The wind that blew down from the Sliabh Cruinn brought the frigid bite of winter. The land was covered in a thick layer of fresh snow.
Tavish had returned to a semblance of his former humor, albeit without the constant yearning for alcohol. Everytime he smelled the stuff, now he would retch. With a wide grin, he admired his reflection in the ice that covered the river, a hand combing the hair around his mouth.
“I’m cuttin’ a foin figure,” he said.
“Yes you are,” Hennesi agreed peering over his shoulder. “Instead of admiring your own, you should be spending more time admiring mine.”
His grin widened. “Don’t ya’ be worryin’.” the bard added. “I still admire yer nice round….”
“Be nice” the warrior woman stopped him with a punch to his shoulder. They laughed together and Tavish stood. He took the lute from his back and began to strum.
“Been workin’ on an ode to yer foin self,” he said.
“You can sing it for me later,” the woman said with a smile.
“I’ll be usin’ me tongue fer other things, lass.” The bard grinned again and they shared a laugh.
They crossed the thin layer of ice that encased the river in an icy tomb and headed back toward the forest. For months they had wandered the outskirts of the woods, hunting and enjoying each other’s company, the memory of the battle in Talantas still fresh in their minds.
A rancid smell came upon them, carried by the frigid wind. Following the scent, they came upon the rotting carcass of a sirite. He had been gutted and left to rot on the frozen ground. A trail of congealing blood led toward the thick woods amidst the remnants of four toed tracks.
Hands went to weapons and all eyes scanned their surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but they proceeded with caution, nonetheless.
Tavish didn’t recognize the tracks, but that in itself was no cause for worry. He had been trained in the arts of song and poetry, a far cry from matters of nature. Even so, there was something mildly disturbing in the strange tracks that disappeared into the darkest part of the Coill Ughrannach.
“I’m thinkin’ we might be followin’,” the bard said sofrly.
“I have to agree,” Hennesi replied dragging the blade from her back with a flex of well used muscles. Carefully, they followed the tracks through a tangle of brambles, cursing as they felt the bite of thorns.
Small drops of blood and a tuft of red fur lay on the ground near a patch of broken branches. Here, the tracks were deeper and more defined, more so from the soft ground than any change in weight or pace. Tavish decided he too would draw his weapon and the blade of his long sword glittered in the swirling flakes of the snow as it began to fall beneath the canopy of twined branches, darkening with the setting sun.
With a glance at each other they continued following the trail of blood as it led deeper into the woods. Soon, they came upon the torn and ravaged body of a wolf, its innards strewn across a small clearing. In the waning light, they could barely make out the tracks, leading past the scene of violence.
“This doesn’t look good,” Hennesi said, her eyes roaming the area in search of the perpetrator. There was no sign. The area was eerily still and quiet, the falling snow giving the sense of calm, but there was an underlying menace that made the hairs stand up on the back of Tavish’s neck.
“We gotta proceed with caution,” he replied in a most serious tone. Hennesi looked at him sidelong and gripped her sword tighter.
Through the brush they trampled, leaving twisted brambles in their wake. Ahead they could hear the snuffling of some creature, the thunderous footsteps of something large and heavy. They shared a glance before continuing on their way.
“I hope the gods be smilin’ upon us,” Tavish whispered. Hennesi nodded, grimly and together they followed the strange sound. Ice and snow crunched beneath their boots, the sound echoing loudly in the stillness.
Soon, they saw the beast standing a head taller than Hennesi and covered in a shaggy red fur. It tore aside the branches of a naked tree with dagger length claws, nearly uprooting it. The motion revealed three sirite, blades drawn, cowering at its base.
“A red yeti,” remarked Tavish with awe. “So far away from its natural habitat, it is.”
They watched the sirite avoid the sweeping claws with a nimbleness born from life deep in the woods. The yeti roared again, its huge paw striking one of the sirite across the face. In a spray of blood, the humanoid flew like a rag doll to lay broken and oozing gore in the deep snow.
With a piercing war cry, Hennesi raised her greatsword and rushed forward.
“Here we go again,” said Tavish, his eyes rolling. He gripped his long sword and strode forward, cautiously. This was not their fight, he knew, but he would not see his companion injured without his interference.
The presence of the yeti so far from its mountainous habitat was worrisome, but Tavish would hold his concern for a few moments while they dealt with the marauding beast.
He watched as Hennesi ducked beneath the sweeping arms of the yeti and slashed it across the chest with her heavy blade. A deep crimson gash appeared across the beast’s dull fur. It let out a roar of pain while the sirite circled to the rear, swords flashing in the twilight.
One of the sirite, a female of slight build, sliced the yeti behind the knees and was rewarded with another cry of pain as it staggered. Taking advantage of the distraction, Hennesi ran it through with her greatsword. It bared its fangs, let out a gust of foul breath, and toppled face first into the snow. Hennesi had to leap aside to avoid being crushed.
The female sirite leaned over, her breathing ragged. She rammed her sword blade first into the firm ground and glanced up at the warrior woman.
“Thank you for your timely assistance,” the sirite said. “The creature surprised us. You came at a most fortuitous time.”
“Happy to help,” the tall warrior woman replied, placing her greatsword to the side. “I’m Hennesi.”
“Q’ilaqiqi,” the sirite said with a bow. “Bard of the Rowans. I am in your debt.”
No comments:
Post a Comment