The Songs We Share

Chapter 2

Shit's fucked; that's all I can say.

Here I am in front of a bandit who could rip me in two if she wanted to. I can't even defend myself; I'm armed with nothing. I wasn't prepared for this in the slightest. The only thing that I have on me are my sleep clothes, and my bag with all of my gear is in the tent which she just brutally ripped into pieces.

After the bandit ripped open my tent and grabbed me, she threw me onto the ground a fair distance away from my destroyed tent, exposing me to the cold elements. She's standing over me, giggling at my terrified face. Is this where I die? Am I going to meet my end in the middle of the Appalachian wilderness all because I wanted to go out west?

The bandit in front of me is horrifyingly huge. Most of her body is obscured by shadow; it doesn't help that her skin is as dark as ash. From what I could barely see, I could make out that she had quite an athletic physique; her muscles were glistening in the moonlight. I could see the silhouette of a Stetson hat on her head. Right below that, there were smoldering, bright orange eyes. A spew of fire shoots out of them as she looks at me. It was undoubtedly a Hellhound. Fuck, why did I guess High Orc earlier? While I would regret my poor guesses now, there were more significant issues to worry about, and I have a small feeling that even if I did guess correctly, she wouldn't have let me off the hook.

"Oh, look at the poor traveler. You don't even have a caravan or a wagon. Did a little fellow like you expect to make it all the way out west just on your feet? I would let you go out of sheer pity, but I'm quite hungry. I'm sure you'll understand." The Hellhound laughs as she steps away from me and begins walking toward my bag.

I attempt to get up, but right as I begin to sit up, the hellhound snaps her head around, glaring at me. "Don't you move another muscle or else I'll send you tumbling down the mountain back to whatever shithole you came from," The Hellhound threatens. I freeze in place; it's not worth it to try to flee. She'll track me down and find me in a matter of minutes.

The hellhound resumes her movement toward the bag in my tent. She crouches down and reaches in, grabbing my bag in one fell swoop. She stands back up and glances at me.

"I wonder what goodies you have in here, hm?" She gives a sly grin. I fucking hate how she's acting all playful while robbing me. I wish she would just leave me alone.

"W-Wait, don't, please!" I beg. I was well aware that this most likely wouldn't help my case, but I was getting desperate. I would give up my dignity and grovel and beg just to get her to stop.

She laughs again, even louder. It seems I'm just entertaining her and filling her with more zeal. "Oh, you travelers. You never change. I'm surprised you haven't offered up your body yet. A lot of you poltroons think that a bandit of my standards is gonna stoop so low just for a few squirts of spirit energy in return for whatever jewelry they were dumb enough to bring with them."

Before I can even comment, the hellhound outlaw dumps the contents of the bag onto the floor. Food, money, and all sorts of equipment fall all over the floor. I hear glass shattering as the compass I bought from Fellier Hills falls face-first onto a protruding rock.

My guitar is still leaning against the side of the tent, next to my sleeping bag. Thank God I put it there before I went to bed; if it broke when she dumped all of my stuff out I think I'd start sobbing on the spot. However, the chances of her stealing the thing are still high. I stare at the pile of goods in front of me, breathing heavily. Is she really going to take everything? On top of the pile of goods is a familiar book, The 'Scriptures of Eros.' It's the book I stole from the inn a few nights ago. Perhaps this is bad karma or something.

To my surprise, the hellhound stares at the religious book with curiosity and slowly kneels down to gently pick up the book with both of her hands before standing back up. She raises an eyebrow while rubbing a furred digit against the red textile of the cover. "Are you a collector, traveler?" She quietly says. I can barely hear her over my own pounding heart.