky, and the girl had told her as much. The healer had given strict instructions on how long she ought to rest, how often to change bandages and so on. She had gual that would have made Elki smile had she not just started a war with blood she’d not intended on spilling so soon. They hadn’t retaliated yet, but they would.
  
  The merchant rested only long enough to regain her feet; the healer would rage if she knew but there were arrangements to be made. Slaves had to be freed. Paid. Given employment should they choose not to fight. The Copper Skull had to be rebranded. And there was the issue of the blockade, and though she’d been told Ravella would handle it she knew Garrett well enough now to doubt it. Perhaps a pretty sad face would prove his weakness. She wondered when Demetrius’ ships would arrive.
  
  She worked from the relative safety of her estate until the festival came. Lillian helped her dress, now a necessity rather than a luxury. "Wipe that look from your face, Lillian. Your concern is as unbecoming as it is wasted." With a stiff movement she pulled back her surcoat, clipping a long dagger to her inner belt before letting the fabric fall back in place. Lillian only smiled as she knelt, delicate hands arranging the hem of her skirts. "Go."
  
  "Domina?"
  
  Elki extended her hand, pulling the girl up as she took it. "Go enjoy yourself. I've already released the others." She'd released everyone. Only her most trusted brawn remained, and they did so of their own will.
  
  "We are ready at your leisure, domina." Draigh hovered in the doorway. Elki pursed her lips, pressing a small purse into Lilian's palm before turning away.
  
  "I don't want to see you until tomorrow afternoon."
  
  Elki and her guard, comprised of Draigh and one of his men, left to join the revelry. It was important to make appearances, and if she were honest she was restless, trapped in her home as she had been.
  
  As they walked, Draigh kept an eye on his mistress, on her pale features. He matched her easy stride while his counterpart trailed behind, giving distance to watch those that passed or approached. “Are you going to herd me all day?” she asked quietly.
  
  “So long as you’ll allow it,” the broad, well-armored man rumbled. He was out of place in the throngs of Escelans; his skin darker, his frame larger.
  
  Elki hummed, pausing to peruse a silk dealer’s wares. “I see.”
  
• 
  
  ft. a one-eyed badass​
  
  Air never stopped moving, the only element lacking a resting state. The marksman closed her only good eye and inhaled, feeling the push and pull of the world through the air drawn into her lungs. On her clouded exhale her eye opened in time with the steady draw of her bow, her arm drawing back against the heavy tension with which the wood was strung. Starting high, she settled, her body easing into a natural stance while her eye tracked her target. Her chest was empty now - her body a framework for the weapon in her hands. The muscles of her back and shoulders began to protest, but she gave no outward sign of the discomfort.
  
  She waited. She didn’t breathe as she followed the creature, the sounds of birds carrying on overhead as it shuffled through the undergrowth. Her sights were so natural that when the moment came, she barely recognized it. Her fingers released the bowstring with a snap, the arrow there one moment then simply not. A short scream leapt into the air before all was quiet once more. The hunter stood still, pausing before allowing herself to draw breath again, the chill morning air biting at her face. Content her target had been felled, she let the massive bow hang in a loose grip at her side as she moved on between the trees.
  
  The creature she had ended lay on its side, roughly a meter in length, an arrow shaft standing straight from the soft flesh where foreleg met body. It was female, larger than its male counterparts; it’d pay better too. The thing stank of moldering earth, peat moss, and heavy animal musk but she didn’t balk. Instead she retrieved her arrow with a smooth and familiar movement, wiping the heart’s blood from the head and inspecting it before returning it to her quiver. “You’ll do just fine,” she hushed as she bent to take the thing by its forelegs, hoisting it onto her shoulder.
  
  A dun colored gelding awaited her over a rise, contentedly grazing on what little live grass remained beneath fallen leaves despite the burden of the dozen or so carcasses already tied to the saddle. The last joined its brethren and the hunter threw a sheet of waxed canvas to cover them, though a haphazard cloven foot or bill could be seen beneath its edge.
  
  -
  
  She’d been gone since before dawn, leaving the city woman sleeping beneath her furs while she’d set off to earn a little pocket change. Alitheia hadn’t gone far from she and her companion’s camp; she hadn’t had to. They were only a half day’s travel from Horizon City, making it the best opportunity to cash in on a few pest bounties.
  
  Leading her horse down a narrow trail, the sounds of quiet cursing and the strike of a flint drifted down to her. The marksman paused, tilting her head. “- gods damn it all to the seven hells!” The woman sighed, shaking her head.
  
  “Come, Ludo. We’ve a city dweller to save from the cold.”
  
  As she came up over the crest of the hill into the small clearing she found exactly what she’d expected; the young woman huddled around the remnants of the small fire Alitheia had lit the night prior. “I’d offer my assistance, but I suggest we find the road soon.” As she spoke her gaze followed the horizon, the sun climbing in the chill autumn sky. With a tilt of her head to the black Gwathreni steed, a horse more expensive than all the coin Alitheia had seen outside the walls of Romana, she added, “Your horse will warm you well enough.”
  
  Leaving her own horse to amble behind her, she turned to set about her things, reattaching them to what little space poor Ludo had left, though he seemed largely unphased. Catching the expression on the human’s face, her nose wrinkled at the mass of bodies beneath the canvas, Alitheia hummed.
  
  “They’re called griglings. They destroy farmland and forests alike, and the Horizon City guard will pay good enough coin to buy new fletching,” she explained evenly, fingers brushing the feathers of the arrows hanging at her left hip. Usually she made her own, but such work was best saved for higher quality arrows.
  
  With her longbow strung across her back, a short blade at her right hip and her quiver at her left, the fae woman looked every inch the ranger she was becoming. She’d been hired, on a whim it seemed, to escort the woman, Kara, to Horizon City. She hadn’t needed a reason. The coin offered was more than enough to provide the wealthy brunette some inkling of security. Alitheia hadn’t pried, but she’d been seeking to leave Alexandria quickly, and it didn’t seem like it was about reaching the southward city. The hunter had sensed her urgency - the need to escape - but she’d said nothing on the matter.
  
  “If we leave now, we’ll have be within city walls well before sundown.”
  
  Her charge scrambled to secure her camp and mount her horse. Alitheia took some small satisfaction in Kara’s discomfort, turning to lead her mount. Though she held his reins the dun didn’t need her guidance. He followed close to her shoulder, nose reaching to brush her cloak occasionally. The fingers of her left hand hooked over the bowstring that crossed her chest, the position both a readied stance and a familiar comfort. The bow at her back felt warm though it was no trick of her mind.
  
  The hunter walked ahead, her steed and her charge behind, the other woman’s horse several hands taller. When Kara had arrived at their agreed upon meeting point, a spot off the road just outside Alexandria’s southern gate, Alitheia had let out a breath of relief. The world held a great many options for bestial travel ranging from great birds to wild cats and smaller antlered creatures and everything in between, the first of which Alie was largely uncomfortable with. Though the steed was unusual in its pedigree, at least she would be joining the marksman on a horse, not some unreadable empty-eyed fowl.
  
  The days they’d spent on the road together had been largely uneventful both women seemingly content with long stretches of silence. Kara took direction well enough, leaving Alitheia quietly thankful for a contract willing to submit to her experience. Their relatively short journey was drawing to a close, wisps of smoke from the city streaking the cold horizon. The trees were thinning to give way to swathes of farmland, the road they were on joining the wider highway.
  
  She glanced over her shoulder, studying Kara from the corner of one storm-grey eye. She looked tired and though Alitheia’s judgement of human aging was lacking she thought Kara to be young and thus, was perhaps worn beyond her age. It wasn’t in weathered lines or anything so superficial, but more so in the darkness of her eyes and the line of her shoulders that she gained some sense of erosion. Looking ahead once more, she slowed her pace slightly, allowing the Gwathreni stallion to close distance.
  
  “I never asked; what lies in the city of roads for you? Headed somewhere else?”