Hunted [Wild Hunt Series: 1]

16: Snare

Two massive roots weighed down across my shoulders in my narrow hiding place. In the waning rush of the start, I ducked my head in tight against the uplifted earth, hunched on the ground like a queen of dirt and silence. Despite not knowing the whereabouts of anyone, including the spider demon (calling him 'Spider-Man' didn't sit well with my Marvel comics upbringing), my adrenaline took its first slight dip. Dipped enough in that quiet pseudo-peace that my body remembered how to feel. Pain budded and blossomed with every second passed. 

My hand rattled softly against my chest. While I couldn't see my wrist beneath layers and leather, a deep, full ache had swollen against the bracers. My fingers tingled in a strange way, and as much as I tried to move my thumb it stayed limp. Something in there, maybe my thumb, probably my wrist, was broken. Worse, I considered myself lucky for it. Lucky that I knew I could heal from such a thing, though not soon enough, and lucky that I'd escaped with only a broken wrist and some bumps and bruises. 

Holding my wrist steady and my breath in, I waited for the eight legged freak to enter into the forest, to cross the tiny window of roots I had to see through. Birds and tiny, winged lizards with jeweled hides, emerged from their hiding places as the immediate ruckus moved into the forest depths. Leaves as large as my head brushed against one another in somber melody.

Still, I did not hear the the spider.

The leaves continued to blow. A tiny lizard crawled along the gnarled roots, one brown eye focused on mine. Then opalescent wings spread open and leaped into the air, disappearing from my small window of forest. 

Still, I didn't hear the Minotaur, or the half-dragon whose tongue I'd sliced off.

All three of them (well all two really, if I could stop myself from being delirious with pain and remember that the Minotaur was definitely dead or dying), all two of them should have made it into the Oaks by now. 

But there came only the hushed whispers of nature and the occasional squeak of a bird or lizard.

So I tucked my knees up and hugged my wrist, straining to hear anything, anyone, over the pounding in my head. I waited for maybe an hour, until my tender thumb could bend again, before I knew I had to crawl out and get somewhere safer.  

"Lady of the Hunt," I muttered to myself, dusting off my shoulders as I pressed against the tree trunk and surveyed the immediate area. "Be a hunter, not the the hunted." Black blood congealed around my knife's edge, which I gripped tight for a few more seconds before glancing down long enough to wipe it off. 

There weren't any maidens from the palace gets to the dusty road, that much I knew, and for that reason I wound my way the short distance through the woods to both get my bearings and figure out what exactly where Shail broke through. 

The road into the Malumbrian Oaks was marred by tracks and blood. My tracking experience limited to finding a couple stray cows now and again—God,how I missed my ladies— I had a pitiful time of trying to identify something similar to a giant lion track in the chaos. The best I could do after another wary glance towards the dappled forest floor was to find the damn disgusting tongue. 

Absent its owner, the tongue lay curled in a fine red dust. From there I paced in narrow circles, trying to buckle down and focus on the right shape. 

Success bounced with me until Shail smashed through the forest undergrowth. Claws peeled away the thick bark of the trees and scrambled over the massive roots, until I couldn't find anything more. Maybe the pony-sized feline had taken to one of the enormous trees to wait out the chaos from relative safety, but more than likely he'd gone back to what he knew. He'd gone back to the waterfall where I'd first stumbled across him.

And now that I'd made the executive decision to head that way, I really, really wanted to find him before nightfall before those hellish spiders scuttled out to fed. As I cut along, staying off the trail or anything that looked like a trail, even animal runs, I wondered how the others were doing. How did they plan to catch the maidens? How did the maidens plan to get away? Did they even know what was going on, what was coming for them?

When the sound of water drowned the natural voice of the wild, I slowed down and searched the ground hard for signs of life, whether it be Shail or otherwise. Chiro rode a horse and had a wolf. He knew about this place and he had animals that might like a drink from the fresh water, among other demons. Had that been a clever move on his part, giving me a location in the woods, somewhere I could feel safe and comfortable (it being the only thing here I actually had been before)? Was it so he'd know where I'd be for easy hunting?

But there were no tracks in the immediate area. I bent for a quick drink and to wash the dust from my neck and forehead, and then scoured the shoreline up and down, too afraid to do more than whisper for my cat. 

It was only when I'd crept to the heart of the northern stream, near a towering, rocky falls, that I heard a distinct, catty hiss against the rattling reeds. There was little to see of the crag cat, but he was too large an animal to hide along the water's edge, especially while wearing my pack. He kept a low profile, the tops of his shoulders edging forward. Above that sat the leather bag and my saddle, and behind it all swished his muscular clubbed tail. Reeds and grasses bent with every inch forward.

"Hey, buddy," I cooed, careful to stand my ground, careful to give him his space. "You want some help with that?"

Shail regarded me with flattened ears, frozen in place. And then he straightened to his regal height, lifting his dusty chin like he hadn't maybe been considering  pouncing for a second there. It took some time and few cautious hisses before his royal self remembered my servitude and he allowed me to ease the reins -and the bridle? I didn't ride horses. I wasn't really that good with the terms for the bondage-esque structure around the head of your mount- from his head. As much as it pained me, I pulled off the rest of his gear, too. I didn't want him clawing it off the second he'd decided it was more trouble than it was worth.

Inside my bag, I removed a strip of dried jerky and we were friends again.

I'd just gotten around to scouting out the damp rocks for a dry cave or space to make camp for the night when Shail, who'd been lounging by the rushing waters, sprang rapidly to his feet. He took one bounding leap into the forest. The instant the cat disappeared, a sharp, shrill scream ripped from the same spot.

I slipped and skidded my way down the rocks, pulling out my knife when my footing hit dry ground, and pushed through the brush after him.

The crag cat was reclined on his hind legs, big tail out straight behind him. He glanced over at me as I batted my way through the leaves. Something bright moved in front of him. With a hard, dismissive whack he hooked his claws into the young girl's thigh and smacked her onto the ground. She whimpered softly, black hair fallen across her face. The ivory, simple gown she'd been wearing had been stripped from her shoulder by Shail's paws. The big cat's claws raked thick lines down her back, where blood freely stained the white fabric.

The cat unhooked his claws from her leg, but used his paws to bat her onto her side.

Playing with his food, I realized.

"Help," the girl whispered. Dark brown eyes met mine. She couldn't have been more than ten years old. "Help," she said again as our eyes met.

But when I tried to take another step forward, the cat hissed and dragged her against his belly.