|| ×2 FEATURED || When the ever-skittish, homesick, twelve-year old Fralith accidentally-on-purpose stops a kidnapping, no one knows what to think--especially Fralith. Newly stranded on a planet not his own through a misdirected HomeKin portal, wher...
They had Ray-chel. The men were taking Ray-chel! No! He couldn't let them take her! Shoving the door open, he burst into the hall and immediately paused, the wolf's pawsteps loud in his ears. What was his plan? What should he do?
Jatmap had given them a lesson about what to do when someone was captured, right? He just needed to remember that and— he scrambled around in his head, searching for anything that would be helpful, but his thoughts swarmed around him in an undefinable mess and he couldn't pull anything up.
Hallezap! Should he charge? Could he attack them now and get Ray-chel? But what if they had a ThunderObject? Should he get BlueShirt? No, he didn't have time. He didn't have any time.
Stop panicking! Stop panicking! Squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath, he shoved all thoughts out of his head. One step at a time. He had to go at this with his head on his shoulders. Okay. Could he scout? No, the men were moving too fast. Could he attack? He needed a better weapon. There were knives in the kitchen.
There. That was the first thing to do. Opening his eyes, he slunk down the stairs, taking care not to make any noise or sudden movements that the men—who were in the living room from the sound of it—could notice. At the bottom of the stairs, he searched the shadows for the men, energy tingling through his limbs.
Two shadows headed towards the front door, steps heavy with the extra weight. Leaving. The men were leaving. He had only moments to arm himself and— then what? Follow them? Scream to wake up BlueShirt? No, that'd give away his position.
Clenching his teeth together, he darted to the kitchen and snatched the best knife. Should he leave his journal here? He— wanted it safe, but having something to throw would be good. His gaze fell on a Rectangle on the counter. That'd have to do. Snatching it up and shoving it into his pocket, he whirled and ran to the edge of the kitchen, peering out into the dark hall.
The front door swung shut with a quiet creak. All the other exits flashed through his head but he shook them aside. The front door was quickest. Since the men were outside, he allowed his steps to be louder as he dashed to the door and cracked it open.
Cool night air brushed against his cheek, bringing the sound of a MetalEater purring. Just like the other night, a large black MetalEater sat on the BlackStrip next to the grass. The men opened the side flap of the MetalEater and stuffed Ray-chel inside with difficulty.
They were going to leave by MetalEater! He couldn't follow one on foot! Could he get inside without the men noticing? The MetalEater's flap slammed shut and his gaze landed on the top of the MetalEater. Worth a try. Slipping out the door and hunkering behind a bush, he watched as the men opened the front flap of the MetalEater and lumber inside.
This was his chance! With a burst of speed, he flew out from behind the bush, across the grass, staying low. Rounding the back of the MetalEater, he shoved off the ground and leapt for the top. He landed with a louder thud than he'd planned.
Muttering a beep under his breath, he flattened himself to the MetalEater's top, clutching the knife in one hand and the ridges lining the sides of the top in the other. Please don't look up here, please don't look up here! And don't eat me, MetalEater!
The MetalEater's purr didn't change. The night continued to hang in deep slumber. From inside, a muffled admonishing voice pushed its way to his ears. Click. The MetalEater's left front flap opened. He froze, wolf fur clogging his throat as she whined in between strides.
Black tufts of hair just appeared above the flap, turning this way and that. After an agonizing length of time, the hair retreated and the flap shut. A moment later, the MetalEater coughed, growled, and started to move.
Fralith dared to hardly breathe as the MetalEater glided away from the house and chilly night wind started to buffet him. He was on a MetalEater's head, going away from the house to somewhere unknown, without a plan, and armed only with a horrible knife.
This was bad. Really, really bad. If only Drao was here; he would know what to do! Or Davith or Jatmap or— anyone! He— couldn't do this alone. But he had to. He had to save Ray-chel; he was the only one who knew she was in danger.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he prayed to the Eternal until the wolf's frantic strides slowed and his thoughts calmed to coherent sentences. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his grip on the knife to relax. He needed a plan, and it needed to be a good one. One that would make sure Ray-chel was safe and the men unable to hurt her.
The easiest way would be to never alert the men that he existed. That way he could sneak in, free Ray-chel, and sneak out again with no conflict. Easy— assuming the men didn't lock her in a room with a guard, or had more people in wherever they were going, or his knife was sharp enough to cut through rope, or that Ray-chel wasn't in chains or— There were just too many possibilities of something going wrong!
Did he have a better plan? Wait until the Metal Eater stopped and the men got out then attack them from above? Too likely for the noise to draw other people out. Get off the MetalEater and go get help? He couldn't leave Ray-chel like that and he didn't know where to get help from.
Still...he couldn't storm a fully guarded place by himself. Beep! He bared his teeth, quietly hissing. Everything relied on where, how many men, and what they had. He'd just have to wait until they get there before deciding on a plan.
The MetalEater turned left, straightened, and started to speed up, causing him to start to slide back on the MetalEater's smooth top. His eyes widened and he twisted his body to the side, stretching his legs to the opposite side of the top where another ridge rose from the metal. Hooking his feet on the ridge, he pressed himself down as best he could, freezing wind whipping at his clothes, trying to pull him off.
Despite the extra hold he had with his feet, his top half still slid towards the end. Glancing at the knife, he grimaced and clenched the blade between his teeth. Drao and Davith and Jatmap would be so horrified right now, but the blade wasn't noren, and he needed his other hand.
Wrapping his fingers around the ridge, he pulled himself back to the middle, taking care not to make too much noise. He just had to hold on until they got to where they were going. He could do it. He had to do it.
Time passed with the speed of winter: incredibly slow and all too fast at the same time. By the time the MetalEater slunk up to a large, shambly-looking rectangular building, his fingers were almost frozen and he was shivering.
The MetalEater wound around the back of the building and crawled to a stop in front of a pair of rickety old doors. Beside the doors lay a stack of crates, pieces of wood, and other debris. Here, its growl died to silence and the light coming from its back and front vanished. Fralith squinted in the dark, every muscle tense as he waited.
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