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dragonjournal) wrote2010-10-23 08:35 am
dragonjournal) wrote2010-10-23 08:35 am
Entry tags:
Bingo #5 2/5
Title: The Hounds
Prompt: Nightmares
Rating: PG
Content Note/Warnings: Rissa-verse. Implied violence
Fyre never admitted to having chinks in her armor. She never admitted that there were things that terrified her into immobility.
It was why her subconscious attacked her when her eyes closed sometimes.
Mist shrouded the forest. Fyre froze behind a tree. The wind stirred the mist and her braids brushed against the back of her neck. Her fingers dug into the deep fissures of the bark. She had to get out of here.
A rustle of leaves.
Her head whipped around. Her breath misted into the air. They were coming.
Fyre bit her lip, looking into the sky. Somewhere up there, was Ayren – the kyuin eagle that had answered her call for a mage-partner. They’d been running for weeks now. They were being hunted.
Hunted, in a land where her people supposedly ruled. Something was ever so wrong here. Ever so wrong.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree for a moment, catching her breath.
Then the sound again. The soft baying of mage-hounds – dogs bred with magic for a specific purpose: to hunt Mages. The stronger the mage, the easier the hunt. It made her thankful that she was only a second tier. As a first tier, she never would have survived this long. The dogs would never have been fooled by the simple hunter’s tricks she used to confuse the trail.
The baying grew closer. Fyre looked up in the tree. She’d lost her tree hook somewhere and couldn’t get up it in time. Running it was.
Above came the soft squawk of her bird. Ayren was trying to guide her toward safety, she hoped. The mist twisted and confused sounds. She closed her eyes.
If she had more time, or more focus, she would’ve been able to see through his eyes. But running, her heart pounding out of her chest, with the not-nearly-distant-enough baying of hounds on her heels, she could only get the vaguest impression: Follow.
She called Ayren a birdbrain, and made fun of the stupid little idiotic accidents that seemed to follow him, Fyre knew unequivocally, that he would never lead her into the teeth of danger.
So, she followed.
Through the mist, came the baying. Was it closer? Fyre strained and thought that maybe, just maybe, she could pick out the faintest murmur of men’s voices. The sound gave wings to her feet. She had to get moving.
She jumped over a log and panted. Her lungs burned. How long had she been running?
Slipping down the small hill, she slid under another log and kept moving. Every once in a while, she got a quick flicker of blue wings; Ayren leading her to safety.
Fyre took a chance and tried to suck air into her lungs. Bent over, her hands on her knees, sweat dripped down her face. Her hair hung in damp strings down her back. Several braids had come undone and she’d lost the beads in them – beads that her mother had given her.
She forced herself upright and took a step around the tree. She came face to snout with one of the mage hounds. Yellow teeth, foul smelling saliva, a breath so rancid her stomach rebelled.
The teeth lunged toward her and she threw up her arms in front of her face…
Fyre sat up in bed, sucking in air. Her hand rubbed along her opposite arm. Callused fingers found the raised scars that the hound had left there. Warm fingers covered her hand and she turned to look. Stone was awake. Gently, he drew her down with him, and didn’t ask.
She stretched out next to him, her nose buried in his neck. She wanted to smell him and not that breath….
Prompt: Nightmares
Rating: PG
Content Note/Warnings: Rissa-verse. Implied violence
Fyre never admitted to having chinks in her armor. She never admitted that there were things that terrified her into immobility.
It was why her subconscious attacked her when her eyes closed sometimes.
Mist shrouded the forest. Fyre froze behind a tree. The wind stirred the mist and her braids brushed against the back of her neck. Her fingers dug into the deep fissures of the bark. She had to get out of here.
A rustle of leaves.
Her head whipped around. Her breath misted into the air. They were coming.
Fyre bit her lip, looking into the sky. Somewhere up there, was Ayren – the kyuin eagle that had answered her call for a mage-partner. They’d been running for weeks now. They were being hunted.
Hunted, in a land where her people supposedly ruled. Something was ever so wrong here. Ever so wrong.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree for a moment, catching her breath.
Then the sound again. The soft baying of mage-hounds – dogs bred with magic for a specific purpose: to hunt Mages. The stronger the mage, the easier the hunt. It made her thankful that she was only a second tier. As a first tier, she never would have survived this long. The dogs would never have been fooled by the simple hunter’s tricks she used to confuse the trail.
The baying grew closer. Fyre looked up in the tree. She’d lost her tree hook somewhere and couldn’t get up it in time. Running it was.
Above came the soft squawk of her bird. Ayren was trying to guide her toward safety, she hoped. The mist twisted and confused sounds. She closed her eyes.
If she had more time, or more focus, she would’ve been able to see through his eyes. But running, her heart pounding out of her chest, with the not-nearly-distant-enough baying of hounds on her heels, she could only get the vaguest impression: Follow.
She called Ayren a birdbrain, and made fun of the stupid little idiotic accidents that seemed to follow him, Fyre knew unequivocally, that he would never lead her into the teeth of danger.
So, she followed.
Through the mist, came the baying. Was it closer? Fyre strained and thought that maybe, just maybe, she could pick out the faintest murmur of men’s voices. The sound gave wings to her feet. She had to get moving.
She jumped over a log and panted. Her lungs burned. How long had she been running?
Slipping down the small hill, she slid under another log and kept moving. Every once in a while, she got a quick flicker of blue wings; Ayren leading her to safety.
Fyre took a chance and tried to suck air into her lungs. Bent over, her hands on her knees, sweat dripped down her face. Her hair hung in damp strings down her back. Several braids had come undone and she’d lost the beads in them – beads that her mother had given her.
She forced herself upright and took a step around the tree. She came face to snout with one of the mage hounds. Yellow teeth, foul smelling saliva, a breath so rancid her stomach rebelled.
The teeth lunged toward her and she threw up her arms in front of her face…
Fyre sat up in bed, sucking in air. Her hand rubbed along her opposite arm. Callused fingers found the raised scars that the hound had left there. Warm fingers covered her hand and she turned to look. Stone was awake. Gently, he drew her down with him, and didn’t ask.
She stretched out next to him, her nose buried in his neck. She wanted to smell him and not that breath….