Roaring_Dragon
A vagabond of the lavish jungles of my mind
The Derangement - 1x1 RP
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Fantasy The Derangement
- Thread starter Roaring_Dragon
- Start date
strawberries
New Member
“This doesn’t bode well for us,” Cliff says, staring ahead at the forest before them. “I can feel it inside. In my bones.”
“You’re just saying that ‘cause it’s early,” Sheera mutters, quiet enough that only her and Rhys catch it.
Still, she understands the man’s contempt for their venture. If it had been anyone but Rhys and half the town that had urged her to go along, she wouldn’t be here.
The Elvish forest spreads out as far as the eye can see in either direction, a long, unbroken emerald horizon. The chill morning breeze that curls around her ankles and snakes beneath the collar of her cloak doesn’t seem to touch the trees before her. They stand tall and utterly still, leaves unruffled by the shifting air. As though it’s a painting and not an enterable place.
“Are you sure about this, Ronald?” Cliff calls from where he stands, gripping his draft horse’s reins. They’ll have to leave the horse and the cage it’s carted from the village at the edge of the wood. The trees are far too tight-knit for it to navigate within.
Ronald, the mayor’s brother and right-hand, scowls. Straightening his shoulders, he turns to shoot Cliff a sneer. “We didn’t come out here to head back. If we do, no doubt that mad direwolf will keep picking away at our cattle. Are you looking to starve this winter? Because the rest of us aren’t.”
Truthfully, the rest of the group looks more than comfortable with starving at that moment. If given the option, she would have taken it.
“Fine, fine, let’s just get on with it.” Cliff’s shoulders slump in defeat and he gives his horse a gentle pat.
The route into the forest is nonexistent, something that’s no doubt not an accident. The rule of the Elvish forest is simple and absolute—don’t go in, for you won’t come out. Or if you did you came out...wrong. Wrong like Rhys.
Sheera shakes her head and shudders. No use in feeling afraid, not when there’s no other choice but to press on forward.
“It’s a bit odd that you’re here, huh?” Rhys says, cocking his head to one side. “Seems like a stretch that a blacksmith would be required to catch a direwolf.
He looks even more the grim figure now, the early dawn light cutting dark circles around his eyes and making him fade into the landscpae.
She huffs, rubbing her arms beneath her cloak. “It was you that told me to come. Besides, I’m the one with the key to the cage.” As if to prove her point, she holds up the key on the cord around her throat.
“I said that they were going to invite you. Not that you should come. I thought that—”
“Sheera!” Ronald’s voice cuts him short. “Is Blink giving you trouble?”
Her hands ball into fists before she can think to stop them.
Blink.
It gets under her skin more than his at this point.
Maybe it’s because she saw the day he wandered back out of the Elvish woods, too thin and….wrong. Like all the brightness had gone out of him leaving behind a wide-eyed seven year-old that moved with an inhuman quietness and an eerie stare. At first, everyone had hoped it would fade, but now, a decade and a half later, Rhys seems more detached than ever, like a shadow slipping between the cracks of their village.
She opens her mouth, more than ready to dump the irritation that’s been building up in her throat ever since they arrived on her doorstep, until a bony hand squeezing her shoulder stops her.
“Don’t bother,” Rhys murmurs. “They’re harmless.”
She shrugs him off. “Yeah, well, someone can be harmless and still an asshole.”
The corner of his thin mouth quirks upward revealing an uneven grin. It’s gone as soon as it appears when Ronald speaks again: “We don’t have all morning. Stop bothering the blacksmith and get on with it, Blink.”
Wordless, he slips away to the front of the group, eyes on the ground
An eerie stare and a peculiar knack for tracking. These were the gifts of the Elvish woods. If one were foolish enough to call them gifts.
Sheera shifts in her boots, wanting nothing more than to turn and make straight for the village that’s nothing more than a few rising pillars of chimney smoke from where she stands, tangled among rolling hills of farmland.
A blacksmith on a hunting mission. She’d laugh if she heard it herself.
Right now, she should be rising for the day, stoking the hearths, setting to work on whichever commission was next on the list, until a customer wanders in with something bent and broken for her to mend. The air should taste like smoke and old leather, too warm for anyone but her too linger in for long.
Not this morning though.
With Rhys gone she’s stood off to the side alone, too exposed. Reluctantly she walks around the cart and goes to stand beside Cliff. The older man is a bit of a grouch, certainly a coward, but mostly harmless.
“Morning, Sheera,” he says, bobbing his head. “That’s a shield?” He says it as though it’s a question, looking over her shoulder at the heavy circular shield on her back.
“Morning. Yes.”
Understanding spreads across his features. “Ah, Rhys got to you then. He told the rest of us not to bring weapons as well.” Cliff tugs aside his cloak to show her the set of daggers on his belt. They’re familiar. She mended a few of them the spring prior. “Seems a bit...idiotic, if you ask me—”
“I didn’t.”
“What?” His brows knit together quizzically.
She huffs. “I didn’t ask you. The woods will be too narrow for a sword and shield, better to have the shield.”
“You won’t be saying that when there’s a direwolf breathing down your neck.” He shakes his head, like he pities her. “You’re just here to ensure that the cage works properly. I don’t know why you wouldn’t just give the key to—”
Rhys' quiet voice makes Cliff stop short. “It entered the woods here.”
Sheera peers around Cliff to see Rhys crouched at the edge of the treeline beside a thick cluster of brambles. Even at a distance, she can make out a tuft of silvery fur caught in the thorns, as though something’s pelt had been snagged while retreating into the wood.
“It’s your wolf for sure.” Rhys stands, watching as Ronald approaches and evaluates the fur. As if the man could tell it from the fur of a rabbit or common dog. “I said it before, I’ll say it again: go home. Kill it when it comes out.”
“And wait for it to slaughter more than our sheep?” Ronald sneers. “If you’re so worried go home, Blink. It’s not as though you’re going to be much use.”
Rhys gives him a long look before stepping aside and wandering back to Sheera’s side.
“Let’s go over the plan once more: we track down the wolf and snare it with this,” Ronald hoists up a length of coiled net, fitted with hundreds of sharp barbs. “We haul it back to the cage, lock it up, and are back in the village by lunchtime. Questions?”
There’s nothing but silence to greet his question. He turns and pushes the shrubbery aside, stepping into the woods. It seems to swallow him whole, branches disguising his point of entry in moments, leaving them to scramble after him.
Sheera slips her shield off of her back and straps it around her arm. It’s relatively small, but sturdy, made of hard oak and iron rivets. It had been a good project to keep her distracted during a quiet week earlier in the spring.
She hopes she won’t have to put it to use.
“That’s all you brought with you?” There’s something like approval in Rhys voice, though his expression doesn’t change from a blank gaze forward.
“You said to come unarmed,” she says.
Cliff’s next, muttering curses as he disappears into the wood, leaving the two of them standing at the very edge. It’s near enough that the hem of her cloak brushes a few scraggly branches, thorns catching in the wool. Up close the leaves look jagged, almost sharp to the touch. Like emerald teeth waiting to swallow them whole.
“If you’re going to run, do it now,” Rhys says, casually, as though speaking of the weather.
“I was going to say the same to you.”
“In we go then.”
Sheera brushes past him and steps between a small break in the brambles. Quiet presses in from all sides. No bird song, no rustling of leaves. Just...quiet. If she didn’t know better, she might think that it’s serene. The softly waving leaves, pale, silvery light spilling through the canopy. But she can feel it—the wrongness of this forest—like a cold hand around her throat.
This is no place for humans.
“You’re just saying that ‘cause it’s early,” Sheera mutters, quiet enough that only her and Rhys catch it.
Still, she understands the man’s contempt for their venture. If it had been anyone but Rhys and half the town that had urged her to go along, she wouldn’t be here.
The Elvish forest spreads out as far as the eye can see in either direction, a long, unbroken emerald horizon. The chill morning breeze that curls around her ankles and snakes beneath the collar of her cloak doesn’t seem to touch the trees before her. They stand tall and utterly still, leaves unruffled by the shifting air. As though it’s a painting and not an enterable place.
“Are you sure about this, Ronald?” Cliff calls from where he stands, gripping his draft horse’s reins. They’ll have to leave the horse and the cage it’s carted from the village at the edge of the wood. The trees are far too tight-knit for it to navigate within.
Ronald, the mayor’s brother and right-hand, scowls. Straightening his shoulders, he turns to shoot Cliff a sneer. “We didn’t come out here to head back. If we do, no doubt that mad direwolf will keep picking away at our cattle. Are you looking to starve this winter? Because the rest of us aren’t.”
Truthfully, the rest of the group looks more than comfortable with starving at that moment. If given the option, she would have taken it.
“Fine, fine, let’s just get on with it.” Cliff’s shoulders slump in defeat and he gives his horse a gentle pat.
The route into the forest is nonexistent, something that’s no doubt not an accident. The rule of the Elvish forest is simple and absolute—don’t go in, for you won’t come out. Or if you did you came out...wrong. Wrong like Rhys.
Sheera shakes her head and shudders. No use in feeling afraid, not when there’s no other choice but to press on forward.
“It’s a bit odd that you’re here, huh?” Rhys says, cocking his head to one side. “Seems like a stretch that a blacksmith would be required to catch a direwolf.
He looks even more the grim figure now, the early dawn light cutting dark circles around his eyes and making him fade into the landscpae.
She huffs, rubbing her arms beneath her cloak. “It was you that told me to come. Besides, I’m the one with the key to the cage.” As if to prove her point, she holds up the key on the cord around her throat.
“I said that they were going to invite you. Not that you should come. I thought that—”
“Sheera!” Ronald’s voice cuts him short. “Is Blink giving you trouble?”
Her hands ball into fists before she can think to stop them.
Blink.
It gets under her skin more than his at this point.
Maybe it’s because she saw the day he wandered back out of the Elvish woods, too thin and….wrong. Like all the brightness had gone out of him leaving behind a wide-eyed seven year-old that moved with an inhuman quietness and an eerie stare. At first, everyone had hoped it would fade, but now, a decade and a half later, Rhys seems more detached than ever, like a shadow slipping between the cracks of their village.
She opens her mouth, more than ready to dump the irritation that’s been building up in her throat ever since they arrived on her doorstep, until a bony hand squeezing her shoulder stops her.
“Don’t bother,” Rhys murmurs. “They’re harmless.”
She shrugs him off. “Yeah, well, someone can be harmless and still an asshole.”
The corner of his thin mouth quirks upward revealing an uneven grin. It’s gone as soon as it appears when Ronald speaks again: “We don’t have all morning. Stop bothering the blacksmith and get on with it, Blink.”
Wordless, he slips away to the front of the group, eyes on the ground
An eerie stare and a peculiar knack for tracking. These were the gifts of the Elvish woods. If one were foolish enough to call them gifts.
Sheera shifts in her boots, wanting nothing more than to turn and make straight for the village that’s nothing more than a few rising pillars of chimney smoke from where she stands, tangled among rolling hills of farmland.
A blacksmith on a hunting mission. She’d laugh if she heard it herself.
Right now, she should be rising for the day, stoking the hearths, setting to work on whichever commission was next on the list, until a customer wanders in with something bent and broken for her to mend. The air should taste like smoke and old leather, too warm for anyone but her too linger in for long.
Not this morning though.
With Rhys gone she’s stood off to the side alone, too exposed. Reluctantly she walks around the cart and goes to stand beside Cliff. The older man is a bit of a grouch, certainly a coward, but mostly harmless.
“Morning, Sheera,” he says, bobbing his head. “That’s a shield?” He says it as though it’s a question, looking over her shoulder at the heavy circular shield on her back.
“Morning. Yes.”
Understanding spreads across his features. “Ah, Rhys got to you then. He told the rest of us not to bring weapons as well.” Cliff tugs aside his cloak to show her the set of daggers on his belt. They’re familiar. She mended a few of them the spring prior. “Seems a bit...idiotic, if you ask me—”
“I didn’t.”
“What?” His brows knit together quizzically.
She huffs. “I didn’t ask you. The woods will be too narrow for a sword and shield, better to have the shield.”
“You won’t be saying that when there’s a direwolf breathing down your neck.” He shakes his head, like he pities her. “You’re just here to ensure that the cage works properly. I don’t know why you wouldn’t just give the key to—”
Rhys' quiet voice makes Cliff stop short. “It entered the woods here.”
Sheera peers around Cliff to see Rhys crouched at the edge of the treeline beside a thick cluster of brambles. Even at a distance, she can make out a tuft of silvery fur caught in the thorns, as though something’s pelt had been snagged while retreating into the wood.
“It’s your wolf for sure.” Rhys stands, watching as Ronald approaches and evaluates the fur. As if the man could tell it from the fur of a rabbit or common dog. “I said it before, I’ll say it again: go home. Kill it when it comes out.”
“And wait for it to slaughter more than our sheep?” Ronald sneers. “If you’re so worried go home, Blink. It’s not as though you’re going to be much use.”
Rhys gives him a long look before stepping aside and wandering back to Sheera’s side.
“Let’s go over the plan once more: we track down the wolf and snare it with this,” Ronald hoists up a length of coiled net, fitted with hundreds of sharp barbs. “We haul it back to the cage, lock it up, and are back in the village by lunchtime. Questions?”
There’s nothing but silence to greet his question. He turns and pushes the shrubbery aside, stepping into the woods. It seems to swallow him whole, branches disguising his point of entry in moments, leaving them to scramble after him.
Sheera slips her shield off of her back and straps it around her arm. It’s relatively small, but sturdy, made of hard oak and iron rivets. It had been a good project to keep her distracted during a quiet week earlier in the spring.
She hopes she won’t have to put it to use.
“That’s all you brought with you?” There’s something like approval in Rhys voice, though his expression doesn’t change from a blank gaze forward.
“You said to come unarmed,” she says.
Cliff’s next, muttering curses as he disappears into the wood, leaving the two of them standing at the very edge. It’s near enough that the hem of her cloak brushes a few scraggly branches, thorns catching in the wool. Up close the leaves look jagged, almost sharp to the touch. Like emerald teeth waiting to swallow them whole.
“If you’re going to run, do it now,” Rhys says, casually, as though speaking of the weather.
“I was going to say the same to you.”
“In we go then.”
Sheera brushes past him and steps between a small break in the brambles. Quiet presses in from all sides. No bird song, no rustling of leaves. Just...quiet. If she didn’t know better, she might think that it’s serene. The softly waving leaves, pale, silvery light spilling through the canopy. But she can feel it—the wrongness of this forest—like a cold hand around her throat.
This is no place for humans.
Roaring_Dragon
A vagabond of the lavish jungles of my mind
The vast expanse of the temperate forest stretched endlessly under the pale dawn. Mighty trees, ancient in years, reached towards the sky, uppermost branches as if trying to grasp the heavens. So thick was their canopy that it shrouded the world below in darkness, as if the time of day lagged behind the brightening sun. Elralosa Forest had stood strong for millennia, precious to its main sentient residents; the elves. The elves had cultivated it, nurtured it and maintained it with their magic so that it surpassed any other known forest on the land. And so, their magic had seeped into the ground, so much that it had affected even the fauna that lived in its shadow. Great elk with majestic horns that dwarfed their cousins in other forests.. Birds with iridescent feathers that shimmered as if pulsing with magic. Foxes with one too many tails and snakes with too many heads. Insects that seemed to swarm and coalesce as if one entity. All manner of creature found harbour in its depths.
Far above the canopy, a lone red-tailed hawk flew, wings extended as it hovered on the early morning thermals. Its gaze was intent on the emerald expanse below, scrutinizing every gap between branches it could find. A pair of sparrows flew below him; potential prey, yet the bird soared on, ever searching. Unsatisfied, it picked up its speed, until Elralosa Forest became all but a blur beneath him. The dawn stretched into early morning as the hawk broke past the bank of the forest and into lush fields below. With a sharp turn of his wing, he followed the treeline, keeping an eye on both sides of the natural boarder. His attention was drawn by something out of the ordinary; four figures plodding across the fields, making their way to the edge of the elven forest. A weary draft horse pulled a cart with a large metal cage, head hanging low. The bird pulled up its wings and swooped out of the cloud bank and closer to the land, circling high above. Its head twitched from side to side, its quick gaze and superior eyesight taking into account of each of the members of the group, not unlike what a more sentient creature would do. Satisfied with his endeavour, the bird of prey circled over the group one more time before soaring back towards the dark forest and the brightening horizon.
Alaesa opened her eyes, her vision fazing from the sharpened gaze of the hawk to that of an elf’s. The perpetual forest dusk greeted her, the coolness of her surroundings stirring her back into her own senses and body. Smoothly, she stood and let out an involuntary groan of stiffness as her unused muscles protested to the movement. A head snapped up at the sound, cold gray gaze intent on her. Erolith face was an emotionless mask as he spoke to her in their mother tongue.
"Tell me". A man of few words. It didn't matter that she had been unresponsive for hours, viewing the world though her companion's eyes; there was no need for courtesy. He got straight down to business.
"Poachers, it looks like. Four of them. They have a cage with them for a medium to large creature. But they don’t seem like seasoned hunters.” Alaesa said, trying to recall every detail she could through Storm's eyes.
"How far?" replied Erolith. Alaesa closed her eyes, trying to envision the distance she had crossed on swift wings.
"They were about an hour’s walk from the boarder. We should be able to intercept them shortly after they enter the forest.”
Erolith tilted his head thoughtfully; fingers drumming a dull beat on the wooden floor below him. He nodded to himself, seeming to come to some conclusion before hefting himself to his feet. Alaesa knew that he has been sitting cross-legged for as long as she had, but he showed no sign of stiffness or lethargy and she briefly wondered if he had been sneaking stretches whilst she was in her trance. The thought amused her vastly and she let out a small huff of amusement at the idea, which caused her to receive a sharp glance from the male elf. She covered the sound with a small cough though he didn’t seem fooled.
The two flitted about the treehouse outpost with trained ease, preparing for the encounter with the humans that would soon be trespassing into their sacred forest. Alaesa threaded her arms through her leather vest, sides adorned with rows of honed throwing knives. She sheathed her two primary weapons, her curved daggers to her hip before securely fastening her recurve bow to her back, bow already strung. She turned to find Erolith already by the platform edge, gazing upon the forest below. Without so much as a word, Erolith uncoiled the climbing rope and shimmied down to the ground with practiced ease. Alaesa followed swiftly behind and her feet landed with a crunch on the leafed forest floor. A quick glance up revealed the outpost completely camouflaged by tree growth, the platform itself grown out of the tree, coaxed out of the living plant with magic.
Without so much as a pause, the pair turned northwards towards the forest boarder, weaving through the treacherous woods with ease. Where roots would normally lay in ambush to stumble a passing creature, or brambles would try to snag a wayfarer’s clothing, the forest itself seemed to part in their wake like water. It was as if the trees and ground itself recognised these creatures, and whether by respect or fear, the land allowed them passage unhindered. To a trespasser, the giant woods would appear eerie and terrifying, as glowing eyes peered at them from the looming shadows, but to the elves, the shadows held no secrets. After all, this was their home.
And no one was allowed to enter their home uninvited.
Far above the canopy, a lone red-tailed hawk flew, wings extended as it hovered on the early morning thermals. Its gaze was intent on the emerald expanse below, scrutinizing every gap between branches it could find. A pair of sparrows flew below him; potential prey, yet the bird soared on, ever searching. Unsatisfied, it picked up its speed, until Elralosa Forest became all but a blur beneath him. The dawn stretched into early morning as the hawk broke past the bank of the forest and into lush fields below. With a sharp turn of his wing, he followed the treeline, keeping an eye on both sides of the natural boarder. His attention was drawn by something out of the ordinary; four figures plodding across the fields, making their way to the edge of the elven forest. A weary draft horse pulled a cart with a large metal cage, head hanging low. The bird pulled up its wings and swooped out of the cloud bank and closer to the land, circling high above. Its head twitched from side to side, its quick gaze and superior eyesight taking into account of each of the members of the group, not unlike what a more sentient creature would do. Satisfied with his endeavour, the bird of prey circled over the group one more time before soaring back towards the dark forest and the brightening horizon.
Alaesa opened her eyes, her vision fazing from the sharpened gaze of the hawk to that of an elf’s. The perpetual forest dusk greeted her, the coolness of her surroundings stirring her back into her own senses and body. Smoothly, she stood and let out an involuntary groan of stiffness as her unused muscles protested to the movement. A head snapped up at the sound, cold gray gaze intent on her. Erolith face was an emotionless mask as he spoke to her in their mother tongue.
"Tell me". A man of few words. It didn't matter that she had been unresponsive for hours, viewing the world though her companion's eyes; there was no need for courtesy. He got straight down to business.
"Poachers, it looks like. Four of them. They have a cage with them for a medium to large creature. But they don’t seem like seasoned hunters.” Alaesa said, trying to recall every detail she could through Storm's eyes.
"How far?" replied Erolith. Alaesa closed her eyes, trying to envision the distance she had crossed on swift wings.
"They were about an hour’s walk from the boarder. We should be able to intercept them shortly after they enter the forest.”
Erolith tilted his head thoughtfully; fingers drumming a dull beat on the wooden floor below him. He nodded to himself, seeming to come to some conclusion before hefting himself to his feet. Alaesa knew that he has been sitting cross-legged for as long as she had, but he showed no sign of stiffness or lethargy and she briefly wondered if he had been sneaking stretches whilst she was in her trance. The thought amused her vastly and she let out a small huff of amusement at the idea, which caused her to receive a sharp glance from the male elf. She covered the sound with a small cough though he didn’t seem fooled.
The two flitted about the treehouse outpost with trained ease, preparing for the encounter with the humans that would soon be trespassing into their sacred forest. Alaesa threaded her arms through her leather vest, sides adorned with rows of honed throwing knives. She sheathed her two primary weapons, her curved daggers to her hip before securely fastening her recurve bow to her back, bow already strung. She turned to find Erolith already by the platform edge, gazing upon the forest below. Without so much as a word, Erolith uncoiled the climbing rope and shimmied down to the ground with practiced ease. Alaesa followed swiftly behind and her feet landed with a crunch on the leafed forest floor. A quick glance up revealed the outpost completely camouflaged by tree growth, the platform itself grown out of the tree, coaxed out of the living plant with magic.
Without so much as a pause, the pair turned northwards towards the forest boarder, weaving through the treacherous woods with ease. Where roots would normally lay in ambush to stumble a passing creature, or brambles would try to snag a wayfarer’s clothing, the forest itself seemed to part in their wake like water. It was as if the trees and ground itself recognised these creatures, and whether by respect or fear, the land allowed them passage unhindered. To a trespasser, the giant woods would appear eerie and terrifying, as glowing eyes peered at them from the looming shadows, but to the elves, the shadows held no secrets. After all, this was their home.
And no one was allowed to enter their home uninvited.
strawberries
New Member
Carefully, Sheera picks her way over the tangled mess of roots and brambles that line the forest floor. It’s peaceful still, the soft white light floating down through the canopy overhead, making the time of day almost indiscernible. Every footfall seems to echo, rattling off gnarled tree trunks and no doubt falling upon some far off ears.
She balls her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Everything about this place fills her with an icy sinking feeling, despite the warm air. Like an animal walking headfirst into a trap.
This is a place where people die. A simple, concrete fact. One that she herself is far too familiar with. There are no exemptions aside from the man beside her and such a notion serves as little more than cold comfort.
It had been easy to walk in. Maybe it was her unwillingness to crumble in front of Cliff and Ronald. Maybe it was morbid curiosity.
But now, standing amidst the underbrush that clings to her cloak with every step and beneath branches that seem to reach, to clutch at her face and hair, Sheera becomes acutely aware of her transgression.
This is a place where people die. Why would she be the exception?
“Wait.” Rhys' harsh whisper jerks her from her thoughts. She lurched to a halt, stopping just short of a rock she would no doubt have tripped over. “Keep your wits about you. It won’t do to let your mind wander in a place like this.”
There’s something sharper in his face than she’s used to. Awake perhaps. A man who should be dead, returned to a place for the dead. Poetic maybe, if the thought didn’t fill her with only more dread.
Branches crunch a few yards in front of them where Cliff and Ronald are searching for the wolf. They’d nearly caught up to them. Until now, they’d been tracking the other two through the wood, always a few steps behind. It’s eerie how entirely the trees encompass them. Judging by the clarity of Ronald’s grating drone, she’s certain they’re only a few feet away and yet she can’t see them in the slightest—
Rhys’ hand closes around the corner of her cloak, keeping her from pressing forward to close the gap between them and the others. “I need to ask something.”
She raises a brow. “And?”
“Do you actually want to catch the direwolf?” There’s no hint of humor in his tone. “Is that truly what you want?”
She lets out a nervous huff, unsettled beneath his flat gaze. “Don’t be a fool, Rhys. That’s why we’re all here—“
“Then that’s a yes?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a long breath and nods. “Alright.”
There’s something about the sincerity in his expression that irritates her. “Did you really have to question that? Why else would I have come here?”
A look she doesn’t care to examine passes over his face. “You have more reason than most to be here.”
Her throat tightens, making her cough and look away. “You’re one to talk. Why are you here, Rhys?”
“I’m here to find a direwolf.”
She shakes her head. “Sure. Come on, let’s go catch up with the others.”
“Sheera.”
It’s a bit eerie to hear him say her name. Like it’s something brittle rather than the shout that comes from customers to draw her back to the front room and away from the forge.
His lips thin to a line and he sighs. “We shouldn’t catch up with them.”
“What?”
Rhys has never been...talkative by anyone’s standards, though she supposes that the same could be said for her. The time they spend together, is generally spent in companionable silence, standing beside one another at a festival or market.
Now though, Rhys speaks rapidly, with an unfamiliar urgency. “They’re headed the wrong direction. Besides they’re a better distraction than anything. There should be a pond nearby here, the wolf would likely be in need of water so it might be near that, especially since there's a few places it might try to use as shelter—“
“How can you remember that?”
He blinks at her slowly. “How could I forget it?”
Whatever retort she had prepared dies inside her mouth.
“We break from them and head for the water. Hopefully, the wolf will already be asleep and it’ll be relatively easy to catch.”
Nodding to himself he turns, starting away from the direction of Ronald and Cliff’s voices, which have grown increasingly distant.
“Rhys! We can’t just abandon them. They could get lost or….” She trails off.
Judging by the hard look on Rhys face he knows exactly what she was about to say. “They were dead the minute they stepped into this forest. The only way we’re getting out of here is if we put as much distance between ourselves and them as possible. Then, maybe, we both make it out.”
“Maybe?”
He doesn’t meet her eye as he speaks. “I’m more than happy to repay my debt to you today.”
The debt. It comes up every few times they see one another. Something she insists on dismissing, but Rhys never wavers on.
“You have no debt to me. And if you ever did it's been long repaid. Rhys, you should—” The sound of Cliff and Ronald’s voices going completely silent makes her falter.
What little color Rhys had in his face to begin with drains away, his eyes narrowing to something calculating. “I don’t think we are alone any longer.”
“What?” She whispers, panic rearing its head.
“You should remove your cloak.” If it weren’t for the complete lack of amusement in his face, she might think he’s joking. Instead he stares at her, waiting for her to do as he suggests.
Hands shaking she undoes the ties of her cloak. Without the rough wool barrier she feels only more exposed. Vulnerable to the ill will of the place. Still Cliff and Ronald are silent. God, what wa she thinking, she should have brought a dagger or something—
Rhys kneels down, collapsing in on himself. “Come on. Sit.”
“We have to help—”
“Unless you are looking to meet the same fate as them, sit down.” Rhys doesn’t order her to do things. Ever. That in of itself is startling enough to have her jerkily mirroring his movements, kneeling on the rough forest floor.
“Don’t move. Don’t run. Try not to look around if you can help it.”
She digs her nails into her palms on her lap, breath coming in sharp pants. This is it. This is where she’s going to die. Just like everyone else who enters the woods. Just like her own—
Rhys clasps a clammy hand around one of hers. “Sheera."
He gives her what she’s certain is supposed to be a reassuring look, but it comes across more as startled. Still, it’s enough to help her force some of the panic clutching her chest down.
At least until Cliff and Ronald begin screaming.
She balls her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Everything about this place fills her with an icy sinking feeling, despite the warm air. Like an animal walking headfirst into a trap.
This is a place where people die. A simple, concrete fact. One that she herself is far too familiar with. There are no exemptions aside from the man beside her and such a notion serves as little more than cold comfort.
It had been easy to walk in. Maybe it was her unwillingness to crumble in front of Cliff and Ronald. Maybe it was morbid curiosity.
But now, standing amidst the underbrush that clings to her cloak with every step and beneath branches that seem to reach, to clutch at her face and hair, Sheera becomes acutely aware of her transgression.
This is a place where people die. Why would she be the exception?
“Wait.” Rhys' harsh whisper jerks her from her thoughts. She lurched to a halt, stopping just short of a rock she would no doubt have tripped over. “Keep your wits about you. It won’t do to let your mind wander in a place like this.”
There’s something sharper in his face than she’s used to. Awake perhaps. A man who should be dead, returned to a place for the dead. Poetic maybe, if the thought didn’t fill her with only more dread.
Branches crunch a few yards in front of them where Cliff and Ronald are searching for the wolf. They’d nearly caught up to them. Until now, they’d been tracking the other two through the wood, always a few steps behind. It’s eerie how entirely the trees encompass them. Judging by the clarity of Ronald’s grating drone, she’s certain they’re only a few feet away and yet she can’t see them in the slightest—
Rhys’ hand closes around the corner of her cloak, keeping her from pressing forward to close the gap between them and the others. “I need to ask something.”
She raises a brow. “And?”
“Do you actually want to catch the direwolf?” There’s no hint of humor in his tone. “Is that truly what you want?”
She lets out a nervous huff, unsettled beneath his flat gaze. “Don’t be a fool, Rhys. That’s why we’re all here—“
“Then that’s a yes?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a long breath and nods. “Alright.”
There’s something about the sincerity in his expression that irritates her. “Did you really have to question that? Why else would I have come here?”
A look she doesn’t care to examine passes over his face. “You have more reason than most to be here.”
Her throat tightens, making her cough and look away. “You’re one to talk. Why are you here, Rhys?”
“I’m here to find a direwolf.”
She shakes her head. “Sure. Come on, let’s go catch up with the others.”
“Sheera.”
It’s a bit eerie to hear him say her name. Like it’s something brittle rather than the shout that comes from customers to draw her back to the front room and away from the forge.
His lips thin to a line and he sighs. “We shouldn’t catch up with them.”
“What?”
Rhys has never been...talkative by anyone’s standards, though she supposes that the same could be said for her. The time they spend together, is generally spent in companionable silence, standing beside one another at a festival or market.
Now though, Rhys speaks rapidly, with an unfamiliar urgency. “They’re headed the wrong direction. Besides they’re a better distraction than anything. There should be a pond nearby here, the wolf would likely be in need of water so it might be near that, especially since there's a few places it might try to use as shelter—“
“How can you remember that?”
He blinks at her slowly. “How could I forget it?”
Whatever retort she had prepared dies inside her mouth.
“We break from them and head for the water. Hopefully, the wolf will already be asleep and it’ll be relatively easy to catch.”
Nodding to himself he turns, starting away from the direction of Ronald and Cliff’s voices, which have grown increasingly distant.
“Rhys! We can’t just abandon them. They could get lost or….” She trails off.
Judging by the hard look on Rhys face he knows exactly what she was about to say. “They were dead the minute they stepped into this forest. The only way we’re getting out of here is if we put as much distance between ourselves and them as possible. Then, maybe, we both make it out.”
“Maybe?”
He doesn’t meet her eye as he speaks. “I’m more than happy to repay my debt to you today.”
The debt. It comes up every few times they see one another. Something she insists on dismissing, but Rhys never wavers on.
“You have no debt to me. And if you ever did it's been long repaid. Rhys, you should—” The sound of Cliff and Ronald’s voices going completely silent makes her falter.
What little color Rhys had in his face to begin with drains away, his eyes narrowing to something calculating. “I don’t think we are alone any longer.”
“What?” She whispers, panic rearing its head.
“You should remove your cloak.” If it weren’t for the complete lack of amusement in his face, she might think he’s joking. Instead he stares at her, waiting for her to do as he suggests.
Hands shaking she undoes the ties of her cloak. Without the rough wool barrier she feels only more exposed. Vulnerable to the ill will of the place. Still Cliff and Ronald are silent. God, what wa she thinking, she should have brought a dagger or something—
Rhys kneels down, collapsing in on himself. “Come on. Sit.”
“We have to help—”
“Unless you are looking to meet the same fate as them, sit down.” Rhys doesn’t order her to do things. Ever. That in of itself is startling enough to have her jerkily mirroring his movements, kneeling on the rough forest floor.
“Don’t move. Don’t run. Try not to look around if you can help it.”
She digs her nails into her palms on her lap, breath coming in sharp pants. This is it. This is where she’s going to die. Just like everyone else who enters the woods. Just like her own—
Rhys clasps a clammy hand around one of hers. “Sheera."
He gives her what she’s certain is supposed to be a reassuring look, but it comes across more as startled. Still, it’s enough to help her force some of the panic clutching her chest down.
At least until Cliff and Ronald begin screaming.
