Warrior Bride

S U R V I V I N G.

Media: "Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost" meme from lipstickandlacquer.ca

S U R V I V I N G.

I pulled my cycle behind a pile of old tires. Eyeing them like tossed out antiques. Tires had not been used on vehicles for two dozen years, those that were still around were art, furniture or trash. And by the latter, I was surrounded.

Where there were not piles of tires randomly laying about, there was the usual trash, rusted iron junk, old plywood and other such building materials that had long since been outdated.

I released the throttle to cease forward motion and remained hovering. The fans that made up the two 'wheels' separated and spread out into four fans that turned toward the sky like disks. I pulled a lever slowly toward me and the fans slowed, lowering toward the ground.

At the last second, they conked out and the cycle landed roughly. I cursed it under my breath.

"Old tin can...every time..."

Collapsing my helmet into a small headband, I tossed it into my traveling compartment and left the cycle among the tires.

I ducked into a makeshift shed of plywood and four rickety iron pillars, with a door made of a ragged old comforter.

The nights were not too cold this time of year, but I flicked on a neon lamp for added heat as well as light.

I sat down on the earth floor and looked around me to survey my living situation. A little fire-pit, a sleeping blanket, a bag of emergency supplies, my blade sharpener lying beside the pit and another staff leaning against the wall in the corner.

I walked over to the extra staff to examine it, bringing it closer to the light. Spending my savings on this slightly illegal weapon had yet to prove to be a wise choice or a foolish one. This staff channeled electricity when activated, but it required a license to own and use publicly.

Unless you have connections like mine.

I was suddenly alerted to footsteps approaching the front of my hut. Folding the electristaff quickly and flicked the neon lamp off, I grabbed my trusty old baseball bat.

I holstered my staff on my back and rotated my shoulder to chase away any stiffness. If it was a fight, I'd deliver.

Approaching the makeshift door of my tent silently, I listened for the intruder's next move.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness and my nerves waited. The footsteps stopped and I twitched my ears, straining to hear any noises.

A tiny gadget clicked and fire illuminated through the blanket door. There was no way I was going to let them light my hut ablaze.

I stepped out quickly, hiding the bat behind my back.

One man stood before me, lighting a pipe. He looked familiar.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded harshly to know.

The man extinguished his light, looking at me with a smile, "Ahh, Brietta the Wolfslayer. Good to see you again!"

I screwed my eyes at him, my memory flashing back and recognizing him.

"Martin's father?" I ask, "What could you possibly want?"