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Despite all my beliefs that the people in this wood would ask questions first and maybe come to blows later, I’m quite wrong.
The first sign that anything has gone poorly for me this evening is the whisper of something through the wind, something that tears rather than simply slips. My dark ears have just enough time to slip backwards, catching distinctly the shhhhhk shhhhhhhk of the devilish weapons' approach – but I don’t know what it is, having no recollection of such a sound in my memory, but that of a horn as it crosses the air violently. Golden eyes widening, while wondering how did they get so close without me seeing them, my head begins its clockwise pivot to see who is attacking me just as two of the insidious snowflakes burrow their way into my ass and right hip, the rest flying by and grazing lightly the left side of my upper shoulder along the wither, the blood flow immediate. The pain comes slow; what makes my words rise is more shock than anything else.
Cover your ears, gentlewomen.
"What the flying fuck snowflake?!" I shout, turning about quickly to face her, the metal devilry drawing a grimace to my face as they wiggle about in the moving muscle. There is something about being attacked from such a distance (and with such effect) by a pretty bird woman that rubs my coat the wrong way, and that her attack had managed to deceive me makes me all the more irritated at her. I might have managed to talk my way out of it…
But she takes a step at me, and suddenly her words about warnings and turning around are replaced entirely with the notion of her making me.
A madman’s smile, the sort that appears without consent or notice, blooms to life with the movement of my body, my right hind kicking out forcibly to loosen some of her shuriken; one seems to fall to the ground, the pain in my hip fading, and if I can trust my senses, the other seems to loosen the further I come. In the seconds of my approach, I take in my surroundings with a different eye than that of a sneaky youth going places he shouldn’t, not liking fighting someone on their home turf; she probably knows these trees like the curve of her hooves.
I also know I don’t want to give her time to use her shurikens again – I assume their magically powered, and hope that by forcing distance between her and the blades, they’ll become useless to her. Tracking the position of the trees, gauging by her scars that I’ll have to use my wit to my advantage – she seems to be a guard dog of some merit.
I place myself and the shuriken on either side of a large and elderly tree, its trunk wide enough that she’ll have to pull her blades around it from where ever they are in the woods if she wants to get to me. It leaves one at her disposal, quite unfortunately attached to me, but it can’t be helped. With a last leap forward and a grunt of pain as the shuriken wounds pull taut and my blood fights the cold that congeals it, closing several feet at once (and hopefully surprising her with its sudden pace), I strike down and to the left, hoping to have come up on her right side, or at least in front of her, and thus impaling some sort of chest, neck, or shoulder tissue. Eager to see her red blood running down her white satin skin, to add to her collection of marks, I lash out again with the aureate point of my blade before stepping once, twice to the right.
I don’t want to get too far; she might have magic, and I learned from Volterra that walls made of anything can make distance negligible. I also remember, from my battles with the Gods, certain individuals summoning dangerous spikes and other such magic – if she wants to skewer me, she’ll have to risk getting herself too. If she has some sort of power like mother, an arcing power that she could project wherever from herself, or one similar to my own, well…
All the distance in the world probably won’t help me then, will it?
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the thieving hour [ Elsa vs. Rikyn Spar ]
