Rikyn

As I’d suspected, his skin is tempered leather from all the combat he’s seen; though my magic leaves him standing in a stupor as I’d hoped, my strike barely scuffs his pelt. It hardly makes the painful dash towards him worth it, a truth that mocks me as I attempt to gallop out of his reach. The reach of his rapier towards my legs is expected, but the length of his weapon, and the agility with which he wields it, makes the task of avoiding it more difficult than it should be. Almost instinctually, a defensive kick of my gold dipped, right leg is launched backwards as I hop my ass up to avoid a puncture wound on my leg my centimeters, a counter-strike with very little hope of actually hitting the experienced General in the face. Though a good square hit to his chin would be nice, it serves mostly to keep him from immediately striking out at my backside again.

Distant, Duir’s pain nags alongside my own, his fear much greater than my short lived panic at the fire had been; it makes it hard to think, and makes me want to shout curses at the buck, wherever he’s hiding. This is not just some enfeebled old asshole like last time! We have no time for your weakness! escapes my thoughts as a pained snarl. An emotional lash strikes out at his already flayed soul, the intelligent buck gathering, from the blend of emotions I hurl at him, that he needs to put away his naïve panic so I can focus.

Snorting as my hooves meet the dry soil, I speed ahead before pulling back around; drinking in the slight seconds of reprieve my chest is loaned as I pivot clockwise to face the Reaper again, I can’t help but grimace as my hooves come back down. I keep my speed steady, gaze straight ahead, as if I’m going to charge down his side again, though I intend to pull away just before we reach striking range.

I let the anger at being underestimated time and time again by those who should know better thrive. I let it rise like a wildfire, let it devour the brittle guilt that quietly rustles in the corner of my mind; he’s your friend’s father, it whispers behind the roar of rage, he was your King: a good man, an honorable man, your self-claimed Uncle.

And may he be cast forever into oblivion with the rest of those treacherous snakes I’ve called my kin.

"Fuck off!" I bark at him with an instigating tone, and a full-of-shit smirk, as I dart towards the left in hopes of reaching a nearby cluster of pines; the sun beats down, the heat makes sweat slake down my sides in rivers, biting into my open wounds, adding the agony of the burns themselves. Occasionally, I have to blink the sweat from my eyes, the only consolatory thought being that, if I’m sweating this bad, the ebony Reaper must be about to die. My burns begin to desperately implore me to stop as I look for a good place to employ a borrowed tactic blended with a few ideas of my own.

Thanks again for the inspiration, mysterious, goat-looking jerk.

Sure Deimos is close behind, I fly into the shade, at last relinquishing the speed I’d relied on to carry me here. It’s now my wit versus his arrogant belief that I’m more easily squashed than handled with the dignity I deserve, the savage pulses of pain across my fire ravaged chest barring future escape through velocity alone. My canter falters from pain, golden eyes desperately searching for somewhere to lay down my plan…

Duir’s gold flash guides me; about time you’re useful. He’s gone by the time I break through the brush where he’d been; the very small clearing he’s found is fronted by two conveniently kissing pine trees, the clear area behind them obscured by their curtaining boughs. I dart through their branches, leaving them obviously shuddering behind me. Praying to my pleading muscles to hold out, I pivot around, tucking my body low just on the other side of their cover, horn angled dead where I’d just passed through.

With any luck, the Reaper’s chased me with all he has this far to keep on my tail, his warrior’s spirit goaded by the flight of prey; like I hadn’t when the old man had done it to me, I hope he doesn’t expect me to stop running at all. With a bit more of the elusive guidance of fate, the big brute will come charging through those trees, right into my waiting blade…

And if you hurt him? whimpers my conscience, drowning in my anger, and bitter selfishness.

I certainly hope I do.

2/4 | 800 words