Poisonous Fox

I groaned and stretched, wincing from the heat coming off my ribs.

And then there was the headache which impaired me as much as my wounds–almost. But I had succeeded; I could now read in whatever the language was called. Which meant I could competently read the map. Which meant civilization.

However, my eyes felt swollen and my head throbbed.

I reached up to rub my face, a force of habit more than anything. My claws caught on my muzzle by mistake.

A sharp pain as my claws scratched the tip of my nose; I recoiled in shock and struck the back of my head against the stone.

A growl escaped my throat.

Good girls never swear.

But it came close.

Motherswear it, but that had hurt! I thought.

My nose felt damp; I smelled blood… my blood. Mixed in with the stink coming off my wounds. And of course, my left arm decided then and there to update. The tingling burn radiated up through my shoulder, hitting the line where I was shot through, bottlenecking like a river against a log jam, and then bursting through.

This time, when I growled, it was intentional. My wounds were still there of course. Otherwise they would have already healed.

Body: 48 (+1)

After a moment’s pause to calm myself, I took stock of my current situation.

Night had fallen while I had read by Charger light. Everything appeared in monochrome, with little more than broad outlines visible, even to my keen eyes.

It appeared that waiting for my hunters to leave had been the correct call. I let out a breath and relaxed against the stone. Now I could travel at my own pace. I had supplies. I was finally on my way to safety–to civilization.

I took time to relax, just sitting, recovering. Breathing deeply and calmly and just focusing on nothing. I sampled some more of the bottled spirits. I was still unsure what type the spirits were. Too sweet for whiskey, too spicy for brandy, and too smokey for rum. Far too much flavor to be vodka. But whatever it was, it quickly grew to be my favorite.

When I reached civilization, I resolved to learn the brand, and where to procure it. Preferably from a rich baron’s haunt.

It was while I was sampling the spirits, swishing the flavor across my tongue, that I heard it. Or thought I did.

My ears twitched.

There it was again. I had definitely heard something.

The wind was blowing through the crevasse, singing past rocks in symphony. But that had not changed from before. No, what I thought I heard was something else, something just slight, barely audible over the wind.

Laughter.

I heard laughter. But not quite. The laughing barks of the hyena-like humanoids.

Hundeor. What were they doing here? I wondered.

I wanted to curse my luck–but that would be counterproductive. My mind blazed and my thoughts ran.

Why were they here?

No, more importantly: how close were they?

I could not smell them, at least not yet; but they could be downwind. Sounds tended to echo in the crevasse, but only if they start in the crevasse, else they dissipate quickly. There was a chance the hundeor were down here with me. And if that were true, then they were likely hunting me.

But why? Why were they pursuing me?

Because I had robbed them. But had they not exhausted themselves against the humans? I had thought that their vengeance had already been had.

So why now were they pursuing me? How did they even know that I was here?

The last I had seen any of them had been near the bandits’ pantry when one of them had spotted my stolen sack.

But how had they tracked me from there?

Traceless Tracks meant that there were no trails, but they could have kept watch on the bandits, and they would have seen me enter the canyon system. There were not enough places to hide down here, the paths were too narrow, and there were too few splits.

If they were flushing through the canyons, then likely, they would discover me soon.

This refuge had been compromised. I needed to relocate.

Mind: 57 (+1)

I hastily packed everything back up.

It took longer than I wished; my left arm hung limply; the slightest jostling on my left side caused sweat and pain until it seemed that every hair follicle was on fire. But once my bag was packed, I crossed my next challenge: putting on my jacket.

I almost packed it away.

But it would not fit in the bag. And tying it around my waist would be both an encumbrance and difficult to manage as I only had one functioning arm.

I almost abandoned it.

But it had been a gift. From who, I could not quite remember, but they had been important, one of the sole bastions of warmth from my old life. Leaving it behind was intolerable.

I firmed my resolve and began putting it on. I started with the left arm, dangling it and guiding it into the sleeve. I zipped it up half way then slung my knapsack back on. My right shoulder was no problem. But when the strap crossed over to my left side, I just about passed out again.

That had been ill advised. I decided to hang the sack from my right shoulder on my right side. I would have to take care not to lose it, but the alternative was leaving the haul behind. Intolerable.

As I packed, I listened to the hundeor on the wind, trying to gauge their distance. Difficult, but I thought they might have been closing in. It could have been paranoia and fear, or even the wind playing tricks. But I thought they sounded just a little bit closer than before.

I hastened my pace, hurrying away from them, further into the canyon system. While I focused on them, and perhaps not my path, I tripped on a loose rock.

I fell forward. With the walls so close, I tried catching myself with my right arm, but I was also holding the backpack. I banged my elbow instead, then involuntarily twisted as my elbow caught on the wall. My left side hit the ground first.

The pain, the agony, I could not contain it. I barely resisted screaming. Fire pulsed through my veins, my nerves screamed. I bit back a scream before it could do more than partially escape.

It took some time to recollect myself. The pain had been significant. But laying on the ground would likely prove untenable as a long term tactic.

The hundeor were coming closer now. They might have heard me.

Staying on the ground was not just untenable, but suicidal. I needed to move. I forced myself to move. I could not let myself die, not until I… there was something I needed to do, just on the tip of my tongue, remembering would have to wait.

Biting my tongue, I started forward again. I crawled back up, getting my knees under me, then stumbling forward. I would not give up but I might falter. Regardless, I would survive. Like a chantra, I repeated this over and over again. But as the pain grew worse, I began to forget my reasons to continue surviving, if I ever had any at all.

Certainly, giving up would ease the pain, if only I would succumb.

Body: 49 (+1)

What use was magic if I felt miserable? What use was remembering if my memories only provided torment? What use was there in forcing myself to continue?

This was depression. I knew it. But knowing it never lessens it.

And the agony failed to help contribute to any survival mechanism I might have.

Death might be painful, but it could not compare to what I currently felt. Death might be scary, but it would only need to happen once, and then I could taste the bliss of nothing.

I rolled onto my back. I propped out my jacket’s lapels. At least I would die fashionably. I patted down my pockets for a smoke. But I had stopped smoking… for… for… I could almost remember it, at the tip of my tongue. This was going to drive me nuts. Just another misery for the pile I guess.

Clumsily, I reached down towards my right thigh for my knife, my sleeve caught on the hilt. That was when it hit me.

I remembered.

Mind: 58 (+1)

My sister.

I had a sister.

Somewhere out there, was my sister, who loved me, who gave me this jacket, who convinced me to stop smoking, and who had convinced me to do something else, something major, an objective. One that had yet to be accomplished.

That one person that cared for me, that pushed me to be better, that helped me make amends to balance all of it.

She would not be let down.

I would not let her down.

No, I refused.

Closed (8/9) (+1)

I rolled back over and crawled my way up. I lurched forward, first a stumble, then a walk. I focused on each and every one of my steps.

Body: 50 (+1)

It would not be today.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 50 (+3)

Mind: 58 (+2)

Spirit: 44

Talents:

Athleticism (3/9):

Climbing (8/9)

Stealth (7/9)

Trackless Tracks (3/9)

Closed (8/9) (+1)

Spells:

Illusion I (1/9)

Touch (2/9)

Closed

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (2/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)