Thoughts in The Wind
Posted: Tue Sep 13, 2005 11:23 pm
The noise came from nearby - that was the first thing he noticed as he woke. "Maybe a Troll or maybe...?", thought Kamik, "...a bounty hunter?". He rubbed his face and searched for his axe in the darkness around him.
It was night. A cold night. Wearing his armor on such weather was painful to his skin. He was sleeping on a place he long had forgotten as home. As bed. The Southern Forest. But unfortunatelly, it was necessary. The idea of living in the town he was born into, Troll's Bane, wasn't a good one anymore. Not because he was removed from his guard post - something he always dreamt as a child. But because he knew the danger of staying there; a danger that could put others in a situation of life and death. And he didn't want that: in his mind and heart, Kamik still cared for his town.
As his right hand reached to the grip of the double axe, he sensed the noise much nearer - well - or maybe not. He had half of elven senses and reflexes, sometimes it confused him and he just had woke up. He stood, but as he tried to hold the double axe with both hands he had to hold a scream of pain. "The hand", he thought. The hand. The Silver Hand - crafted by the best smith of the island, Durin, and enchanted by a mage, Marius, into his wrist to move at his will. He knew silver didn't rust, but Marius advised him of the cold. And although he couldn't feel anything in his magical hand, his wrist was hurting a lot. He recognized the pain: it was similar to when he crossed Gerard's Cold Fire.
- Argh... - with every move of the fingers on the left hand his wrist hurted. "The hand...", he thought again trying to concentrate on how nearer the noise was now.
It vanished.
It was silence again. Kamik narrowed his eyes in the hope to see anything in the dark, but it was helpless. In times like these, he wished he had a torch. Slowly, to avoid more pain, he closed the metallic fingers around the grip and raised the axe, now holding it with two hands. All he was wearing were his old clothes and his cloak. No shoes. It was odd to have such a cold night in this month of the year... the day started so radiant.
Then the noise came back. Much nearer. He closed his eyes; he wouldn't need them. "One... No. Two", he counted. Two of whatever it was. He imagined the bounty hunters, stealthy, trained to see in the dark, following his footprints to that place. He was told some people hired mercenaries to get his Silver Hand. The font of the information wasn't that trustworth, but that was all he had. He also heard rumours of others wanting his head - but to that, he was growing used to.
"I would thank anyone who'd take this hand from my arm now...", he thought as he raised the axe and the pain got stronger.
Then something jumped in the air. He knew that a second before it happened, somehow. And he knew that because of the leaves flying with the wind caused by the impulse. "Forget the pain", he told himself in his mind without much success.
- Raur!
- Heya! - he slashed in the direction of the sound. Everything happened very fast. The jump, the attack. The second after it happened, Kamik knew he missed his aim. Whatever it was, it was now biting on the wooden grip of his weapon. He tried to let the axe go so he could get another blade, but his left hand simply refused to open.
The thing growled and pulled. Kamik was sure of what it was now. They weren't two, but one walking in four legs. A wolf. And a big one.
The creature took instance and jumped over him. With the weight of the axe and the Silver Hand, Kamik fell on his back, the wolf over him.
One second.
One second was all he had. One second to live. In that single second, two things happened. The first was a small timid shine: the moon light passing through the branches reflected on a golden ring on his right hand. The second was a thought: "Devrah".
Slash!
He pushed the corpse of the wolf to the side, his clothes already ruined with the blood of the animal. He sighed. He tried to stand, but another pain, on his right leg, made him think otherwise. He moved his right hand to the place and discovered a bite. He sighed again.
Tired. Hurt. Cold. Dirt. Kamik only allowed his body to fall back against a tree, his leg probably bleeding, his left hand still fixed to the double axe.
He opened his eyes only to see the same darkness as before. "My world is turning black...", he thought leaning his head heavily to the trunk. He allowed the double axe to fall to his side, his left hand following it until it hit the earth. The smell of blood and death was already in the air, cursing his place of rest. Soon other wolfs or maybe others creatures would feel it and follow its instincs.
"Another tree... I have to go to another tree...", but there was blood in his clothes. Wherever he would go now in that forest, he would be found. "Wherever I go now...", he thought, standing, leaning his body to the tree and his weight in his good leg, "...a trail of blood follows my path..."
It was night. A cold night. Wearing his armor on such weather was painful to his skin. He was sleeping on a place he long had forgotten as home. As bed. The Southern Forest. But unfortunatelly, it was necessary. The idea of living in the town he was born into, Troll's Bane, wasn't a good one anymore. Not because he was removed from his guard post - something he always dreamt as a child. But because he knew the danger of staying there; a danger that could put others in a situation of life and death. And he didn't want that: in his mind and heart, Kamik still cared for his town.
As his right hand reached to the grip of the double axe, he sensed the noise much nearer - well - or maybe not. He had half of elven senses and reflexes, sometimes it confused him and he just had woke up. He stood, but as he tried to hold the double axe with both hands he had to hold a scream of pain. "The hand", he thought. The hand. The Silver Hand - crafted by the best smith of the island, Durin, and enchanted by a mage, Marius, into his wrist to move at his will. He knew silver didn't rust, but Marius advised him of the cold. And although he couldn't feel anything in his magical hand, his wrist was hurting a lot. He recognized the pain: it was similar to when he crossed Gerard's Cold Fire.
- Argh... - with every move of the fingers on the left hand his wrist hurted. "The hand...", he thought again trying to concentrate on how nearer the noise was now.
It vanished.
It was silence again. Kamik narrowed his eyes in the hope to see anything in the dark, but it was helpless. In times like these, he wished he had a torch. Slowly, to avoid more pain, he closed the metallic fingers around the grip and raised the axe, now holding it with two hands. All he was wearing were his old clothes and his cloak. No shoes. It was odd to have such a cold night in this month of the year... the day started so radiant.
Then the noise came back. Much nearer. He closed his eyes; he wouldn't need them. "One... No. Two", he counted. Two of whatever it was. He imagined the bounty hunters, stealthy, trained to see in the dark, following his footprints to that place. He was told some people hired mercenaries to get his Silver Hand. The font of the information wasn't that trustworth, but that was all he had. He also heard rumours of others wanting his head - but to that, he was growing used to.
"I would thank anyone who'd take this hand from my arm now...", he thought as he raised the axe and the pain got stronger.
Then something jumped in the air. He knew that a second before it happened, somehow. And he knew that because of the leaves flying with the wind caused by the impulse. "Forget the pain", he told himself in his mind without much success.
- Raur!
- Heya! - he slashed in the direction of the sound. Everything happened very fast. The jump, the attack. The second after it happened, Kamik knew he missed his aim. Whatever it was, it was now biting on the wooden grip of his weapon. He tried to let the axe go so he could get another blade, but his left hand simply refused to open.
The thing growled and pulled. Kamik was sure of what it was now. They weren't two, but one walking in four legs. A wolf. And a big one.
The creature took instance and jumped over him. With the weight of the axe and the Silver Hand, Kamik fell on his back, the wolf over him.
One second.
One second was all he had. One second to live. In that single second, two things happened. The first was a small timid shine: the moon light passing through the branches reflected on a golden ring on his right hand. The second was a thought: "Devrah".
Slash!
He pushed the corpse of the wolf to the side, his clothes already ruined with the blood of the animal. He sighed. He tried to stand, but another pain, on his right leg, made him think otherwise. He moved his right hand to the place and discovered a bite. He sighed again.
Tired. Hurt. Cold. Dirt. Kamik only allowed his body to fall back against a tree, his leg probably bleeding, his left hand still fixed to the double axe.
He opened his eyes only to see the same darkness as before. "My world is turning black...", he thought leaning his head heavily to the trunk. He allowed the double axe to fall to his side, his left hand following it until it hit the earth. The smell of blood and death was already in the air, cursing his place of rest. Soon other wolfs or maybe others creatures would feel it and follow its instincs.
"Another tree... I have to go to another tree...", but there was blood in his clothes. Wherever he would go now in that forest, he would be found. "Wherever I go now...", he thought, standing, leaning his body to the tree and his weight in his good leg, "...a trail of blood follows my path..."