The Gift of the Lethe

Unexpected Prey

The owl swoops down with its talons outstretched, grabbing onto a small body that scurries across the ground. They rise into the air with little more than a whisper of wind and the stirring of leaves from the ground, pushed up by the force of the owl's wings. The leaves crackle as they swirl around Pallas' legs, scratching at her skin with their dry edges.

She resists the urge to cringe away from them and back away from the owl, forcing herself to remain motionless as the owl flies up to the branch of a tree. It swallows its prey whole, almost faster than it takes for Pallas to even see it at all, and then it glides down to alight on her shoulder once more.

"More food."

She sighs. "You've had what, three voles at this point? You're still hungry?"

"Yes yes. Flying is tiring, Lady Pallas."

"Very well."

She continues on, scaring creature after creature. The owl swipes two mice from the earth, followed by yet another vole, before it finally settles on a tree branch and swipes its beak across the bark.

"All done."

Pallas nods, before she frowns thoughtfully and says, "What do we do now?"

"Rest. I must sleep, and you should. You are not a night-walker, clearly."

She frowns at that, confused. "What is a night-walker?"

"Someone who lives for the night. You are a day-walker, I think."

"You mean I'm diurnal? Not nocturnal?"

"Day-walker and not night-walker. Are they equal? Human speech is strange."

Pallas laughs. "I suppose it is, yes. I hate English."

The owl gives her one slow blink. "What's English?"

"The . . . the language people speak in this area."

"Is that what you were speaking to the Lady's daughter in?"

"Yes."

The owl's feathers ruffle. "You sound much better now. Less scratchy."

"I'm . . . I'm not speaking in English?"

The owl hoots in laughter. "By the Lady herself, why would you be doing that? The language my people speak is the best, nothing like your fumbling human tongues. Far too confusing for my kind."

Pallas would have refrained for pointing out that humans think that owl vocalizations are all alike anyways, but the low snarling from the bushes pulls her attention away from her guide. Light glows between the trees, pairs of red balls of light. She counts five pairs in all, making a total of ten glowing orbs.

A dark snout pushes its way towards her, the hairs covering it somehow darker than the night itself. As the creature advances with its fellows alongside it, Pallas inches back. She reaches for the charm hanging from her wrist as she does so. It would only take half a heartbeat for her to tug on it and free the spear, but she has a feeling that any movement from her would prompt an attack.

So slowly that she is barely moving at all, Pallas moves into a low crouch. Her bent legs keep her close to the ground, where her center of gravity is strong and she is easily able to lauch away if they attack. The creatures continue forward, emerging fully into the dim light of the clearing. It isn't much better than the darkness of the trees that they were hidden behind, but she can at least make out their features now.

They're dogs of some kind, though she is quite aware that no normal dog has blood-red, glowing eyes. All five of the massive things are standing perhaps three spearlengths in front of her, one of them crouching. Pallas tenses in response just as the dog lunges for her face. She darts to the side, pulling the charm free from her bracelet.

The tip of the spear elongates from the charm at the perfect moment, impaling the dog in the throat as it redirects its course to lunge again. It makes a whining sound as it dies, tinged with shock. Before she can move to pull her spear free and give it a swift end, the dog dissolves into golden dust.

The other four watch it for a moment, before turning their attention to Pallas in one, synchronous motion. They lunge together and Pallas instinctively slashes the space in front of her, trying to push them back. She thinks she grazes one of them, but other than its quick yelp of pain at the moment of impact, it appears fine.

The others, seeing her defense, back off for a moment and begin to circle. She turns her head to follow them, trying to watch all four at once, but she can't. She can keep three at most in her line of sight, and when she looks away the fourch tries to advance, only to step back again when she japs the spear towards it.

She swallows the dryness in her throat, nerves rising. She may be able to hold them off for now, but how long will it last? She's skilled, but she isn't sure if she can fight off four of these things at once. Five would have been worse, and she knows that one is only dead because she got lucky. That isn't likely to happen with these dogs.

The one directly in front of her snarls, eyes fixed on hers in rage, and hatred. Why does it hate her? She's never seen these things before. Pallas shivers, and tightens her hand on the grip of the spear, touching the engraved owl with her thumb for a glimmer of strength. Perhaps it is only her own mind, but she feels like that motion gives her a trickle more of courage. She stares down the lead dog.

"Bring it on."

The dog lunges.

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What do you think will happen in the fight? Will she beat them? Will someone help her? What do you think the dogs are? Tell me your thoughts!

Happy reading and I'll see you next chapter!

~ Goddess of Fate, signing out