Ashan 59, Arc 718
Work was a proverbial and literal hell with only one good arm. Her left was still in a sling, though it must have been close to healed by now. Carrying a bow was yet out of the question. Carrying much of anything was out of the question, really. She had an empty bag slung over a shoulder, her waterskins, a knife, and not much else. It definitely wasn’t the sort of trip where she expected anything particularly lucrative, but it was a way to get her out of bed and moving around.
It felt like she was in the eye of the storm. The first part of the season had been the worst period of the half-breed’s life. The hardships of growing up had nothing on the physical and emotional turmoil she’d been subject to recently. But things were now quiet—not that that was any better—and Ellen was waiting for the next blow to hit. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. Because the world seemed to enjoy kicking her while she was down. Maybe it thought she was an easy target, so why would it stop now?
To distract herself she was doing something a little different. Totrial she was looking for easy prey as well. Nothing that wouldn’t run away so quickly—something small. The redhead wasn’t near the forest like usual. Instead she’d wandered into the open planes near Foster’s Landing, where the ground was a mixture of dry and bare earth, stone outcrops, and grassy shrubs.
She kept her eyes mostly downcast and walked with a slow but purposeful stride. There was no searching the horizon or keeping a lookout for foraging mammals. Her quarry was sneakier than that. Hidden in the nooks and crannies of stones, under brush, or curled in the dirt.
Ellen looked for sticks as she walked as well. Something long and study, with two forked branches at the end. She found a suitable match long before she ever found the creature in question. The mixed-blood had to break off some unnecessary pieces of her stick to shape it more appropriately, but after a few moments her tool was ready.
She continued hiking a ways, peering under bushes, parting clumps of mature prairie grass, and lifting wide flat stones. There was the occasional track that cut across the dirty path—a long sliver left by a fat and winding body—but she could never find the culprit nearby. It was about mid-trial before she found one.
The rattlesnake was curled in a large pile in the shade of a tall stone, head resting on its coils, eyes unblinking but surely watching her approach. Its scales blended well with the dirt and rocks it rested on. Excellent camouflage. She wondered absently how many she’d actually missed. As Ellen approached, the snake shifted subtly, then produced the telltale warning rattle that gave her pause.
The redhead narrowed her eyes. The sun was warm. Almost uncomfortably so. She was ready for a break, and this snake had no idea how unphased a cranky Avriel could be—mixed-breed or no. Ellen dropped her bag in the dirt and brandished the stick. She inched closer, shuffling her feet, squatting lower as she closed the gap between the venomous reptile. If something without eyelids could glare, the rattler was managing to do just that.
But it didn’t deign to assume she would have the gumption to really challenge it. Yet she did. Its head rose and bobbed a few times, tongue flicking, sizing her up. Her own tongue stuck out from between her teeth, but only because she was concentrating so intently.
For a long moment they both watched each other, totally still, waiting. Ellen struck fast, glad that her dominant hand was the one unbroken. The points of her stick clamped down and pinned the snake’s head to the ground. It jerked and thrashed a few times until her foot came down to press behind the stick. She dropped it, freeing her hand so she could draw her knife, squatted, and drove the blade into the snake’s neck, severing its head at the base of its skull.
Ellen nudged the head away with her other foot then picked up the limp body. It was heavy, as long as she was tall, and as thick as her arm. A good find. It lifted her spirits just a bit, and she coiled the carcass up inside her pack before moving on.
The sun was in the middle of the sky now and it was particularly hot for Ashan. Sweat beaded her brow and the half-breed was huffing by the time she crested the next rocky hill. Ahead there was a wall of stone. Not quite a mountain, yet not quite a hill. A plateau, perhaps. She pondered what term best suited it as she hiked toward the long shadow it cast. Being out of the sun was a relief, and Ellen continued along the base of the rock face for a time.
There was a break in the stone ahead—something like a cave, but shallow. The entrance was distinct, but the space inside was only a few yards deep. It was dim, but she saw the unmistakable shape of a body sitting inside. She paused for a moment before calling out in Ith’ession. No answer. Ellen tried again in Common. Still no reply. When she moved to investigate, the face that greeted her was no face at all.
Two empty sockets peered out of a bleached, boney face. Dry lips peeled back to reveal crooked teeth. A few whisps of hair poked out from under a dirty old hat. The man’s shirt was open, exposing a bare rib cage and spine. The skeleton wore pants but she could tell all that was left inside were bones as well. She squatted in front of the corpse and sat down her bag.
There was no telling how long he’d been out here, mostly exposed to the elements, left to rot and be eaten by scavengers. It could have been arcs or simply cycles. A bag lay next to him and she pulled it closer. It looked like it belonged on a belt, but if he ever wore one it was gone. It wasn’t in terrible shape—a good oiling would likely bring it back to life. She undid the buckles, which was a little time consuming with one arm in a sling, but managed after a bit.
Ellen flipped open the top and peered inside, but couldn’t see anything. Had someone already found him and rifled through his things? The woman glanced back up at the skeleton, but his empty sockets gazed at nothing. He obviously didn’t need anything anymore.
She stuck her hand inside, hoping to find something—anything—but found a little more than she could have imagined. Instead of feeling bottom, her arm kept going. And going. It went until her shoulder was almost swallowed by the mouth of the bag. Her face was twisted in horror, but the momentum didn’t allow her to stop until she physically couldn’t go any further.
The half-breed squealed loudly, voice harsh in the cave, and ripped her arm out as quickly as she could. She half-expected to lose it, but it was still there. Ellen scooted backwards on her rear as fast as she could until her back hit the wall. Heart galloping and eyes wide, she stared at the bag a long time. It was some sort of magic to be sure. Was it evil? Cursed? Did it belong to someone powerful? She glanced at the skeleton. Maybe not the latter.
It was a while before Ellen’s heartbeat started to slow, and even longer before she thought perhaps the bag wasn’t going to turn around and eat her. It lay just where she’d left it, totally unmoving, looking like any other bag. Was she dehydrated? Hallucinating? No. She always drank regularly. One waterskin was already mostly empty. Shock was finally giving way to curiosity.
Ellen grabbed her discarded stick and poked the bag experimentally. Her eyes narrowed. Nothing. She scooted closer, climbing to her knees and closing the gap again. She touched it with a finger, ready to run. Nothing again. Was she being stupid? The redhead picked the thing up and turned it over. Yep, still just a bag. She flipped the top and peered inside. She could see the bottom.
She put the bag down so it sat up, mouth open. Heart fluttering again, but also feeling more daring, Ellen screwed her eyes shut and stuck her hand in. The bottom seemed to disappear again and her arm kept going, going, until she stopped at the elbow. Ellen opened her eyes, staring at it. It was strange to see, but it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen. She wiggled her fingers in the empty space. They suddenly brushed something solid and she screamed at the top of her lung, pulling her arm out so fast that the bag flipped up and hit the ceiling. It landed innocently in her lap and she fainted.
Work was a proverbial and literal hell with only one good arm. Her left was still in a sling, though it must have been close to healed by now. Carrying a bow was yet out of the question. Carrying much of anything was out of the question, really. She had an empty bag slung over a shoulder, her waterskins, a knife, and not much else. It definitely wasn’t the sort of trip where she expected anything particularly lucrative, but it was a way to get her out of bed and moving around.
It felt like she was in the eye of the storm. The first part of the season had been the worst period of the half-breed’s life. The hardships of growing up had nothing on the physical and emotional turmoil she’d been subject to recently. But things were now quiet—not that that was any better—and Ellen was waiting for the next blow to hit. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. Because the world seemed to enjoy kicking her while she was down. Maybe it thought she was an easy target, so why would it stop now?
To distract herself she was doing something a little different. Totrial she was looking for easy prey as well. Nothing that wouldn’t run away so quickly—something small. The redhead wasn’t near the forest like usual. Instead she’d wandered into the open planes near Foster’s Landing, where the ground was a mixture of dry and bare earth, stone outcrops, and grassy shrubs.
She kept her eyes mostly downcast and walked with a slow but purposeful stride. There was no searching the horizon or keeping a lookout for foraging mammals. Her quarry was sneakier than that. Hidden in the nooks and crannies of stones, under brush, or curled in the dirt.
Ellen looked for sticks as she walked as well. Something long and study, with two forked branches at the end. She found a suitable match long before she ever found the creature in question. The mixed-blood had to break off some unnecessary pieces of her stick to shape it more appropriately, but after a few moments her tool was ready.
She continued hiking a ways, peering under bushes, parting clumps of mature prairie grass, and lifting wide flat stones. There was the occasional track that cut across the dirty path—a long sliver left by a fat and winding body—but she could never find the culprit nearby. It was about mid-trial before she found one.
The rattlesnake was curled in a large pile in the shade of a tall stone, head resting on its coils, eyes unblinking but surely watching her approach. Its scales blended well with the dirt and rocks it rested on. Excellent camouflage. She wondered absently how many she’d actually missed. As Ellen approached, the snake shifted subtly, then produced the telltale warning rattle that gave her pause.
The redhead narrowed her eyes. The sun was warm. Almost uncomfortably so. She was ready for a break, and this snake had no idea how unphased a cranky Avriel could be—mixed-breed or no. Ellen dropped her bag in the dirt and brandished the stick. She inched closer, shuffling her feet, squatting lower as she closed the gap between the venomous reptile. If something without eyelids could glare, the rattler was managing to do just that.
But it didn’t deign to assume she would have the gumption to really challenge it. Yet she did. Its head rose and bobbed a few times, tongue flicking, sizing her up. Her own tongue stuck out from between her teeth, but only because she was concentrating so intently.
For a long moment they both watched each other, totally still, waiting. Ellen struck fast, glad that her dominant hand was the one unbroken. The points of her stick clamped down and pinned the snake’s head to the ground. It jerked and thrashed a few times until her foot came down to press behind the stick. She dropped it, freeing her hand so she could draw her knife, squatted, and drove the blade into the snake’s neck, severing its head at the base of its skull.
Ellen nudged the head away with her other foot then picked up the limp body. It was heavy, as long as she was tall, and as thick as her arm. A good find. It lifted her spirits just a bit, and she coiled the carcass up inside her pack before moving on.
The sun was in the middle of the sky now and it was particularly hot for Ashan. Sweat beaded her brow and the half-breed was huffing by the time she crested the next rocky hill. Ahead there was a wall of stone. Not quite a mountain, yet not quite a hill. A plateau, perhaps. She pondered what term best suited it as she hiked toward the long shadow it cast. Being out of the sun was a relief, and Ellen continued along the base of the rock face for a time.
There was a break in the stone ahead—something like a cave, but shallow. The entrance was distinct, but the space inside was only a few yards deep. It was dim, but she saw the unmistakable shape of a body sitting inside. She paused for a moment before calling out in Ith’ession. No answer. Ellen tried again in Common. Still no reply. When she moved to investigate, the face that greeted her was no face at all.
Two empty sockets peered out of a bleached, boney face. Dry lips peeled back to reveal crooked teeth. A few whisps of hair poked out from under a dirty old hat. The man’s shirt was open, exposing a bare rib cage and spine. The skeleton wore pants but she could tell all that was left inside were bones as well. She squatted in front of the corpse and sat down her bag.
There was no telling how long he’d been out here, mostly exposed to the elements, left to rot and be eaten by scavengers. It could have been arcs or simply cycles. A bag lay next to him and she pulled it closer. It looked like it belonged on a belt, but if he ever wore one it was gone. It wasn’t in terrible shape—a good oiling would likely bring it back to life. She undid the buckles, which was a little time consuming with one arm in a sling, but managed after a bit.
Ellen flipped open the top and peered inside, but couldn’t see anything. Had someone already found him and rifled through his things? The woman glanced back up at the skeleton, but his empty sockets gazed at nothing. He obviously didn’t need anything anymore.
She stuck her hand inside, hoping to find something—anything—but found a little more than she could have imagined. Instead of feeling bottom, her arm kept going. And going. It went until her shoulder was almost swallowed by the mouth of the bag. Her face was twisted in horror, but the momentum didn’t allow her to stop until she physically couldn’t go any further.
The half-breed squealed loudly, voice harsh in the cave, and ripped her arm out as quickly as she could. She half-expected to lose it, but it was still there. Ellen scooted backwards on her rear as fast as she could until her back hit the wall. Heart galloping and eyes wide, she stared at the bag a long time. It was some sort of magic to be sure. Was it evil? Cursed? Did it belong to someone powerful? She glanced at the skeleton. Maybe not the latter.
It was a while before Ellen’s heartbeat started to slow, and even longer before she thought perhaps the bag wasn’t going to turn around and eat her. It lay just where she’d left it, totally unmoving, looking like any other bag. Was she dehydrated? Hallucinating? No. She always drank regularly. One waterskin was already mostly empty. Shock was finally giving way to curiosity.
Ellen grabbed her discarded stick and poked the bag experimentally. Her eyes narrowed. Nothing. She scooted closer, climbing to her knees and closing the gap again. She touched it with a finger, ready to run. Nothing again. Was she being stupid? The redhead picked the thing up and turned it over. Yep, still just a bag. She flipped the top and peered inside. She could see the bottom.
She put the bag down so it sat up, mouth open. Heart fluttering again, but also feeling more daring, Ellen screwed her eyes shut and stuck her hand in. The bottom seemed to disappear again and her arm kept going, going, until she stopped at the elbow. Ellen opened her eyes, staring at it. It was strange to see, but it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen. She wiggled her fingers in the empty space. They suddenly brushed something solid and she screamed at the top of her lung, pulling her arm out so fast that the bag flipped up and hit the ceiling. It landed innocently in her lap and she fainted.
