The Wild

[Deilakrion]

It was hard, at first, for Deilakrion to understand what was happening. She was used to being yelled at, but that usually involved pointed weaponry being hurled or shoved up close to her person. This was almost passive when compared to that. And yet it was impossible to not see that he was angry with her. That wasn't unusual. But the reason was very unusual. He was angry at her because she didn't trust him?

Her eyes went wide as he snarled at her, glared at her. She was stunned speechless. But then he went a step further, and refused to bring her food. Not that she counted on him bringing her food, or anything. It was clear he had returned to being fleshy, and fleshes could not be trusted. Well, she didn't need him anyways!

So she muttered several juvenile and base insults about him, avoiding that deadly glare, and set about lancing her poisened wounds. She was puffy, and purplish, and she doubted very much she could stand if she wanted to. Her dagger was getting dull; she'd have to steal a new one or sharpen it somehow, all without acknowledging the existence of the thing opposite her with the fire and the tasty smells of food. She was still hungry. But nope, that didn't exist over there. She turned her nose up at it.

Maybe she'd wait until he was asleep and leave him. He only deserved it, for giving her such a look.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk had glared at the strange Elven woman for several long minutes, ignored her childish insults, and when she had turned her back to him and begun lancing her wounds, he turned away from her as well.

His anger had diminished his appetite, but he attacked the boar haunch anyway as a way of rebellion, and made a point of relishing the vegetables and smacking his lips and licking his fingers.

But after several bites his anger dissipated and his appetite was satisfied and he kicked back onto his meagre sleeping roll, rubbing his belly. Before long he was snoring loudly, sounding like some sort of bear wrestling a giant.

He drifted off into a dream, a dream where he fought the dragon again. But the dragon was much larger, much more dangerous, and its eyes gleamed with a malevolent intelligence.

A dream where Brakk was taller and broader even than his own naturally impressive stature. Where gleaming axes flashed in both hands at the ends of bulging, massive arms, and dappled sunlight rippled across glossy leather armor that seemed to be painted onto his muscular chest.

A dream where a beautiful Elven maiden with long flowing gossamer hair and smooth tanned skin danced naked with a shining dagger, taunting both the dragon and himself with her graceful movements.

A dream where the dragon pounced and mauled the beautiful maiden, killing her mercilessly with vicious poisoned talons before turning to Brakk with a wicked grin and slashing the large Zhotunn across the chest.

Brakk woke with a start, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat in spite of the night’s chill, his heart pounding so loudly he could hear nothing else. Overcome not with fear for himself, but for someone else, he sat up quickly, staring over to where the strange Elven madwoman had been when he’d fallen asleep.

[Deilakrion]

Deilakrion stared back at Brakk, a dour sort of turn of her lips making her look faintly constipated. She'd been struggling alongside Brakk during the time he'd been asleep, but hers was of a different take. Where he had dreamed her beautiful and fair, she'd fantasized about drawing her knife along his throat, and had slipped in and out of a half asleep daze where she'd been able to rise and move over to him, straddle him and feel his skin part beneath her touch, and taste his blood in the air. Unlike her to tangle with a flesh she had no need to, rather than slip away unseen.

Fever dreams, she thought firmly, skin gleaming with her own sweat. Her struggles to rise to go to him had exhausted her, and her dagger was in her hand, but she still gave him a long and measuring look. She dropped her gaze first, down to her unbloodied hands, and tried for possibly the first time in her life to be diplomatic.

"This creature no hunt. Need food." The unspoken cannot kill meaty-flesh yet was held poisonous on her tongue, and she swallowed it down in uneasiness. It was a new position for her to be in, where she was too injured and sick to kill or run away, and where a flesh held such mastery over her. He could, she'd realized, kill her easily should he desire to. She had to avoid giving him a reason to kill her.

But she didn't know how to act in such a way that would not leave her dead. So she had dropped her eyes, subservient, and toyed with her dagger instead. Would he still be angry over foolish fleshy things, as he had before sleeping? Had he forgotten?

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk’s breathing was still ragged, his body still covered with sweat, as he stared up at the strangely deferential madwoman. He studied her as he fought for control over his breathing. Her body was still bruised, swollen purple splotches on her abdomen and arm belying her injuries. Her arm was still splinted but she held her dagger in her good hand. He knew she could have killed him while he slept, and for a moment he wondered why she’d spared him.

And then she spoke, “This creature no hunt. Need food.” And he understood. He was certain that possibly for the first time in her life the strange Elven madwoman was unable to care for herself, and he knew that she didn’t like the situation.

Brakk grunted as he rose to his feet, a non-committal recognition that she’s spoken to him. His dream had touched him, reminded him that external appearance and actions might hide some inner strength – or weakness – that was not readily apparent. He turned to her, already feeling the anger from the night before fading.

“Feeling a little different this morning, are we? I am too. Look, I’m not going to apologize for getting mad at you, you certainly deserved it, but I will apologize for choosing this time to go off on you. You’re in no condition to lose possibly your only friend in the world.” And then he smiled.

“So, you’re hungry, huh? Me too. And I don’t trust that boar meat I scavenged from the dragon’s kill; it gave me some ... wierd dreams. I’ll go see if I can kill us a deer or something. There’s bound to be something easier to kill than wild boars around here.”

He reached for his rickety crossbow, wishing he had a better distance weapon, and then studied the lay of the land. “I found that stream yesterday down that way,” he pointed, “I’m thinking the animals might wander there to drink. I’ll go down there and hide out for a while and see what comes along. Will you ...” he stopped.

He was going to ask if she’d be all right while he was away, and then he realized, of course she would. He said instead, “Will you get our fire going again so we can cook what I bring back? I know you like your meat pretty rare, but I’d like mine seared a bit.”

And without waiting for an answer he set off downhill towards the stream, trying as best he could to be stealthy. Of course for a six-foot-tall and four-foot-wide behemoth of a Zhotunn warrior, that wasn’t terribly successful.

[Deilakrion]

It was a difficult thing for Deilakrion to not snarl at the man, bear her teeth at him and growl in warning. It was a humiliating thing, to treat him like he actually mattered and worse, be indebted to him for keeping her alive. The dream-feel of his skin parting beneath her blade haunted her, and it echoed in the shape of her eyes as she looked anywhere but where he was. The direction he'd gone in. The things he asked her to do chafed her mightily, worse than prickle bushes clawing at her skin and keeping her from moving forward.

Her whole body ached steadily. It was a labor to get up, and it seemed the more time passed the more it hurt, the more she stiffened. Her skin had darkened around the painful cuts, and though she kept a close eye upon them, she worried they'd turn black and rot her out.

Somehow, beneath the pain of a thousand stinging bees, she'd managed to drag herself to the fire, where smoldering remains of Brakk's handiwork still glowed faintly beneath the charred wood, beckoning fireflies to her jaded sight. She resisted picking any of the bits up, conscious of the damage they might inflict even on her toughened pads.

His words kept sounding again in her head, and with each repitition an already sour mood worsened considerably.

The fire crept back to life beneath the ministrations she treated it with, though it didn't improve the ire with which she regarded it. She felt like a fat, juicy fly caught in some spiderweb, ready to be sucked dry by a friendly spider. Oh no, this won't hurt a bit.

Deilakrion hobble-dragged herself back to her spot, far away from the fire, and waited patiently for Brakk to return, dreading it all the while.

[Ischia]

.......

[Ischia]

...........

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk never had been much of a hunter. He was too big, too bulky, and too noisy to stalk prey. Even though he tried – hard – to minimize the noise, still he crashed through underbrush like some sort of juggernaut.

Underbrush and briars seemed to cling to him as he passed. He stumbled over roots and vines. Branches grabbed at his hair. He shoved through them, cursing under his breath from time to time.

As he stumbled along down the slope towards the stream, he slowed, trying once again to be stealthy, and failing, his heavy footfalls thudding against the earth, his bulk snapping branches and trampling small saplings.

He could hear the bubbling stream, and he heard the splashing of some creature in the water. He hoped it would be something good to eat and easy to kill. He was wrong.

Instead of some frightened deer, what lay on the ground gazing at him was a woman – a small, thin woman at that. She was wet, her dark black hair stuck to the sides of her face – a face that was ashen blue. One boot was securely anchored in the soft, silty mud on the bank of the stream.

Shocked, for several seconds Brakk could only stand and stare. The woman quickly yanked her foot from the stuck boot. Seemingly frustrated, she turned back and fought the boot free of the silty mud, then scampered for the brush along the creek bank, disappearing from Brakk’s sight.

Still Brakk stood dumbfounded. Hadn’t he been looking for other people? Isn’t it possible that this woman might be more helpful than the crazed madwoman that awaited him back in his camp?

He heard the rustling of the brush; he knew the woman was hurrying away from him on the far side of the creek, and still he simply stood, staring at the muddy wallow where the woman had fallen, and still he said nothing.

And then, she was gone.

[Deilakrion]

Time passed for the creature, and it never bothered her to simply wait without moving for whatever she wanted to do. But the time that passed since Brakk had left dragged at her. It crept into every pore, and pulled. Like that, it told her she was waiting for him to return and do whatever stupid things he was want to do. A new sensation that set her to exhausting herself with viciously circling thoughts in her brain. Had she ever thought so hard? No wonder she hadn't, it was hardly worth the strain. Perhaps it was her weakened body holding her back, but it tired her to think of that unfathomable flesh.

She stared at the fire, and wondered why she had started it. She was not cold, for all the last few lumps of melting snow sat sheltered by the trunks of several trees. She had no need of a fire, and often found them more dangerous and troubling than they were truly worth. Fires could fester beneath the soil, burning on roots and small burrowing creatures, and dead vegetation. She'd seen it herself, a long time ago, when embers had burrowed and made hot spots she had burned herself on.

Fire was dangerous, like the flesh who had left her.

This was a new comparison for fleshes. Would she be burned at the end of the whole thing? Would it ever end? She could not fathom being beholden to the flesh forever. She thought she would instead leave, and let the fallout of the Hunt do with her as it might.

Her mind echoed with pleasure at the thought, and her skin crawled.

She was the creature, she was scared of nothing.

Yes, yes, first she should prepare her weapon. Then the Hunt would cradle her when she did what had to be done.

It hurt to get to her knees, and look for the proper sort of s tone, but she did it without making a sound. And then, guided by the pulsing sense of rightness in her brain, she began to sharpen her dagger.

[BrakkUrGrath]

For a moment Brakk considered trying to chase after the woman, but he knew if she didn’t want to be found, Brakk would not find her. His noisiness was easy to track and avoid. And so, he gave up catching the woman and turned his attention back to catching food.

He strung and cocked his rickety crossbow and placed a bolt in the slot. He found a fallen log not far from a tree and dragged it to a place where he could sit on the log with his back to a tree. He pulled his drab cloak around him to offer some camouflage and sat to wait.

It was some time before the animals finally decided the blundering Humans and Zhotunn had left the area and began approaching the stream. At first he saw only small game, squirrels, rabbits, a skunk. While he considered trying to shoot one of these with his crossbow he decided he would need too many of the small creatures and could not be sure he could get enough. He waited, quiet and still as if he were part of the hillside.

Finally his patience paid off. After almost an hour of sitting motionless a medium-sized deer plodded cautiously from the woods on Brakk’s side of the creek, a dozen yards or so downstream. It raised its head and sniffed the air carefully. Brakk was glad the air beneath the forest canopy was still and could not carry his scent.

The deer stepped forward a stride and cast its gaze up and down the stream. When it had turned its head to stare downstream, Brakk very carefully lifted his crossbow. The deer stepped forward another step, his carriage seeming to indicate he felt some nervousness but could not find the cause. Finally, it lowered its head to drink and Brakk took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.

The bolt flew very nearly straight and struck the deer in the side of its throat. It snatched it’s head up and sprang forward across the stream and fled up the slope into the underbrush. Brakk lurched to his feet, his feet and legs numb from having sat so long, and stumbled along after it.

The deer left a clear trail, blood gushed from the wound, painting the underbrush with the crimson mark of a dying animal. While it tried to leap over much of the underbrush, it was already growing weak and was not clearing the twisted vines and saplings as well as it might have under better conditions. Even a hunter as inept as Brakk could clearly follow the trail of broken twigs and torn brush and splatters of blood.

The creature made it only a few dozen strides before it finally collapsed in a heap on the forest floor. Brakk caught up to it as it was heaving its last breaths, eyes glazed with fear. As he approached, Brakk gave the prayer of thanks, “Thank you, Deer Spirit, for allowing me to kill one of your own,” then drew his dagger and ended the creature’s suffering.

In moments, he’d lifted the deer and draped it about his shoulders and began the trek back to his campsite. Finally he drew near and saw the light of the fire. Brakk thought to himself, At least she started the fire. I wonder if she’s still around. Surely she wouldn’t leave a fire unattended in these woods?

And then he saw her, squatting on her knees, her splinted arm bracing a stone, and with the other hand dragging her dagger across it to sharpen the edge. She *had* waited for him. Strangely, Brakk was very happy to see her.

[Deilakrion]

The noise of trespass caused Deilakrion to look over at Brakk as he approached. She was unsure how she felt at seeing him. Whole. Alive. Then again, she was pleased to see his kill.

"Good hunting." She grunted, and tested the edge of her dagger against the pad of her thumb. She felt stiff and sore and bloated. She did not rise to help him, feeling her dignity suffered enough by the crawling around she'd done to get and keep the fire going. She was definitely not fond of the fire.

So she let Brakk do what he felt necessary to prepare the carcass for eating, and only watched him silently. He was efficient; she'd give him that. But against the desire to use him for her own ends she felt a deeper and more unreliable impulse. It chafed at her good sense and drove her to slide the stone over her sharp dagger again and again.

Abruptly she lifted her chin and stared at him. "When will flesh leave?" She demanded regally.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk grinned at the wild Elf woman as he dumped the deer carcass to the ground a few yards from the fire where he could render it out. He grunted at her statement – or was it a compliment? – regarding the successful hunt, and quickly began carving into the deer with his dagger.

When she asked him about leaving, Brakk looked up from his work. “Tired of me already? Look, you may be a pain to live with, and you probably have a really hard time making friends, but like it or not, you’re stuck with me until that arm of yours heals well enough for you to travel. I need you to lead me out of this forested wilderness. What with the boars and dragons and battles and hunting, I’m pretty well lost, I’m not ashamed to admit!”

He sliced off several choice cuts of venison and shoved them onto sharpened branches that he carried over to the fire and wedged them where they could cook while he continued rendering out the deer meat.

Then he had a sudden recollection: the strange madwoman preferred her meat rare ... if not completely raw. He sliced off another choice selection and carried it over to her.

Squatting in front of her, the deer meat dangling in his grasp, he said, “By the way, thanks for getting the fire going. It couldn’t have been easy for you with one arm bound up like that. If you’ll let me, I’d like to maybe take a look at it after we eat something, just to make sure everything’s straight and all. I’ve had my share of bones that didn’t mend quite straight and they bother you all the time afterward.”

He paused, still waggling the dripping meat and cocked his head, eyeing her a moment. “You know, I’ll cook the meat if you’d rather, but somehow, I think you’d like it just like this.” He reached to hand her the bloody hunk of venison with no consideration of whether he might lose a finger or two as the consequences.

[Deilakrion]

Deilakrion's face wrinkled up in a sulk, and her good hand dropped to the ground and slapped it in ragged time; an outward sign of her irritation. She didn't seem to hear him as he talked to her, except maybe in the way her eyes narrowed or her nose wrinkled. But she definitely wasn't looking at him.

That didn't stop her from reaching out to snatch the hunk of meat with her good hand, the other braced and loosely holding her dagger. She stuffed it into her mouth and chewed ravenously, juices drippnig down her chin. She'd starve if she had to while she couldn't hunt, but she'd never refuse food someone was offering to her. A sign of stupidity on their part. Submission, maybe? She snarled through the mouthful of meat, spraying Brakk with spittle and chunks and juices before he could leave.

It had occurred to her that maybe he was taking proprietary measures, treating her like some fleshes treated their beast companions. Feeding them, taking care of them, binding them so they learned to be docile and tame.

She swallowed most of the mouthful, and bared her teeth at him. "This creature belongs this creature. No touch. Go away while a creature eats."

And she hunched her back and turned a little away from him, almost stopping the indrawn hiss of breath at the ripples of pain such an action brought.

[BrakkUrGrath]

Brakk watched the strange woman as she slapped the ground. He felt her snatch the hunk of meat from his grip and watched as she stuffed the raw venison into her mouth, chewing with abandon, heedless of the blood and spittle that streamed down her face and onto her exposed breasts.

But then she said words that left the large Zhotunn warrior confused. He wrestled with them, having already learned that the strange woman’s manner of speech was unusual. He’d learned she referred to herself as “this creature” and that she despised being touched and that she was essentially a loner who was fiercely independent and normally self-sufficient. But her words left him confused. He sat back on his heels, shook his head, then cocked it to one side and asked, “What do you mean? I think I understand what you’ve said, but I don’t understand why you said it? You belong to yourself? Isn’t that true of everyone?”

Because of his cultural upbringing, Brakk could not conceive of the owner-pet relationship that troubled the strange Elven woman’s thoughts.

Zhotunn are barbarians who “live free in the world”, answering to none but themselves, and perhaps their clan chieftains and elders. And while they are usually raiders, they never ordinarily even consider taking prisoners or hostages or slaves. The people they fought were killed or left for dead, simply abandoned on the field of battle to survive or die as the gods of nature willed.

And while there may be the occasional “marital raid” made on some neighbouring Zhotunn tribe by young men seeking wives, Zhotunn don’t normally interbreed outside of their race, so they have little need to capture “wives” in their raids.

Also, Zhotunn don’t ordinarily keep pets. Their lifestyle often leads to times of sparse resources that do not lend themselves to feeding unnecessary mouths or carrying unneeded supplies. Sure, they sometimes had a sort of symbiotic relationship with dogs or wolves or such creatures, but these would have to hunt for themselves or aid in finding and scavenging food that may then be shared with the animal, but Zhotunn in general would not consider the relationship as any sort of relationship other than mutual benefit.

He stared at her back a moment after she’d turned from him, then shook his head again and stood up, giving one more glance at the wild Elven woman before turning and mumbling, “Just when I thought I was beginning to understand you.”

[Deilakrion]

Deilakrion was confused in turn, again, by Brakk's careless words. She didn't really have a response to him that wouldn't highlight her weakness, so she simply didn't respond, only seeing fit to bow her head over her food and occasionally twist her head just so to give the fire and its keeper a disproving glare.

It was set to be a long night, with the two bonding in awkward moments and probably looking to never see the other again when it was all said and done and over, but for Deilakrion some very important fundamentals had changed. She struggled with them, and wrapped herself deep in her mind. So deep that she did not notice the first wet plop on her arm. Nor the second that landed a little east of her foot. She didn't even see the third and fourth, both of which landed in the fire. The next twenty or so -- a few of which made barely audible thonks on her head -- did have her looking up.

One could have forgotten it was in the middle of a mild winter, but the weather clearly hadn't. Though the clouds had tried to send down another layer of snow, warmer air currents had changed the condensed water from frozen fluff into a heavier, and mushier, sleet. A cold, stinging, persistent sleet.

Soon enough the fire was hissing in protest as it was battered slowly down. In a total time of twenty-eight seconds the few drops it had started with had increased to a flat out downpour of icy slush, which Deilakrion was staring upwards at in surprised disbelief until a few well timed bits landed in her eyes. She bellowed of course, and soon enough looked like a cold and bedraggled rat with grime running in streaks over her skin as she scrambled clumsily towards the dubious shelter of a tree trunk -- the fire facing calamity behind her.