Zi'da 79, Arc 717
Wolfgang, Part I
She'd left the doe's entrails out in the plains and drug the body to a decent spot she'd scouted earlier in the trial. It was a small area large enough for her compact camp, butted up against a deep stream and surrounded by dense thickets of thorns. The cover of gnarled branches would help keep out any curious intruders through the night—in theory. Ellen’s first priority was to tie the carcass’ ankles together and throw the other end up and over a sturdy looking tree branch. She then hoisted its body off the ground and over her head out of reach. Tying the loose end off around another nearby tree, she would leave her kill safely suspended until she left in the morning. With that task done, the mixed-blood didn’t have to rush the rest of the evening. She still wanted to have everything set up before darkness fell, but at least she had some wiggle room. Her eyesight was keen enough to not be horribly bothered by the night.
Ellen pulled everything from her bags and set each item aside, roughly in the area it would be when she was done. Her tent was pitched in a natural alcove in the thorns and trees, where the opening could overlook the one easy point of entrance to her little clearing. The stream ran just a few feet behind it, and in the morning she’d be able to wash up and refill her waterskins. When her shelter was finished, she cleared a wide circle of leaf litter from the ground for a fire. Most of it was still dry enough to be a liability, and although the ground was damp below, she couldn’t break the habit that had been drilled into her.
There was a lot of kindling in her immediate area, but whether it was going to be dry enough was the question. And she would need more than just kindling—larger limbs and deadfall for fuel through the night and into the morning, especially if she was going to boil any water or heat up some of the food she’d filched from the kitchen of the inn she was currently staying at. So the mixed-blood began rummaging for dry wood, testing pieces to see whether they had soaked up too much moisture from the previous night. She needed several sizes ranging from less than or equal to the circumference of her little finger to as thick as her arm. It took several trips of increasing distance, but by the time the sky had faded to a deep purple, she had a few segregated piles stacked nearly as high as her knees.
It would be enough to keep the area warm overnight even though some of the pieces weren't completely dry. But she would have to make due. She snapped up the smallest pieces she'd gathered into even tinier bits, and used her knife to shave bark and crude flakes of wood into the spot she'd cleared for her fire. Her mentor would throw a fit if he saw her being so careless, but it was getting dark and she was getting tired. She didn't have the patience for such tasks. Once the finer bits of kindling were built up nicely, she gave a few quick test scrapes with her flint and steel, then struck hard. A shower of sparks created a brief burst of life, then nothing. Ellen tried again, holding the tools close to her kindling, and the next sparks caught.
She bent down close and shielded the little embers with her hands, blowing gently but steady. Smoke rose with increasing strength, and her fire grew. Within a few bits, she had a happily crackling heat source. The mixed-blood quickly fed it more fuel at first, but once it was burning strong enough she let it eat some of the larger pieces a while. She sat and warmed herself by the flames, opening her wings and bending them around the fire in a sort of embrace of the warmth. The heat leeched into her feathers, seeping down into the flesh underneath. Ellen wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. She closed her eyes, listening to the pop and snap of wood.
Snap!
One lid opened, but there was only the blur of flames. Her head rolled to rest on one cheek and she closed her wings, dragging them through the leaves the fold up near her back again. They would retain that heat for a long time, and she sighed softly when the warmth started to seep into her core.
Crack!
Both eyes opened. That one wasn't the fire. The mixed-blood lifted her head slowly, head cocked to listen. Some rustling a short distance behind her. She strained her ears, searching for more subtle sounds. Her hearing was keener than a human's, but not as excellent as other more capable predators. Still, there was some noticeable snuffling in the brush. Feet moving through dry leaves. Multiple pairs. She rose from her spot, grabbing her bow and an arrow. Ellen nocked it on the string, heart pounding, bow already half-taught while she waited.
They came through the natural choke point of her camp, single file, fur matted and eyes gleaming in the firelight. The wolves were all skinny, their guts stuck to their spines with yellow teeth bared. Ellen didn't hesitate. The bow came up and its arrow released with a quick snap and a hum. The broadhead buried itself in the cleft of one of their shoulders and it collapsed. Dead. At such short range it was impossible to miss that shot. The rest of them charged, snarling, snapping, screaming.
"Syayvi!"
She lept out of the way, landing on hands and knees but was back on her feet quickly. She felt breath on her calf and struck out hard, catching one of the wolves in the jaw. It yelped and retreated briefly, but they were back at her in an instant. Ellen made for the opening in the thorns, running as hard as she could, legs and arms pumping. One of them managed to pull a primary out of the tip of one wing with a sharp nip. They were on her heels. The thorns pulled at her clothes, scratching her exposed skin, ripping at her hair. She ignored the sting and burst through the thicket, chest heaving and limbs burning from adrenaline. The wolves yipped desperately, spurred by hunger. The canopy blocked her escape by air, so she kept running. Trees whipped by as the wolves galloped closer.
She'd only had the one arrow, but she clung desperately to her bow. The trio growled, and she saw a flash of brown fur coming up beside her. There was no other choice--she had no hope of outrunning them. Ellen dug in her heels and slid to a stop, whipping around to face them. They balked at her sudden change, but quickly crawled closer, hackles raised and curled lips dripping. She held her bow like a club, adjusting her sweaty palms for a better grip. One jumped toward her and she whacked it across the head, sending it back to the others.
"Ohunkohun! Dabaru eo!" she screamed loudly. Her wings opened wide, flared out on either side. She snarled at them, baring her own flat teeth. They outnumbered her, but she seemed large and strong. Their bodies were weak and emaciated, driven only by adrenaline and the desperate need for food. They regarded her intently, pacing just out of range. She swung wildly again into the open air, stomping at them.
"Ohunkohun!" Ellen commanded again. She'd already killed one of them. They remembered as much. It seemed, after what felt like an eternity, that they decided on easier prey. They'd smelled the fresh meat in her camp. It's what had drawn them. Reluctantly, one by one, they turned and loped away, leaving her clutching her paltry weapon in a white-knuckled grip. When they disappeared back into the distant brush her legs buckled. The mixed-blood dropped to her knees in the leaves, discarding her bow and resting on her hands, gasping for breath. Her limbs trembled from shock, fear, and the ebbing of adrenaline.
Rather violently and suddenly, she retched on the ground, emptying the contents of her stomach so thoroughly that she felt as hollow as those starving wolves. Looking death in the eyes and feeling its teeth brush your skin would do that to you. When her purging subsided Ellen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She sighed raggedly. It was going to be a long night of waiting. She needed to find a quiet place to rest before she could hope to return to her camp and gather her things. She climbed unsteadily to her feet, bracing against the rough trunk of a sturdy young ash tree.
There would be no sleeping tonight. That much the redhead knew. She retrieved her bow from the dirt and made her weary way to another much larger tree in the distance. An old oak with limbs bigger than Gangui--some of them low to the ground. Slipping the bow over her shoulders, she hoisted herself up onto the first branch within reach, flapping her wings a few times to help lift her body upward. She lay there on her belly a moment, cheek resting on the cool, rough bark. It felt a little safer, but still she climbed higher. The branches were tangled together so thoroughly that she was almost able to walk her way up. When she found a comfortable crook between some of the limbs, she settled in, wings cushioning and warming her back.
Her stomach growled then. A long night indeed.
Wolfgang, Part I
She'd left the doe's entrails out in the plains and drug the body to a decent spot she'd scouted earlier in the trial. It was a small area large enough for her compact camp, butted up against a deep stream and surrounded by dense thickets of thorns. The cover of gnarled branches would help keep out any curious intruders through the night—in theory. Ellen’s first priority was to tie the carcass’ ankles together and throw the other end up and over a sturdy looking tree branch. She then hoisted its body off the ground and over her head out of reach. Tying the loose end off around another nearby tree, she would leave her kill safely suspended until she left in the morning. With that task done, the mixed-blood didn’t have to rush the rest of the evening. She still wanted to have everything set up before darkness fell, but at least she had some wiggle room. Her eyesight was keen enough to not be horribly bothered by the night.
Ellen pulled everything from her bags and set each item aside, roughly in the area it would be when she was done. Her tent was pitched in a natural alcove in the thorns and trees, where the opening could overlook the one easy point of entrance to her little clearing. The stream ran just a few feet behind it, and in the morning she’d be able to wash up and refill her waterskins. When her shelter was finished, she cleared a wide circle of leaf litter from the ground for a fire. Most of it was still dry enough to be a liability, and although the ground was damp below, she couldn’t break the habit that had been drilled into her.
There was a lot of kindling in her immediate area, but whether it was going to be dry enough was the question. And she would need more than just kindling—larger limbs and deadfall for fuel through the night and into the morning, especially if she was going to boil any water or heat up some of the food she’d filched from the kitchen of the inn she was currently staying at. So the mixed-blood began rummaging for dry wood, testing pieces to see whether they had soaked up too much moisture from the previous night. She needed several sizes ranging from less than or equal to the circumference of her little finger to as thick as her arm. It took several trips of increasing distance, but by the time the sky had faded to a deep purple, she had a few segregated piles stacked nearly as high as her knees.
It would be enough to keep the area warm overnight even though some of the pieces weren't completely dry. But she would have to make due. She snapped up the smallest pieces she'd gathered into even tinier bits, and used her knife to shave bark and crude flakes of wood into the spot she'd cleared for her fire. Her mentor would throw a fit if he saw her being so careless, but it was getting dark and she was getting tired. She didn't have the patience for such tasks. Once the finer bits of kindling were built up nicely, she gave a few quick test scrapes with her flint and steel, then struck hard. A shower of sparks created a brief burst of life, then nothing. Ellen tried again, holding the tools close to her kindling, and the next sparks caught.
She bent down close and shielded the little embers with her hands, blowing gently but steady. Smoke rose with increasing strength, and her fire grew. Within a few bits, she had a happily crackling heat source. The mixed-blood quickly fed it more fuel at first, but once it was burning strong enough she let it eat some of the larger pieces a while. She sat and warmed herself by the flames, opening her wings and bending them around the fire in a sort of embrace of the warmth. The heat leeched into her feathers, seeping down into the flesh underneath. Ellen wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. She closed her eyes, listening to the pop and snap of wood.
Snap!
One lid opened, but there was only the blur of flames. Her head rolled to rest on one cheek and she closed her wings, dragging them through the leaves the fold up near her back again. They would retain that heat for a long time, and she sighed softly when the warmth started to seep into her core.
Crack!
Both eyes opened. That one wasn't the fire. The mixed-blood lifted her head slowly, head cocked to listen. Some rustling a short distance behind her. She strained her ears, searching for more subtle sounds. Her hearing was keener than a human's, but not as excellent as other more capable predators. Still, there was some noticeable snuffling in the brush. Feet moving through dry leaves. Multiple pairs. She rose from her spot, grabbing her bow and an arrow. Ellen nocked it on the string, heart pounding, bow already half-taught while she waited.
They came through the natural choke point of her camp, single file, fur matted and eyes gleaming in the firelight. The wolves were all skinny, their guts stuck to their spines with yellow teeth bared. Ellen didn't hesitate. The bow came up and its arrow released with a quick snap and a hum. The broadhead buried itself in the cleft of one of their shoulders and it collapsed. Dead. At such short range it was impossible to miss that shot. The rest of them charged, snarling, snapping, screaming.
"Syayvi!"
She lept out of the way, landing on hands and knees but was back on her feet quickly. She felt breath on her calf and struck out hard, catching one of the wolves in the jaw. It yelped and retreated briefly, but they were back at her in an instant. Ellen made for the opening in the thorns, running as hard as she could, legs and arms pumping. One of them managed to pull a primary out of the tip of one wing with a sharp nip. They were on her heels. The thorns pulled at her clothes, scratching her exposed skin, ripping at her hair. She ignored the sting and burst through the thicket, chest heaving and limbs burning from adrenaline. The wolves yipped desperately, spurred by hunger. The canopy blocked her escape by air, so she kept running. Trees whipped by as the wolves galloped closer.
She'd only had the one arrow, but she clung desperately to her bow. The trio growled, and she saw a flash of brown fur coming up beside her. There was no other choice--she had no hope of outrunning them. Ellen dug in her heels and slid to a stop, whipping around to face them. They balked at her sudden change, but quickly crawled closer, hackles raised and curled lips dripping. She held her bow like a club, adjusting her sweaty palms for a better grip. One jumped toward her and she whacked it across the head, sending it back to the others.
"Ohunkohun! Dabaru eo!" she screamed loudly. Her wings opened wide, flared out on either side. She snarled at them, baring her own flat teeth. They outnumbered her, but she seemed large and strong. Their bodies were weak and emaciated, driven only by adrenaline and the desperate need for food. They regarded her intently, pacing just out of range. She swung wildly again into the open air, stomping at them.
"Ohunkohun!" Ellen commanded again. She'd already killed one of them. They remembered as much. It seemed, after what felt like an eternity, that they decided on easier prey. They'd smelled the fresh meat in her camp. It's what had drawn them. Reluctantly, one by one, they turned and loped away, leaving her clutching her paltry weapon in a white-knuckled grip. When they disappeared back into the distant brush her legs buckled. The mixed-blood dropped to her knees in the leaves, discarding her bow and resting on her hands, gasping for breath. Her limbs trembled from shock, fear, and the ebbing of adrenaline.
Rather violently and suddenly, she retched on the ground, emptying the contents of her stomach so thoroughly that she felt as hollow as those starving wolves. Looking death in the eyes and feeling its teeth brush your skin would do that to you. When her purging subsided Ellen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She sighed raggedly. It was going to be a long night of waiting. She needed to find a quiet place to rest before she could hope to return to her camp and gather her things. She climbed unsteadily to her feet, bracing against the rough trunk of a sturdy young ash tree.
There would be no sleeping tonight. That much the redhead knew. She retrieved her bow from the dirt and made her weary way to another much larger tree in the distance. An old oak with limbs bigger than Gangui--some of them low to the ground. Slipping the bow over her shoulders, she hoisted herself up onto the first branch within reach, flapping her wings a few times to help lift her body upward. She lay there on her belly a moment, cheek resting on the cool, rough bark. It felt a little safer, but still she climbed higher. The branches were tangled together so thoroughly that she was almost able to walk her way up. When she found a comfortable crook between some of the limbs, she settled in, wings cushioning and warming her back.
Her stomach growled then. A long night indeed.
Translations
Syayvi! - No!
Ohunkohun! Dabaru eo! - Go! Leave me!
Ohunkohun! Dabaru eo! - Go! Leave me!
