>>As before, there will be blood and violence here. If that is not to your taste, do not read. You have been warned.
>>Shimmyshimmy, I do apologize if Baal's attention was unwanted. I was uncertain.
I
run. They are not far behind me. My wounds are slowing me, drawing my
strength as they lend my blood to the earth gliding wildly beneath me.
My breath comes in rushes, feeding the ice within. It will not be long
before it encompasses me.
I run on.
I can not be caught.
I do not know if I can hold them off, for surely there will be many.
Far more than my weakened form can battle. Already I am tiring, the
glide of the earth slowing. But the hooves have stopped. Or I have left
them behind.
I turn, gazing roving wildly over the rain darkened
world. There are none before me. Perhaps, for a moment, I can rest. I
take my shelter beneath the towering face of a mighty tree. The rain is
fierce, but the immense branches hold the waters from my fur.
I
try to rest. I know that I will soon need all of my strength. Already I
can feel the tension growing. Though I am alone here, I can feel them,
sense their anger.
I am alone no longer. The heavy pounding of hooves reaches my ears. There truly is no rest for the wicked.
I
stand, watching as a form slowly emerges from the silvery curtain
before me. Confusion feels me. This is not what I would have expected.
My death can not be a doe. It only takes a moment for the irony to hit
me. I almost laugh. But I do not have time. If I am to survive this, I
must stop them now. Before more learn of my doings.
I charge,
racing towards the dark pelted doe. As I draw closer I see that she is
far from a match for me. Her hooves are delicate, antlers weak. It
would take nothing for me to tear her down, rip her apart.
She
stops before my charge. I only strain harder, tearing the ground in my
haste to end her. But time is again not my friend this day. I can hear,
through the thrumming of my own hooves, the rushing of blood through my
skull, more of them.
My blood boils. Anger hot and sweet on my
tongue. I take only a moment for her. Hooves flashing, tearing through
the wind, the rain.
I run on. She is safe. I was never even close. But now, now my chances are over. My life may be soon to follow.
The
rain lashes at the pale imitation of my face. Streaming down as tears
drawn from my very soul. I do not stop. I leave them behind.
I find myself before another.
One
I have seen before. He would have been quite difficult to forget. Never
had I seen something so pale. His coat an imitation of the light that
has forsaken me. I slow. I stop.
He is far too close. I can only
ponder the agony the tiered crown of spines upon his head could deal my
already brutalized form. I cast my gaze, lowered in threat to him.
Perhaps that crown is merely a false warning. He seems to gentle a stag
to wear them.
Gentle indeed. It seems he wants nothing to do
with my warning. One can not blame him. Lead me closer oh pale one. I
shall turn that pure hide red.
Again the hooves. Again, I run.
Now they are everywhere. There is not only one, nor the two, but many.
It seems there shall be nowhere for me to hide. But I run on.
They
have found me. I have no time to tell hoof from antler before I am
struck. Pain, why must it always find me? I tear myself from their
antlers to deliver a blow of my own. Striking hooves and spattering
mud. The red streams flow. I run on.
Again I am found. There will be no rest for me this day. Only blood, sweat. Only pain.
The
doe, not the one I wanted with all my might to tear apart, to rend limb
from delicate limb, but the other. The brave girl. She wants to rip me,
tear me. I can feel it. I lash out. I care not if she is struck. I run
on.
The world is cold, sodden. My limbs tire. I can not run forever.
The
pale one. His lighted coat draws my eyes as a moth to the flame. I
turn, running to him. I tire of this. My pain is great and your coat
too pale. Let me lend you a little color my brother.
I strike. He refuses. I strike again. He turns from me.
Why will you not fight?! Why do you leave me such empty victory?! I can stand him no more. I run.
The
hill... It seems a return of my failure. I am on top of the world and
they come. I am surrounded. There is no where for me to run this time.
I
strike out with hoof and antler. Both find flesh. But the flesh holds
weapons of their own and they tear me again and again. I spin about,
the world a whirl of shadows and red. So much red.
They part. I
take my chance, I leap for freedom and there he is. The ceasing of my
freedom. I see my end in his eyes. A stag of mighty bearing, hide
merely a pelt of scars. One who has seen victory after victory and my
worthless hide holds far more of his attention than I believe is ever
wise.
My blood runs cold, ice lacing my very soul. I freeze, he
strikes. The blow is violent. I am sent sliding, slamming into the
heated bodies that swarm me, hold me at bay. I struggle to my hooves.
He returns. Again I feel the burn of his wrath. I fear I shall not
survive another blow.
In the scattering of bodies I find my hooves. I do not chance another strike. I leap. I run.
They are not far behind. My breath freezes in my lungs.
Death is on my trail.
