Dragon Journal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dragonjournal) wrote2012-02-05 03:19 pm
dragonjournal) wrote2012-02-05 03:19 pm
Entry tags:
Orig Fic Bingo #2
Title: Odds Are…
Fandom or Original Universe: Original
Rating: PG
Word Count: 925
Brief Summary: The Cats are not acceptable and have bounties on them. They don’t like that…
Brief Warnings: None
Writing Prompt: Evening the odds
Beta: None
Notes: From a bigger universe about Myra and Hyst
She crouched on a limb, looking down at the camp below. Embers floated into the air, quickly dying out.
This was the third such camp she’d come across in as many days. That didn’t bode well for her, or her mount. Luckily, Hyst was hidden somewhere deep in the forest where the bounty hunters and fools couldn’t find her.
She carefully eased her weight toward the trunk. No need for her to get caught either. The bounty on her head was higher than the one on her Tiger’s. A thousand gold pieces, dead or alive, for the Butcher of Farringall.
Butcher? She’d been one among many. They’d warned the generals time and time again that keeping the Cats and their Riders penned like that while a battle raged where the Cats could smell it would lead to catastrophe. None of them had listened.
The resulting massacre had given the Northern Countries the victory they’d needed, but it had also cost them almost as much as it’d cost their opponents. Sixty thousand men and women took the field; two thousand crawled or were carried off. Of those two thousand, there’d only been two Riders left – of the nine thousand that had answered the call to arms.
Well, two that anyone knew about. Increasingly, lately, Myra had begun to wonder if there were more. Occasionally, she’d come across signs, just simple things, really, that probably no one but a Rider would see. She wished she knew more, wished she knew where she could find the other Riders…
Now wasn’t the time to think of such things. Instead, her and her Tiger, Hyst, had to get out of the area. They were a lot of hunters looking to cash in on the exorbitant bounty that had been offered for her and Hyst. A thousand gold for her head, and seven hundred fifty for the Tiger. No matter how dangerous a Cat was, not even she could handle the odds that would be stacked against them.
Dropping silently to the ground, Myra picked up an easy trot that covered a lot of ground. Hyst would find her, once she was far enough away from the other humans. Maybe they should go south, the weather was warmer and they could maybe find work down there. At least – No. Everyone knew of Farringall and likely the South had a higher bounty on her head than the North.
Two miles later, she froze behind brush, seeing Hyst sitting at a river. Next to her was an old Lion. Myra could pick out the scars even in the dim light. They shone white on his tan hide. One crossed an eye, leaving the Lion probably blind on that side.
Myra swallowed. She’d been right. There were other Cats alive after Farringall. The official word had been that she and a Panther Pair had left the field alive. But this Lion belied that. He was alive. His tack looked well cared for and almost new. That meant he had a Rider.
She stepped out of the brush, whistling softly so Hyst knew it was her. The Tiger’s single ear flicked back, but she didn’t move. A chuffed greeting was all the acknowledgement that Myra got. She was well used to her Tiger not paying attention to her, or even considering her anything but a way to get beef and scratches.
“Rider.”
Myra stepped forward and saw the one-armed woman who had been there the day she’d been paired with Hyst. The woman bore new scars, looked leaner than Myra remembered. Her brown hair had more grey. “Rider.” She nodded in greeting.
Lions were social cats. They worked, lived and hunted in groups, just like their wilder counterparts. Tigers were Solitaries – preferring their own company unless it was mating season.
Myra refused to believe that only one Lion had made it off the field. She remembered the woman being at Farringall and one of the loudest voices, warning the generals that they were going to cost lives.
“You’re the one they call Butcher.”
Myra grimaced. She hated that damned name. It didn’t make any sense at all. She may have taken a lot of lives – she wasn’t denying that – but she hadn’t been the only one. She’d probably received that name just because of her trademark blue hair.
“I am.” She didn’t see a reason to deny it.
“Good. Mount up.” The woman sprung into her saddle like someone half Myra’s age, let alone her own.
“Where are we going?” Myra asked, climbing onto Hyst’s back. For once, the Tiger fell into step without complaint or even making a sound.
The woman smiled back at her. “It’s time to gather. Then, it’ll be time to reclaim what is ours.” She nodded in the direction Myra had come from. “A hunting party?”
Myra nodded. “Five or six men, well armed. I’m trying to avoid them but it’s getting more and more difficult.”
The Lion gave a soft sound that sounded almost like a purr. Out of the shadows melted three others – all Lionesses. They must be his pride. “Well, this evens the odds, doesn’t it? Sometimes, it’s better to go through than around.”
Myra felt a grin splitting her face. It was an almost uncomfortable and unrecognizable feeling. Deep in her gut the adrenaline churned, giving her strength and speed for the battle ahead. Anticipation hung in the air. In answer, she pulled her sword.
Time to stop skulking in the dark, and bring the Cats back. Silently, Hyst followed the Lion toward the small camp.
Fandom or Original Universe: Original
Rating: PG
Word Count: 925
Brief Summary: The Cats are not acceptable and have bounties on them. They don’t like that…
Brief Warnings: None
Writing Prompt: Evening the odds
Beta: None
Notes: From a bigger universe about Myra and Hyst
She crouched on a limb, looking down at the camp below. Embers floated into the air, quickly dying out.
This was the third such camp she’d come across in as many days. That didn’t bode well for her, or her mount. Luckily, Hyst was hidden somewhere deep in the forest where the bounty hunters and fools couldn’t find her.
She carefully eased her weight toward the trunk. No need for her to get caught either. The bounty on her head was higher than the one on her Tiger’s. A thousand gold pieces, dead or alive, for the Butcher of Farringall.
Butcher? She’d been one among many. They’d warned the generals time and time again that keeping the Cats and their Riders penned like that while a battle raged where the Cats could smell it would lead to catastrophe. None of them had listened.
The resulting massacre had given the Northern Countries the victory they’d needed, but it had also cost them almost as much as it’d cost their opponents. Sixty thousand men and women took the field; two thousand crawled or were carried off. Of those two thousand, there’d only been two Riders left – of the nine thousand that had answered the call to arms.
Well, two that anyone knew about. Increasingly, lately, Myra had begun to wonder if there were more. Occasionally, she’d come across signs, just simple things, really, that probably no one but a Rider would see. She wished she knew more, wished she knew where she could find the other Riders…
Now wasn’t the time to think of such things. Instead, her and her Tiger, Hyst, had to get out of the area. They were a lot of hunters looking to cash in on the exorbitant bounty that had been offered for her and Hyst. A thousand gold for her head, and seven hundred fifty for the Tiger. No matter how dangerous a Cat was, not even she could handle the odds that would be stacked against them.
Dropping silently to the ground, Myra picked up an easy trot that covered a lot of ground. Hyst would find her, once she was far enough away from the other humans. Maybe they should go south, the weather was warmer and they could maybe find work down there. At least – No. Everyone knew of Farringall and likely the South had a higher bounty on her head than the North.
Two miles later, she froze behind brush, seeing Hyst sitting at a river. Next to her was an old Lion. Myra could pick out the scars even in the dim light. They shone white on his tan hide. One crossed an eye, leaving the Lion probably blind on that side.
Myra swallowed. She’d been right. There were other Cats alive after Farringall. The official word had been that she and a Panther Pair had left the field alive. But this Lion belied that. He was alive. His tack looked well cared for and almost new. That meant he had a Rider.
She stepped out of the brush, whistling softly so Hyst knew it was her. The Tiger’s single ear flicked back, but she didn’t move. A chuffed greeting was all the acknowledgement that Myra got. She was well used to her Tiger not paying attention to her, or even considering her anything but a way to get beef and scratches.
“Rider.”
Myra stepped forward and saw the one-armed woman who had been there the day she’d been paired with Hyst. The woman bore new scars, looked leaner than Myra remembered. Her brown hair had more grey. “Rider.” She nodded in greeting.
Lions were social cats. They worked, lived and hunted in groups, just like their wilder counterparts. Tigers were Solitaries – preferring their own company unless it was mating season.
Myra refused to believe that only one Lion had made it off the field. She remembered the woman being at Farringall and one of the loudest voices, warning the generals that they were going to cost lives.
“You’re the one they call Butcher.”
Myra grimaced. She hated that damned name. It didn’t make any sense at all. She may have taken a lot of lives – she wasn’t denying that – but she hadn’t been the only one. She’d probably received that name just because of her trademark blue hair.
“I am.” She didn’t see a reason to deny it.
“Good. Mount up.” The woman sprung into her saddle like someone half Myra’s age, let alone her own.
“Where are we going?” Myra asked, climbing onto Hyst’s back. For once, the Tiger fell into step without complaint or even making a sound.
The woman smiled back at her. “It’s time to gather. Then, it’ll be time to reclaim what is ours.” She nodded in the direction Myra had come from. “A hunting party?”
Myra nodded. “Five or six men, well armed. I’m trying to avoid them but it’s getting more and more difficult.”
The Lion gave a soft sound that sounded almost like a purr. Out of the shadows melted three others – all Lionesses. They must be his pride. “Well, this evens the odds, doesn’t it? Sometimes, it’s better to go through than around.”
Myra felt a grin splitting her face. It was an almost uncomfortable and unrecognizable feeling. Deep in her gut the adrenaline churned, giving her strength and speed for the battle ahead. Anticipation hung in the air. In answer, she pulled her sword.
Time to stop skulking in the dark, and bring the Cats back. Silently, Hyst followed the Lion toward the small camp.