Thar Shaddin

Summer, 122PW
Continued from Thwarted Ambition

Sun and moon had passed over Amm's head many, many times. Too many for reckoning. She had walked the long path, over steppes and low desert, in forest, through plains, over mountains. To one used to flying it was long-step, tired-step. It was a tattoo of sound, of vibration, that had become a rhythm imprinted upon her soul. It was a discomfort. She bore it proudly. Anything for her people.

The solitude did not bother her as she beheld the wide world. There was grace in being alone. There was comfort in walking the long hunt. To partake in it was worth some pleasure, and Amm took it with gladness. She hunted and lived with skin form, with her two legs and two hands, and she reflected on the wisdom of Zuuu, and of Hozu-who-was-no-more.

She journeyed to tend to the nymphs, to teach and to protect. She journeyed to learn of the strangers, to know their ways, to know how best to stalk and kill. Important task, even if Amm was less-strong warrior who would not take part in war planning. Their nymphs were the future. It was important, even if Amm would only face weak Zyge and beasts. Even if she would not be there to keep strangers out of clan and tribe territory.

She returned to her own place-of-egg-and-skin first, because this she could remember even when other things grew fuzzy and vague to her mind-eye.

The pond was not so big. It was surrounded by tall, tall, tall big trees. Old trees. Trusted trees. There was much green and plants, and good many prey to hunt and feast upon. It was not too cold, not too hot: perfect for Aniz. Perfect for weak nymphs. Perfect for fae. But it was not perfect, because something had changed.

Amm's feet were tired, tired, tired. She had wanted to slow so many much times before, but hadn't. She could not be slow. But as she circled the lake, she took on hunting-stalking-slowness. Something was wrong. She went still, listened to the sounds of the forest and of water. Pitter-patter. There were no signs of stupid-hunting-bird. There were no markings left from stupid-hunting-Zyge. There was much prey. Too many much prey.

Carry-pack was dropped. Spear was brought to hands, point out. Point ready.

Something had changed, and Amm was going to find out what.

The tree trembled at the touch of Her Majesty Konk, its leaves erupting with shrill screams of despair. Great blue hands wrung the trunk like a songbird’s neck, snapping the wood and bark with a thunderous pop. The tree wobbled towards its assailant, its branches reaching for the troll’s blocky shoulders as if seeking a final embrace. Quick as a flash, the tree was punched straight back, flat on the ground. Silent. Dead.

Silent and alive, Konk smirked giddily to herself. She trotted to the fallen trunk, her feet sinking deep in the loamy earth. Her powerful blue arms rippled with light, bright green stripes and spots breaking through the lush canopy above. Lush in plant life at least. There was nothing like a troll in a forest to drive the animals away.

Konk rolled onto her back, ignoring the dying groans of the tree beneath her. The wide trunk splintered beneath her weight, but Konk paid it no heed. She rubbed her mountainous backside into the gnarled bark, rolled her bulky shoulders. Brushing her deep purple hair with her sharp fingers, Konk gazed into the wood.

From far away, Konk couldn’t make out much of the trees around her, and that was nice. She was tired of trees, because they were making the worst royal subjects imaginable. In her books, trees sang, whistled, and even danced. Konk hadn’t met a single tree that did any of those things. In her hunt for worthy lieges, she’d had the luck of a goat on ice.

The only interesting creatures that she had met had been quite nasty little things, with sharp teeth and spears. They were very similar to the brownies in her books, only more malicious and wet. She declared that they be called wetties. Luckily, the wetties were stupid creatures, drawn towards a nearby pond like flies to a fire. She made sure to catch them before they reached the bank, and they made scrumptious little snacks. Unfortunately the last wettie she’d killed rolled into the pond, and she hadn’t been able to muster the courage to retrieve it. The would have required touching the water. Konk couldn’t do that.

Still, Konk had eaten plenty that day, and this tree was quite comfortable. With a sigh, she slipped into sleep. She would find her servants in time.

Sound, sound, sound ripped through the air. Amm froze in place, hunter's patience, seeing the movement of the tree as it crashed. She lowered the spear, kept it to her hand. It was her claw, her mandibles, and she would not put it down without cause.

The tree was not close to her pond, her nymphs and mission, but it was near enough to inspect. If it was danger, it should be dealt with first. It needed to be.

She stalked closer. Body low, she wavered through subtle motions of threat and challenge. Amm was not afraid. But when she came upon the tree and its source, she found herself still and quiet. No movements, no words. She did not even have a word for the two-legged blue stranger-thing that lay on the fallen tree.

Amm did not know how to judge it. She was not the biggest, not the cleverest. Was it threat? Was it safe? Was it stranger or beast-thing?

A hunter who did not know the next step was a failed hunter. Amm must wait and gather more information.

She crouched low, and resolved herself to the patience of resting dragonfly.

ACT I: Our queen is running through the woods. Her head whips between the trail ahead of her, and the pounding footfalls behind her. The trees sway and dance, mocking our poor beautiful queen in song. Every step is heavier than the last, and she can almost see the beady yellow eyes of…

ACT 2: A cliff suddenly appears, and our queen tumbles down, forever down. “The Might of Rosalie” slips from her fingers, and the wind snatches each of the pages from the binding with a snicker. The pages scream for mercy, but our queen cannot hear them. There is a loud CRACK --

INTERMISSION

Konk awoke screaming. At least, that was what her mind was doing. Her voice gargled and wailed, her breath rasping against the torn remains of her vocal chords. The sound itself was enough to shut Konk up, but the pain was infinitely worse. She curled into a ball, clutching helplessly at her throat. She rocked in time to the hurt, willing the beating to pass.

Water. She needed water.

With a tremendous shudder, Konk clenched her fists and screwed her eyes. There was too much water at the pond, terrible water that was surely deep and full of snarling beasts. Water was where hydras lurked. Water was where demons crept. Water was where trolls died. Every muscle in her shook with fright, but her mind snapped into attention.

She would be quick. She would take one handful of water, and the pain would disappear. That was what happened when queens used water; water was kind to queens.

With a pained groan, Konk rolled off her crumbled tree, fists grabbing at the thin roots nearby. The whole forest seemed to be spinning, the canopy above red and throbbing. For a moment the troll was certain she would lose consciousness. This thought shot fire down her spine, and she gritted her teeth against the red. Staggering to her feet, Konk stumbled her way down the hill.

She had crept slunk slid forward, towards disturbance, towards the not-right, the danger. Many much cover, spread about, calm to the cautious Amm. She did not make noise, did not stir the air. She watched for vibrations left by not-tera, by the blundering awful strangers or prey-fiends who did much to destroy territory that belonged to tera. The thought raised Amm's blood fury, made her want to go and hunt and kill those who would eat-harm-touch any of the aniz tera brood.

Vibrations. Rocking, swaying trees; singing poems of harm and destruction, of rushing force and damage done with brutal strength.

Amm wavered, on point, spear balanced low to high, ready to rise and stab stab stab.

But she couldn't believe what she saw, what her eyes told her. If tera could not trust sight, then all was lost. But what came running rushing tearing down in a bumblecrash of broken snapped tree limbs and bushes, flung moss and tossed detritus, was something she had never seen before. What was it? What did it mean to do?

Defend!

It was headed for her pond, for the brood that waited needed hatching.

She darted out from cover, ran quick sleek fast to move between big bumbling thing and the quicksilver flash of nymphs under the water's surface.

Challenge shivered out, swung and slammed from feet to knees to back neck mouth hands spear. She stood between thing and water, spear pointed towards the intruder, feet braced wide.

Konk shrieked in surprise, fury, and pain. Her feet stomped for hold on the loose earth, but her traitorous left foot rolled forward. A loud pop cracked from her blue ankle, and she howled again, her body pitching forward.

What exactly she was pitching towards, she didn’t know. At first, she’d thought it was another wettie closing on the pond. As she tumbled towards the thing, Konk realized that this was something entirely different. It was larger, but still a puny thing.

The thing had red skin, green eyes, and a sharp spear. But that wasn’t what struck Konk as peculiar as she fell. The thing was a warrior! Never had she met another creature with the resilience of a troll, and yet this tiny little beast was steady as a mountain.

But Konk knew she had nothing to fear from such a wee thing. Balling her fists, she aimed for the creature’s face. It could never withstand the force of a troll. Not even with its eyes of steel, or its legs of granite, or…why wasn’t it moving? Her giant fists, each the size of the thing’s face, were within inches of connecting. Konk was positive that her face was as ferocious as possible, even through her pain. But despite all this…the creature hadn’t retreated a single inch. It kept staring at her, wide, bright green eyes clear of fear. It was impossible. It was powerful.

And just like that, Konk flinched.

Tera moved. Movement, sight, these belonged to Aniz Tera.

Her muscles bunched, flexed, and her knees bent. She went low, low to ground, spear coming back. Her weight was balanced -- exquisite, and the implicit taunt shivered through her toes and up in the way she bent her body forward -- but the duck left little in the way of strength for her return thrust. She would need strength. Big, fierce, danger. Worthy foe. Worthy of attention.

Scorn sang in the flick of her head as she jabbed the spear forward in rapid, shallow thrusts. Test its reaction time. Test its stupidity. Test her thought of warriors and worthiness.

But this was not anything she worried over.

There was no fear.

Live or die, she would complete her task.

Clan nymphs would be safe.