- Messages
- 34
- Character Biography
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Jhyrack continued to scrub. He glanced briefly over his broad shoulder at his quarry. His blood was still coming down from the fight with the orcs. It had given him some satisfaction to work away the lethargy of a long and tedious hike.
Her story didn't exactly hold his attention. Something about barbaric practises and magic. Her question, however, did catch his interest.
“What would I fear if I ran away… from a home…that never wanted me?”
“Not a lot. Fuck em. I'm brilliant. I would go far away and if they sent anyone back I would kill them.”
“So is that what will become of you? Dangled from a noose? But you do not fear this?”
He took her words literally.
“Worse ways to go if the hangman chooses the right length of rope. Which reminds me. I will have to tie you up so that I can have some sleep.”
—
“I saw that.” Ryna accused, pointing a finger directly between his wandering eyes. “You’re peeking.” She hugged herself, arms pressing over her breasts as her pruning hands gripped her round shoulders. Brows settled low over her limpid eyes that burned with a bitter blue glare. “Brute,” she muttered as she swiftly turned her head to the side, unable to look at Jhyrack further unless she wanted her simmering fury to grow into an uncontainable wildfire.
She could not do anything about it, even if she got so angry that she thought about risking breaking a hand to punch him. She had always used magic for everything; now, she had none and, therefore, was at his mercy. Ryna frowned deeply. Why was she always at someone’s mercy?
Ryna turned her back to him, hands flat on the pool's surface, pressing them against the tension of the water. It was the feeling right before a body broke through its surface, when there was momentary resistance before the release, as the water gave in and accepted the item into its form. She breathed deeply, focusing on this feeling. She could feel the pull of the moons, the push of her body. It wasn’t enough, but she could collect it, store it inside her, and hopefully, let it grow. A drop in a depleted well. But it was something.
Her mood soured then at the suggestion of tying her up, so much for having the option of sneaking away in the middle of the night.
“I hope you haven’t had the perversion of tying me up before giving me something to wear. Is my dress ready? What is taking you so long?” A shiver of fear– had he noticed how awful her undergarments were? She stood up, using her body and hair to cover herself. “Maybe I should wash them myself if it’s taking you this long.”
“Hah!” Jhyrack barked a laugh at her suggestion. He had, at least, kept his eyes to himself after her accusation.
With his back to her, he stood tall. He could have held one thick arm out to the side and she could have walked beneath it without her horns even brushing his tunic.
“You do not fear the noose, but you do not like the idea of a bit of rope play,” he chuckled.
“Leave these to dry,” he added as he stepped away. She had been made uncomfortable enough. There was no need, he decided, to complain about having to beat her clothes with rocks to clean them.
He rifle through his bag for his spare tunic. To backward strides and he held it out for her.
“Here.”
What do I fear?
He didn't even need to think hard; he knew the answer. After his low start in Molthal he was afraid of dying without feeling he had lived a life. He wanted many accolades, many bastard children. He wanted to go down in a blaze of glory and to have songs sung of that day.
—
The tips of her ears blushed bright as if the sun had suddenly burned them. She felt a heat bloom across her chest that matched the same heat alongside her cheeks.
“You—“ a lashing halted on her tongue, something about him being a oaf and how no one would want to be tied up, no one would want to feel like a prisoner, and she would have threatened to scream the entire night and keep him from sleep if he did not give her her clothes immediately. But before any of it could come out, he offered her clothing, not looking at her.
Ryna huffed, one arm still wrapped around her chest as she leaned forward, arm reaching out until she could grab hold of his offering. Suspiciously, she held it up to her nose but it seemed clean, a mixture of the soap and something smooth and smoldering. It surprised her how vibrant and alive it felt when she inhaled, her quick whiff turning far more decadent.
Ryna stepped out of the pool, eyes still on the mercenary, lips twitching in preparation in case his head moved even an inch. With the same speed in removing her attire, she had pulled the tunic over and pulled her long, wet hair out of the collar. Though the tunic was so large on her that the collar hung around the widest part of her shoulders, quick to slip off of one if she adjusted one side higher than the other. The tunic ended around her knees, suitably covering her, even if she were to kneel or bend over. But against her wet skin, it somehow ended up sticking to her, and her long, wet hair had already drenched the back of the tunic.
“It’s not very soft.” She plucked at the sleeves, but no amount of preening would make it appealing as the clothes she once wore back at Court. “But it will do.” Fingers twitched as she smoothed the fabric over her body one final time. “Thank you.” The words were quick and soft, subtle yet honest. Something was better than nothing. “Are we staying here for the night?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. That she would complain about the weave of his tunic went it was at least dry. Admittedly, she had been in such a hurry that it was now clinging to her form.
There were few that ever deserved to have their dignity stripped away. Better to mete out punishment with a single swing of the axe. It did not even sound like she had done anything wrong, but it was not for him to judge those who paid for his services.
“Further from the water,” he said. “Prey come to drink at night. Predators wait for them. I am going to wash the orc filth from my hair. You are going to stay where I can see you? Running would be stupid. Trying to take one of my weapons would be worse for you.”
His tone was remarkably light given that he was making a threat. The bulky bounty hunter started to remove his boots.
“Oh.” That was why a wild animal always found her whenever she camped near water. She had thought being near water would somehow mask her scent and give her the option of fresh water without getting lost while also leading her further away from the Kingdom. She knew less about the natural world than she had previously thought.
Ryna looked around the area, eyes catching on the ivory brush and his hammer. She raised a brow. “You’re worried about me stealing your hammer? I have morals.” And a lack of muscle. She went to the edge, picked up the brush, and began brushing her hair. It was now or waiting until Jhyrack finished. “Ow.” She caught the brush in one giant knot the size of an acorn. She pulled it out, tried to brush through it again, and had the same result. It would stay in her hair even without holding onto the ivory handle. “And where shall you have me sit so your keen gaze can keep watch? Perhaps I can teach you then how to keep your eyes to yourself and not impose onto one’s privacy?” She huffed, but it quickly turned into a sigh, equal parts exhausted and exasperated.
“I am not worried about you stealing my hammer,” Jhyrack said with a shake of his head. “Just stealing a knife and trying to hide it to try and escape later.”
He was also worried that she might turn it against him or even - in a fit of desperation - herself. That didn't need saying.
“Imposing…” he muttered. “I am so sorry.”
He was quite obviously not sorry at all. He set his bare feet into the edge of the stream. The water was refreshingly cold and crystal clear. Jhyrack took his time over his straps. There was a steel plate on each shoulder and several more knives and pouches hanging from his chest and belt. He set these all aside, folded his tunic over them and stood up.
“I shall be impressed by yourself control,” he laughed. The entirely make Jhyrack turned around and picked up his soap. It was odd to use it after someone else, he thought.
“I would not blame you. I am quite magnificent.”
There was an an awful lot going on at her eye level if she glanced before he stepped into the water.
The knives hidden beneath the tunic hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Ryna wasn’t as foolish as earlier. She wouldn’t lunge for them and risk being knocked out by one meaty hand. As Ryna turned to face him, readying a lecture, she froze, unable to speak, hardly able to think. All that caught her eye was the trail of stark red maple along the length of a valley made of muscle ridges and curving sinew; growing wide and spreading itself into a vibrant autumn forest that was a warning for Ryna to look away.
Her gasp turned into a squeal as she spun quickly away from him, hands going to cover her face. Hot embarrassment made Ryna look like the sun had a personal vendetta against her. The rosy undertone deepened, blood running hot under fair skin because of a heart that beat too quickly. The usual rhythm ceased as a drum that did not belong to Ryna’s rational mind began beating a song she did not recognize.
“You!” she cried, pacing back and forth, trying not to think about it. The image persisted, even when she closed her eyes. Magnificent was the wrong word to use, she thought as she rubbed at her eyes, monumental would have been much better. Gods, she felt hot all over; she couldn’t figure out if it were the shame or the anger or something entirely else at this point. She pivoted on a heel, seeing his back laced with pale scars and his tail with a tuft of red. That same red that… she shook her head, and the hairbrush’s ivory handle whacked her in the cheek. She pulled it out to furiously brush over that knot.
The painful distraction was needed if not wanted.
“You always travel alone, don’t you? How else could you stand there, nude of all things, without worrying what I might see?” Ryna mused. “Is it a lack of respect? It can’t be. Your ego is bigger than your… you.” She turned towards him once again, the red in her cheeks and along her decollete not disappearing. Even the tops of her shoulders were warmed with a pink hue. She stopped her brushing, her hair now neat and straight. A few places along her scalp felt tender. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, to make a joke out of me?”
“On purpose? I suppose I am always moving my body on purpose,” he said without much of a pause.
He waded into the water until it was up to the middle of his back. He had to go out until the middle of the stream, unlike her. Out until the water moved swiftly enough to pull on his tail.
“I did not do that to make a joke. And my ego is large but so is…so ehhh…”
He lifted both of his hands and tilted from side to side, pretending to mentally weigh the two up.
He took a deep breath. With his chest filled he was an inverted triangle in the water, a narrow waist rising to broad shoulders. There was a loud splash as he dropped into the water.
He rose suddenly, flinging his hair back.
“Not everyone wears perfumed robes and hides behind a parasol. You should see an orc tribe at a festival,” Jhyrack laughed.
She set the brush down as she sat down, neatly folding her legs beneath her. She began the process of scrunching her wavy hair, thinking how nice the cream she had back at Court was. Her hair would still become frizzy, even with the aid of Jhyrack’s soap. She debated if she should tie it back, or at the very least, out of her face. Should she cut it? That felt like a punishment.
“Oh, yes, your everything, horns and hands included. That’s exactly what I had just said.” Ryna scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips as if she had just bit into a lemon. She wanted to look as displeased as one could, turning her head to look at her captor. The tighten muscles along her jaw slackened, suiting her soft round features than the twisted displeasure she had worn seconds ago. She tried to make that same face but it couldn’t be as it was before.
“Why? What’s so special about a orc tribe at a festival?” She asked, leaning in.
“Yeah funny, didn't catch you staring at my hands,” he laughed.
It was shortly followed by a mutter of: “Best get those silver hairs out of my brush. Don't want to look old.”
He didn't deny the comment on his ego, managing to confirm her observation with a fear of his own.
“It gets hot on the plains of Molthal. They don't wear much at the best of times.”
Another soft laugh as he scrubbed some dried blood out of the hairs on the back of his arm. He stood tall. The waters just high enough that the plains of his muscles led to just a strip of damp hair.
“At a festival they wear nothing but paint. Quite the sight!”
“Many men fawned over my hair,” she huffed, the desire to chuck the brush at him was swallowed by the fear of angering him. He was her captor, she his bounty. Even her pride couldn’t dissuade the will to survive, and angering someone of Jhyrack’s stature after seeing him annihilate the group of orcs would be foolish. If she wanted to live, she knew what she had to do.
He was confident and therefore he’d get sloppy. He had to. Ryna had seen it countless times before, she had even told Jhyrack of the recklessness and ego she had watched unfold before. But she didn’t hang from a noose. She wouldn’t become like them.
“They wrote poems about me, a fair maiden as bright as the dawn, soft as rain, who put all the stars in the sky to shame.” Ryna was smug as she said this, collecting her hair from the brush. Her curious gaze went back to Jhyrack, to rove over a body unlike that which she had seen before. Many of the men who wrote about her were shorter than her, and thin like reeds with hands that seemed too big for their constantly bent arms. She ignored them unless they were the key to getting new books, though one had been sweet enough to be a friend for a few years. The Magician King was a jealous man, however— if he caught her smiling at one, the next night they’d be gone, presumed dead.
“Clearly they thought of me as something beautiful to behold even with all my dresses and robes.” It was nothing to be proud of, but it hid the green envy she felt in her chest. “But I am sure you fit right in with these festivals, after all, you had no qualms about showing your intimacies to a lady. I bet you enjoyed gawking at them all. What were these festivals for? Knowing Mothal… I assume war?”
“My…intimacies?”
Only the threat of other hunters and wild beasts kept him from roaring with laughter. She had to settle for a rolling chuckle.
“As bright as a baby fawn, soft of brain, who got lost and lacked anyone to blame!”
He didn't ask for a review of his words. They were for him to enjoy alone.
“The orcs have their own gods and stories,” he explained. “They honor them in many ways. One festival is for the young to prove themselves. Great Rites. Course there's a lot of showing off and courting and fucking. I'll give em one thing, they know how to set about one another with enthusiasm.”
He started to wade forwards out of the water. A shake of his mane and flick of his tail flung some of the cold water away.
“Your hair is nice. Sure it deserved many poems. Now, you finished with the brush or you want me to put that up for you?” he asked. He didn't know why she had looked lost with it, but perhaps she was accustomed to ladies in waiting dressing and decorating her for her king.
“You’re lucky you’re as big as you are.” Somewhere between a growl and a hiss, Ryna’s voice was as pointed as her glare sharper than any dagger. It hid the fact that deep down inside, she feared him while she was without her magic words and spells.
She did listen to what he had to say about the orc customs. She made a face when he said “fucking” but didn’t comment on it, instead wondering if witnessing it could be another force of nature. It sounded like it was intense, and intensity is what brought her the most power. Ryna tried to imagine what they were like, but Jhyrack hardly painted a picture with his words. All she had were blurry shapes and smeared colors.
“When do they have these festivals?” She asked with a tilt of her head. “Every year?” Ryna held onto the brush, realizing he was coming closer and leaned back, holding the brush against the center of her chest. “Put my hair up?” She echoed, eyes wide with uncertainty. “Do you know how to be gentle?” She ventured, glancing at one hand. Could a hand that large be gentle? but that was the wrong question to ask. Could she trust him around her horns? “Because if you rip out a chunk of my hair I will do you one worse. If not now then later, I’d shave off your entire head.”
Jhyrack scoffed. He took the brush and stepped around her.
One hand came to rest upon her shoulder. He could barely fit the whole hand there and even the gentle touch was a heavy weight. The brush pressed gently to the crown of her head between her horns and started down.
“I don't know when orcs do their festivals. They are spread far and wide and have different gods and customs.”
The brush snagged.
His hand lifted from her shoulder. He handed her the brush back.
Her hair was fine moonsilk. It weighed almost nothing, but there were fine knots that he needed to carefully unwork with his fingertips.
“I will not tear any out, but if I must, I will cut out a tiny knot…” he explained.
She closed her eyes, squeezing her eyelids so tightly together that they burned. Tense when Jhyrack placed one hand over the slender curve of her shoulder, tenser still when he drew the brush down her head. Ryna had tried telling herself that the knots were normal, her hair was wavy, wouldn’t it make sense for wavy hair to not be perfect like straight hair? How many knots had she ignored? How many would Jhyrack find?
“No,” she said, as she took the brush, her fingers shaking. She clutched the handle tightly in that small hand, knuckles turning white. “Don’t cut my hair, please. It’s….” Ryna trailed off, eyes wistfully opening to let out a few tears. “When I was a slave, my hair was short. But I am no longer that so….” Another pause, heavy realization sinking in.
She was a slave again as long as she stayed within his reach. Captive once more, there was little she could do and even less that she could say. Jhyrack would do as he pleased, if he indulged her it was because that was his choice, not her will.
Ryna wanted to cry. She could feel the tears creeping up in her eyes, a scratchy lump forming in her throat. She thought about that heavy hand reaching to her throat, how easy with one hand he could choke her for her earlier words. He could slap her now, for telling him not to do something, making her vision blurry and her head spin. But he didn’t, instead picking at the knots in her hair. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but it kept the tears away.
“If you cut it, try not to make it look ugly. The King happens to be fond of my hair. If he takes pity on me it won’t be the me with short hair.”
Jhyrack made a low rumbling sound. It wasn't a threat; anyone could instinctively tell that. When he growled a threat it could be heard for a mile. It was a little sound of impatience.
He stepped back away from her and picked up something from his pack. The soft rasp of a knife being drawn from its leather sheath seemed unnaturally loud over the gently flowing water.
“Hold still,” he told her. His hand came to rest upon her shoulder once more, his thumb against her neck and his hand so large that it spilled over her shoulder.
With that impressed upon her he peeled some strands away. A little pressure at her scalp and it was over.
He pushed his hand in front of her. Between finger and thumb was a tiny bundle of silvery strands around a tight, coarse knot.
“I am not trimming your hair. Just removing a few knots that will not work loose.”
—
She was statue-still, as he directed to be, every bit of her hard and tense as if he would judge her performance. Ryna remained quiet as he worked, keeping the grunt buried deep in her throat when he pulled at her hair that was as thin as spider silk, able to be looped into a needle thrice without breaking.
When he shoved the knot in front of her bitter blue eyes, she took it from his hand, fingertips grazing the rough skin of his thumb for half a second. She was still soft unlike him, but then again, she wasn’t swinging a giant hammer around.
“Okay,” she whispered as she inspected the silvery knot, hopelessly hoping that she could find a solution to unwind it if she stared hard and long enough. She resisted the urge to shrug off his hand from her slight shoulder, his weight and size ever present. She was practically in his shadow as he leaned over her.
“Thank you.” This time it felt forced, only half genuine. She was reminded of when she was bought and brought to the castle. She had to be groomed immensely then, too. She had fought it then, biting and kicking and screaming. “Do I… smell better now?” It was hard, thinking how decades had passed, and she was back where she started. There was a saying she had heard briefly from a stable boy: same shit, different smell.
“You do,” he grunted.
Her thanks were stilted, but he was not in the business of being paid in gratitude. He would be paid in coin.
His fingers worked through fronds of hair, seeking out knots that were beyond a brush. A few tiny spiderwebs of hair fell lightly to the ground, caught on the air for a final dance.
Jhyrack then returned to the brush, smoothing out the moonlight silver until her hair was almost presentable.
“There, fit for a king. May he keep you as a pet instead of hanging you.
“Hah! Perhaps if you escape again we will meet once more.”
Jhyrack paced away. He gave his entire body a shake, flinging water droplets from his flame red hair.
“Gather yourself,” he told her as he dressed. “We will find a quiet spot and I will tie you to a tree. If you are good, I will keep the knots loose enough to be comfortable.”
She immediately became sullen, suddenly jerking away from Jhyrack to face him and see only his broad back as he strode away from her. It infuriated her how he said whatever he pleased, feeling no consequence of it. It infuriated her how he found laughter in her struggle. She wished she were as big as him, as strong as he was so that she could strangle anyone who laughed at her.
”Your work is just…” Her hands went to inspect her hair. There was not a single strand of hair that was out of place and perhaps best of all, her hair was free of knots. Now when she touched it, it felt sleek and smooth, almost as if she were back at the castle. Not quite, but close enough. She marveled at it, fingers gliding through her wet locks, enjoying them before realizing she had meant to insult Jhyrack’s good work. “Alright. It’ll do.” Ryna said stiffly, standing up to then hear the worse news.
”Tie me?” There was an edge to her voice, shrill and nervous. “What if I must relieve myself? What if there is a snake or a spider crawling up my leg?” Blue eyes narrowed. “If I am tied then I cannot run if you force yourself on me. Is that your plan?”
He decided not to rub it in. Her surprise at her hair being well dressed amused him. His own hair should have given it away, but when one crushed a pack of orcs with a hammer and laughed about it people made assumptions.
“If a spider or snake crawls up your leg you wanna be staying still anyway,” Jhyran told her.
Fully dressed, he collected his things and motioned for her to start walking. They would pick a path upwards to somewhere with cover. He didn't want to light a fire and draw anyone to them tonight so they would need some shelter from the wind.
“I will tie you with enough rope that you can go around a tree,” he said.
“Force myself on you?” he offered another shrug of his broad shoulders. “Would not need the ropes but that's not my style. Will take you back to this king in one piece.”
She shuddered at the thought of anything crawling up on her, unsure if she could imitate a statue while things she despised– things without legs and things with many legs– made their way up and over her body. Ryna hugged herself tightly, though it did little to suppress her trembling limbs and thrumming heart. She said nothing else as she slipped on her shoes, ready to shuffle after Jhyrack. His words typically would have brought her some relief, but she couldn’t be naive. What men said didn’t necessarily correlate to what they did. Her King had said many things, but either Ryna lacked an innate cleverness to see through his honeyed words, or she was foolish enough to believe them. She frowned, liking neither possibility.
As Jhyrack moved, she followed after him, taking twice as many steps as he needed to, clutching the waterskin, bundle of dried meat, and her sopping wet clothes into a tight ball against her chest. The crisp forest air slowly dried her pale blonde hair, chilling her skin until she stepped into a patch of sunlight whenever the trees parted from their dense, overbearing pattern of casting shadows.
Soon enough, Ryna’s cheeks bloomed with red roses, and a matching palette adorned her lips and the tip of her nose. The higher they climbed, the more the breeze from below began to feel like a wind, still as chilly but with an icier bite. The sun was setting, slowly dipping below the mountain peaks that rose above the darkening line of green.
“How much longer?” She huffed. The birdsong had now quieted, shadows growing long as if attempting to reach for Ryna to snatch her from the fading light.
“We will go to those trees,” Jhyrack explained.
Between two rocky out-cropping was a little patch of trees. No one than a stone's throw across. It looked thin enough that they could pick through it, but dense enough to hide them from view. The forest had started to thin out as they gained height.
He glanced over his shoulder. He had been perfectly comfortable in silence, listening only for her steps behind him. Jhyrack had traveled long distances on his own.
“You might not like where we are going, but you will get there safely,” he reaffirmed as he approached the trees. He used his hammer to push a hedge aside so she could slip under the trees and into the shade.
He chose a thick trunk, setting down his bags on bare earth that was covered only by dropped and browning needles.
He unrolled his bedding.
“You can have this,” he offered, though he clearly wasn't entirely happy about it. He didn't want her catching a chill and dying on him.
The minotaur set about tying a length of rope around the trunk.
“So…what is best and worst happens to you? He hangs you for running away, what if pity?”
—
Outward and begging branches snagged at the oversized tunic less and less with one final tug at her drooping shoulder as she slipped under the hammer. She kept her eyes on it, wary but knowing there would be little she could do if he actually swung it at her. Ryna was careful not to knock her horns against it, as if they were made of porcelain and could chip.
“Oh, joy.” The captured woman said with a roll of her eyes. “I was so worried about my safety on the way back to my master.” The food and water had rejuvenated her tongue, somewhat. She was quiet as Jhyrack began to set up a camp. She didn’t offer to help, instead she stood stiffly and stared at him.
Ryna took the bedding, bringing it first to her nose to sniff. It smelled like him and his soap. It could have been worse. It could have smelt like her earlier today. Her frown deepened, watching him set up her momentary prison for the night. He had warned her what would happen if she resisted, if she tried to play any games. Tonight, and maybe even for a week, she’d have to do what he wanted.
“Pity?” Ryna echoed, her voice soft like the fading rays of the setting sun. New sounds could be heard now. A chirp of crickets. A cold breeze that blew by her pointed ears like a soft moan. Gooseflesh dotted her bare flesh like the hidden constellations above. A rustle of leaves meters away, in a bush she couldn’t point out. “The Magician King doesn’t know pity. He knows nothing of mercy or empathy. He only knows…” she trailed off, looking up to the sky for answers. The first of the stars twinkled at her.
“He only knows how to win.” She brought her limpid gaze back to Jhyrack. “He only sleeps for an hour, maybe two, every night. His mind is constantly thinking of what needs to be done and what could be done. I’m sure before I ran, he had already thought of me doing so. He just didn’t know when. I’m sure he already knows what he will do with me. I don’t need to worry about it.” Ryna kicked at a loose pebble, watching it roll towards the Minotaur but it would not touch him.
“Perhaps hanging would be merciful. Would you stay to watch?”
“Ah depends what kind of hanging,” Jhyrack said. “If they make em dance and struggle a while it's a good laugh. Otherwise it's a drop and a snap. Not worth watching.”
He didn't even know why he said that. She might have been more quiet if he was kind. The way she took affront at everything he did - when he was just doing his job - made him want to verbally lash out.
“Maybe you'll be stuck in a tower again. Hands.”
The rope secure around the trunk of the tree, Jhyrack dropped to one knee and held out one hand towards her. The other kept the end of the rope.
He would give her enough slack to walk around, but he would tie both wrists together. He glanced after the rustle in the leaves. It sounded like a bird hopping around it's home in a hedge.
“Two hours sleep a night. Sounds fucking boring.”
“Spoken like a brute from Mothal.” She muttered as she took the first step to being tied up for the night. She leaned a shoulder against the bark, the cool bark digging into her flesh. She shoved both her hands towards him, glaring hard at the rope in his hands. Anger bubbled up in her chest once more. She had the sudden urge to throw curses at Jhyrack, indignant to the fact that he had to be a captor even if he had combed her hair and given her fresh clothes.
She thought about kicking him in his shins but figured that a broken toe wouldn’t do her much good.
“He gets his best ideas at night. When everybody is sleeping. The more people that dream, the less sleep he needs.” Ryna said bitterly, thoughts of the tower looming in her mind. It felt like a prophecy that she would see that tower again, even if she ran again.
“Steals dreams?” Jhyrack mused. “Sounds fucking creepy,” he reflected.
He quickly roped around her forearms, pulling little loops through and down. They were quite firmly bound together, but quite comfortably. She wasn’t going to be able to remove herself from the tree, but she could feel her hands and move her fingers.
“So what does he want with your magic then?” Jhyrack asked.
She had explained in a manner, but he hadn't quite understood.
Jhyrack didn't move far away. There wasn't much room in the space within the copse of trees. They shielded them from the wind that climbed over the hills more quickly than they had.
“I didn’t say he stole dreams.” Ryna snapped, knuckles white as she dug her nails into her palms. She shook violently, lips twisting at the effort to restrain her instincts while Jhyrack tied the rope around her. Out of habit she pulled against her bonds, confirming herself what she already knew. It only deepened her frown, brows pulling close and casting shadows over her eyes. Ryna closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she had the strength to open her mouth with careful words.
“I can subvert the… tension of magic.” Her voice was level, lacking the edge from before. “I can see magic, feel magic, hear magic, smell magic, and even taste it. I know if it’s here or there or nowhere; if it belongs in one space but not another. I can see the beginning of magic forming, and I can see the residue a spell leaves. Of course, I need magic to do it.” Ryna shook her head with a wry huff of a laugh. “And I cannot replenish magic with food and bedrest. If it were that simple….” She trailed off, but the pointed look she gave to Jhyrack said everything she did not.
For a long, drawn-out moment, Ryna said nothing. She battled with the idea of keeping things secret, things that had always been secret. She didn’t feel much better saying them out loud, there was little she could boast about in the state she was in. And telling the truth was somehow leaving a strange taste in her mouth. It was uncomfortably bitter, like bile.
“I’m sure this is boring you. You don’t seem like the type to enjoy fairytales.”
She had a strong reaction to having her hands bound. For the first time he felt a flicker of sympathy. As she started to speak he listened more carefully, deciding that she might reveal what trauma caused her behaviour.
He had seen people walk up to the block and look their accuser in the eye. Barely a word before the axe came down. That had always confused Jhyrack; he could only imagine fighting until the last of his strength failed him.
“It is not boring,” he said with a shake of his head. He fished around for a small metal tin. Inside were dried biscuits. He took one for himself and offered it.
“Particularly if you are to make threats,” he added with a grin.
“What do you need to replenish magic if you are to challenge me?” he asked.
She took a biscuit, a gnaw in her shrunken stomach. Ryna supposed she was lucky in how Jhyrack had tied her to the tree so she could move around and bring food and drink to her mouth without help.
“Unbearable, brutal tension. Natural and unforgiving in its consequences.” She said. “The moment before a bending branch snaps, the pull of the sea before waves crash on the shore, the crack of thunder before the rain, the shape of clouds before a storm, the moment a cat wiggles its haunches before pouncing or the moment an archer releases the arrow from their bow.” She raised a brow. “Even the moment a sprout pushes soil out of its way or a butterfly unfurling its wings for the first time can replenish me if I tune into it.” The dry biscuit hadn’t moved an inch towards her lips, held stiffly between her thumb and forefinger.
“If you think knocking me unconscious or poisoning me into sleep will save you, you’re wrong. There is tension in dreams, too.” She took a small bite then, chewing slowly, turning her head away from Jhyrack.
“Well that was a bit shit as threats go,” Jhyrack said after considering it for a moment.
He grinned from ear to ear.
“But you're saying you are a…”
He gave a wave of his huge arms as he floundered for a word.
“...a magical sponge. And when you've soaked up enough I won't be able to stop you?”
“Poisoning isn't my style so we will just have to see what happens then.”
His gaze drifted across the magical creature he had to take safely back through dangerous terrain. It was a miracle she had made it this far. It was, he thought, a shame to take her back just to be the concubine of some king. Or to be dangled from the noose to make a statement.
“Actually what can you do with the magic? Or is that a surprise?” he laughed.
Ryna took another bite, the heat and passion draining from her face. “A threat? You’re mistaken, bounty hunter, it is a promise my own being makes without regard for what I want.” Though she had given so much to Jhyrack, it seemed lost on him, taking her words strictly at face value. It didn’t help the need she had to spill secrets was unmet if they could not be understood. Maybe a brute couldn’t understand the complexities of magic.
“You won’t be able to blink, much less stop me.” Ryna said after her moment alone in her head. “Well, if I didn’t need to conserve magic. Maybe I’d have to use a chant though I’ve long outgrown that practice. I imagine you’re used to spells regarding the elements. Vines holding you hostage, balls of fire, lightning coming out from someone’s palm. I could do all of those simultaneously. But those spells affect the environment. I’d rather…” Blue eyes darted to the minotaur’s face, hard like diamonds. “Take a quiet approach. I’d pull your insides out with a single twist of my wrist. It wouldn’t be a wound, it’d be you getting cored from a force you cannot see. With a crush of my fist, I’d shatter your soul.”
She sighed, shoulders slumping. “But there’s no reason for you to fear that, spirit magic is powerful but takes years to build up. You need an excess of magic stored, and to keep that magic one has to take much time out of their day to rewind all the stored magic into something that cannot be released.” Oh, how to explain it to an idiot like him so he doesn’t make that awful sponge analogy again? “Like… braiding your hair. A strand might get loose, so you’ll need to retie it. Again, and again. Tedious and boring and no matter how you tie it, a single strand of hair will always get loose because magic is not stagnant, it’s fresh and flowing and moving. If you leave one thread loose, the others will follow and then you risk a natural diaster taking place.” She finished the biscuit and wiped the crumbs off her fingers. “It’s why elves are superior to humans when it comes to magic. Humans don’t live long enough to perfect this skill, if they’re even aware of it. I’m sure even older, primordial beings are instinctual of this, like how snakes can swim through water without ever having done it before.”
Jhyrack leaned forwards as she started to explain. The minotaur was a touch frustrated that he seemed unable to follow her, but far stronger was the enjoyment at a good challenge.
The road back would be dangerous in places, but it was going to be boring for stretches. A handful of orcs barely satisfied his lust for battle. If she could grow strong and turn this wilful attitude into a genuine challenge then he would relish it.
He grinned encouragingly at each threat, even slapping his huge thigh when she said she could shatter his soul.
This was more like it.
Then came the reality. The bitterly disappointing reality.
“Hhmph.”
Jhyrack turned away.
“I am normally sent after dangerous people. Each is a challenge. Fame comes from overcoming all of them.”
His tone still rumbled far and wide, but it was soft by his standard.
“No one is saying: ‘Look, there is Jhyrack who carried this pretty girl back from the mountains all on his own.”
“You should rest. I will watch for a while.”
Silence for a small while as he settled himself down to rest.
“So…” he suddenly spoke. “It is like a sponge. But one you are holding and it leaks as fast as you pour. And it is a long hard walk to a river to plunge it in. I was right.”
—
Ryna’s head tilted, curious, with her chin pointed to the bounty hunter. A delicate brow raised in question at his words. So he could be honest after all. His jeer bruised her ego, calling her helpless like a fawn and soft in the head. Maybe she had just needed a bath, or did the threat of destroying his entire being was what brought some appeal to her? The slanting smug curve of her eyes and slight pull of her lips into a smirk hardly meant she worried about that question.
Jhyrack was right in needing to rest. She was tired, even with the food and water and luxurious bath given to her, there was still an ache in her body that made her feel sluggish, even while sitting down. She could close her eyes, keep some wits about her, but rest for a moment. She wouldn’t fall asleep. Ryna yawned, eyes fluttering shut as she tried to rest her head comfortably against the tree. No, she wouldn’t fall asleep, just rest her eyes because right as the first wave of drowsiness washed over her….
“Ugh, no,” she huffed, opening her eyes to glower at Jhyrack. “Did you not listen to me at all? I don’t want magic seeping out because something bad will happen. An earthquake, or suddenly everyone in the castle, is sick with an incurable disease. Magic is dangerous, especially in places it shouldn’t be.” Ryna sighed, shoulders slumping. “You can’t choose what form it will take when unleashed unfettered.” She closed her eyes once again.
“As for absorbing… break a large branch in half or start a fire and I can show you what it’s like.”
Jhyrack growled. The noise was one of frustration, rather than one of anger. He had thought he had figured out her powers.
Why did she have to make this complicated?
“Sounds like a magical sponge to me,” he murmured under his breath.
“You really want me to get a branch?” he asked. “I am not starting a fire.”
This had all been fun and games when he'd been catching a glance at her tits instead of being lectured on magic.
—
“Jhyrack.” Her voice was stern, it didn’t belong to a prisoner. “Do you want to see or not? I’ll only give you this opportunity once, understand?” Ryna waited a moment, looking up at Jhyrack through her lashes. “Just make sure it’s a big branch but not so big that you can’t bend it in half.”
He narrowed his eyes. He stood up. Jhyrack was obviously torn. He did want to see what she was explaining. He also did not want to be fetching a branch because she spoke sternly to him.
“Fucking branch,” he muttered. One final protest before he went to get a branch.
He eyed her as he used the serrated side of a knife to work through the base of a branch. Her tone had sent a flare of anger through him, but it slowly settled into a touch of respect for her attitude.
The branch was six foot long. He stood over her with it held in both hands.
“Well?”
—
“Well?” Ryna hummed back. “Well bend it. Like I said a minute ago? Or did you….” She trailed off, biting her lower lip to keep back the snark. Jhyrack was holding a branch as tall as her, though hardly as thick as she was, it was unnerving to think of herself as the thing between his large hands, moments from being broken in half. She cleared her throat, smoothing out the scowl on her face into something far more placid.
“You sawing through it gave me a little but I need more… tension. If you have the discipline for it, bend it slowly until it snaps.” Her hands held each other, as if begging for it despite her harsh tone. “Turn around though, I don’t want you getting wood chips in my hair. I just washed it.”
The minotaur scowled back at her. He rolled his eyes.
“You did not say…”
Jhyrack shook his head. What a deeply frustrating quarry. He had so far to take her. She was being walked to a dark fate, but could she not have accepted that with stoicism like most he captured?
He did not turn his back on her.
Wood chips in your hair!
Instead he turned a slight angle to break the branch away from her.
His broad shoulders flexed as he pressed the middle of the branch to one thigh and drew back slowly. It started to bend, the green outer layer splitting and peeling as it started to give.
Ryna’s face scrunched towards her glaring eyes, sparkling and sharp like diamonds. Ass, she thought. Bullheaded barbarian brute. That felt far more satisfying than just ‘ass’ though it somehow lost the edge of being one, succinct word. As the branch broke across Jhyrack’s knee, it was inevitable as a piece of wood, the length of a splinter and as thick as a thin, dried leaf, to hit Ryna. It fell against the curve of her neck, slipping to the hollow between her collarbones.
“You!” Her voice was hushed, less of a whisper and more of a breath. But she could feel it. There was the strain in his muscles, steady and deep. She could feel it, like a particular frequency only she could hear. A slow twang of strings for her ears alone.
Then there was the branch. The low, steady tempo from Jhyrack was more than a thrum. A beat of a drum. Soft and slow, and yet the more the branch broke, the faster and louder she could hear the drum. Like a herd of horses galloping over the edge of a hill. And at the silent song’s zenith, there came the crescendo, like earth splitting apart, a volcano erupting, the crack of lightning turned to fire.
Her skin was hot, white hot, like her veins were only made of candle wax. She opened her hands, and there before Jhyrack, as Ryna flushed pink from the red, a blue glowing orb of light was revealed to float just above her two palms. It was eerie. It was bright. It cast light all around them.
Ryna never knew this rule often spread by word of mouth: having light might allow one to see, but it allowed far more to see them. There were things in each and every wood— dark and hungry and restless. A long, slow howl could be heard in the distance.
He gave a hearty chuckle for her scowl. If she was going to be irritating him for the entire trip back then he would find some amusement for himself along the way.
The moment shifted. He didn't have a sense of the magic at work, but he could feel her concentration. Jhyrack fell into silence as he set his muscles working against one another to keep the flex and break of the branch slow and controlled.
She skin changed hue as she opened her hands. She was a curious creature. He hadn't seen anyone who used magic like this. For all his bluster to wind her up, he knew many times of magic and how to avoid being killed by them.
“Huh.”
Jhyrack slowly unbent the branch.
“You'd best make that light go away,” he said. He set the branch down and reached for his axe. Smoke and flickering fire light could deter simply beasts like wolves, but there were worse things out there.
By far the most concerning would be another party on the lookout for Ryna. He had taken the high path to avoid them.
A disagreeable part of Ryna wanted to refuse Jhyrack’s knowledge. A more reasonable side, mixed with fear, wanted the light to go away as well. But one who grew up in chains always had a rebellious streak. She looked at the swirling orb of light. It was like a thousand blue fireflies cycled around each other, sparking and dimming and then sparking again.
There was no need to taunt with a ‘make me’ though the thought occurred to her. The bounty hunter could make her. He had been fair to her— no generous, Ryna realized. He didn’t use her body, had brushed her hair without cutting it in fear of lice, and had let her bathe.
Now it seemed absurd to her. Tied to a tree, wearing his oversized tunic, hair clean and braided. Tue light dimmed as the orb became smaller and smaller. It winked at her, shadows growing long against her bust and face before disappearing completely.
The darkness, it was easier to speak.
“You won’t use me for pleasure.” It was a statement. Even now, she could tell he would not touch her. He didn’t leer, he didn’t touch, he didn’t show his strength to frighten her into submission. “You willingly give me the fuel I need to perform magic.” Ryna’s face turned toward him, though her soft, solemn face was hidden beneath the shade of a cloud and tree limbs. “You wash my clothes. Comb my hair. Give me food and water. It doesn’t make sense. Are you daft? What do you get by treating me this way? I am your slave. The Magician King wouldn’t know what you do to me, treating me well or poorly wouldn’t matter as long as you return me alive and still of sound mind.” Her stomach dropped, her blood ran hot. Ryna had tears in her eyes. She had to take a deep breath before speaking again.
“So what are you doing with me?” It was worse, thinking of the what ifs, what could happen, what could change. The kindness was expected, she was a prized pet, but there has been times when kindness was used to hurt her, a creature constantly reaching out for companionship. Her last words were more of a breath than a whisper, a thought not meant to be spoken. “What will you do to me?”
Her sudden outburst and series of questions caught him off guard. Jhyrack had been prepared to chastise her for potentially giving their position away, but in the darkness she started with the most surprising accusation and the continued.
He slowly sat on a fallen log and tossed the two branches aside. In the darkness, even the moon was enough to reflect a glint off his fangs. I anger, he thought to threaten that he could pin her, use her, empty himself into her all night but that it would not be worth her complaints.
He didn't react so quickly. Sitting his silence, the minotaur breathed heavily and tried to mentally walk through the confusing position he was in. She was owed no explanation, but he decided to try. She sounded broken. He told himself that trying might lead to less pathetic mewing on the way back.
“I take this work because I hear of great magical power. A danger to char and catch. This is…a challenge. A way to make my name. Jhyrack. Bounty hunter.”
He sighed.
“Are you daft…” he repeated quietly.
“And then I find a broken creature about to have her head sawed off by an orc. They do not slow me. You are not so hard to catch. This is disappointing. I hurt people if I need to. Enjoy it sometimes. You are very pretty, but I wash you because you smell. I feed you because I do not need to be cruel.”
“I… do not understand why you ask this!” he growled in frustration.
“Nevermind!” Ryna spat, fidgeting against the tree trunk. Toes curled into the dirt as she gnawed on her lower lip with sharp, pointy teeth. “I don’t even care anymore.” She huffed, glowering at nothing in particular, ignoring the shiny rivulets gliding down her cheeks. Her stomach was flipping over and over, her mind probably more confused than Jhyrack at her questions.
She supposed the bounty hunter was right, at his size, he didn’t need to be cruel. The magician king had become stunted and feeble over the many, many decades. Each body worse off than the last. Each body disposed of quicker than the last. When the magician king had first laid eyes on her, he was a man in his forties, able to still stand tall with a straight back. His shoulders didn’t slope forward and were wide and filled with plump skin and muscle.
Now his bodies were born hunched with uneven limbs, teeth and a head full of hair. The face would look like it had melted or that someone had accidentally smeared their thumb across the nose while it was still being molded like clay in the womb. The magician king became crueler with each passing year. Little disgusted him, and perhaps that was why he was inclined to things that were bloody and disgusting and filled from dark imaginations.
“I’m going to sleep. You can go ahead and keep watch over me. Or not. Maybe a nicer, smarter, handsom-er bounty hunter will take me away from you.”
“Oh fuck you,” Jhyrack laughed.
“And I'd kill anyone that smart and handsome anyway,” he added.
It seemed like he would fall to silence, but then he continued to grumble.
“Never caught anyone that complain I cleaned their clothes and didn't rape them? Maybe I will give you a proper fucking so you can meet your fate after a good…”
Jhyrack trailed off and gave a sharp growl of frustration.
He didn't mean any of those things. He was suddenly disappointed at himself in even rising to her insults.
“I will watch over you. Go to sleep.”
Scrunching herself up, Ryna tried to make herself smaller and smaller as each word left his mouth. Her thighs were pressed tight together as she drew them to her chest. Suddenly, she felt naked and defenseless wearing this oversized tunic belonging to him, smelling of him. She sniffled, rubbing her tear-streaked face against her arm.
The tunic felt rough, scratchy against her rosy cheek. Abrasive like him. Rough like him. Brutish like him.
“Well how am I supposed to sleep now after you just said you’d attack me and kill my imaginary savior?” She warbled pitifully, hiccuping at the end.
“Go to sleep. I will watch for trouble. Don't try and tug on the binds. Your clothes will be dry by morning.”
She was - he reflected - a particularly strange quarry. He was accustomed to collecting hardened criminals and vigilantes and crazed wizards. He was a violent creature, but not cruel. Not to the weak.
Not that he was perfect. At some point in the night, he thought about her cupping her soft breasts and imagined standing her before him and sliding his cock between them.
It had, after all, been quite a lonely march on the trail of the court sorcerer.
In the early hours, something snuffle at the edge of their camp. Jhyrack woke up and growled. It was gone into the darkness before the deep rumble finished.
He was up early with the light. Standing to gather their things and to collect her dried clothes.
Though fatigued in every nook and cranny of her being, body, mind, and soul, Ryna found it hard to fall asleep. Her captor was not far from her, and now her imagination had ignited with his fiery words. Her blood ran hot as she closed her eyes, trying to get comfortable. She held herself together like one cupped their hands around a beginning flame slowly taking to kindle.
‘A proper fucking…’ he had said, as if he knew anything about the word proper. Hair raised along her spine, and nape of her neck. She closed her eyes tighter, but the darkness only brought forth the opportunity to put images to the words.
She knew he found her pretty. Perhaps a little pathetic, too. She doubted he felt any sort of pity towards her. But pathetic and pretty? Ryna thought she could use those to her advantage. Lower his guard, give her that window of flight. And right now… well, right now she needed him to survive. Without his intervention earlier today, she wouldn’t be alive now. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
She could do it. Her life depended on it. Even if it meant resorting to seduction. Manipulating Jhyrack was her only choice.
It took her time to get settled. She had to relieve herself although her body was shaky when she squatted low. When she had first escaped, it had been a clumsy squat. Now, even with her thighs and fingers shaking, she didn’t have to worry about sullying herself. She didn’t need to be called smelly again.
In the end, Ryna did end up taking Jhyrack’s bedding. She tried to resist it, thinking of it as some sort of way to rebel. But during the night, she felt something with too many legs crawl against her foot and yelped from fright. The blanket felt like more protection— more than she had had for awhile. The comfort, though nothing as grand as what she had in the palace, was more than she had in months. It put her to sleep.
She was too tired to dream, and so only old memories floated throughout the night. Ryna could’ve kept sleeping, completely unaware of curious guests.
Jhyrack’s growl may have been low, but it rumbled through her veins. A sound so deep and primal that it chilled her despite her blood running hot. Like prey, Ryna froze, bleary blue eyes looking about. She stayed quiet, listening to her captor lumber about. When she sat up, her fidgeting during the night had her flaxen hair halo around her face in ethereal tendrils.
“What was it? A wolf?” Ryna whispered, holding the blanket tight around her. “A bear? A monster?”
“A something,” Jhyrack rumbled back.
“Didn't see. Not gonna chase something if I don't know what it is. Didn't sound too big.”
He hasn't been fully awake. It could have been something small and harmless. If it had been something large with sharp teeth, he did not want to give it cause to turn and fight.
He picked up his hammer with one hand. He gathered her clothes with the other. His hands were large enough for the task and it allowed him to keep the weapon close.
Despite his nonchalant words, he kept one ear in the direction of the unseen creature.
“Here, your clothes. Stained but not…”
Crusty, stiff and smelly, he thought to himself.
“...but better.”
His heart rate had spiked from being woken up by a threat. Red hairs stood on end across the back of his neck.
“Eat quickly, we move quickly. I want to get across the rocks and avoid leaving a trail. Do you understand?”
Jhyrack was curt and to the point. Once they had some distance from the skirmish with the orcs he would feel better.
“I’m sure not many things are bigger than you,” Ryna said with a roll of her eyes. She leaned her head against the tree, yawning as she shimmied her shoulders, beginning to stretch out her long limbs. She avoided his eyes when she took her clothes. That was easy to do, when she could focus on her bundle of a stained dress and underwear somewhere in the folds.
Ryna sniffed the dress, once her favorite color. It did smell better, though any softness from the fabric was now long gone. Finally, she stood, hardly graceful and needing the tree for support.
“Goodness, rushing me like this? Can’t wait to get your fame and reward?” Ryna’s voice was loud now. She yawned once more nonetheless. “Could you at least untie me now?” She raised her tied hands to Jhyrack. “You’re so quick to pack up it's like you’ll leave me behind.” The frown was small, its presence great upon her face.
“Why hurry?”
“It is light. I want more space between us and where I killed the orcs.”
Jhyrack dropped to one knee and unwound the rope from her wrists. He had tried not to tie it too tightly. There was a red mark beneath the rope, but it would fade soon.
“I am in no hurry to return,” he said, turning his back and stepping away. He slowly wound the rope into a loose loop.
“A little more distance across the rocks and no one will follow our trail,” he said.
“At least it will make it much harder to follow us.”
“So you’re scared.” Ryna said, staring at his broad back for a moment while she rubbed at her wrists. Her eyes lingered longer on his tail, perhaps the more honest part of him. She turned then, pulling his tunic up and over his head.
Most things would get caught on her horns. This didn’t, the opening so large that it slipped off her shoulders if she wasn’t careful. She shook though she tried to be intentional with each movement, playful and flirty and coy as she dressed herself in her own clothes. Of course, stepping into her dress that was stiff was never a graceful affair.
As she looked over her shoulder, to see if he was peeking, she was met with disappointment. Maybe she should have made more of a fuss, grunting or huffing to get him to look at her. Silent seduction was much easier in court, with fans and smiles instead of having to stand about naked before dressing.
“I don’t see why you’d be scared. All the orcs are dead. Or did you miss one?” Ryna had just began smile, lifting her chin, haughty despite her recent failure. She reached out to Jhyrack, stepping towards him so she could grab his attention with her hand. “Stop turning away from me and look at my face.”
She didn’t scream when she saw the arrow pierce through her hands. It was when she realized there was blood, and a lot of it, did she freeze, blue eyes widening in shock. She was slow in turning her head to where the arrow must have come from, too slow to hide from the other arrow flying towards her. Her scream was soft, a pained, breathless cry of shock with an arrow still wedged in the middle of her palm.
Jhyrack was focussed on getting their camp packed away, but it was impossible to miss the change in her tone. He was not a deep thinker. Jhyrack wasn't going to second guess the reason.
She approached him slowly. He turned his head slowly until he could see her hands reaching for him. The minotaur frowned. He heard the thwack of the bow string the instant before the arrow appeared. It quivered in the back of her hand.
“Fuck.”
His enormous hand grabbed her shoulder and he pushed her to the ground. The sniffle must have been a hunting hound.
Two more bow strings were plucked. Two arrows found their mark. Jhyrack had a thick hide, but they pierced him. They would leave shallow wounds, unable to slice him to the bone. It still hurt.
Jhyrack dropped to his knee and grabbed a broken log. He had used it to rest his head.
He flung it into the trees and heard the satisfying sound of it colliding.
“Fucking elves. Stay down!”
At first, Ryna wasn’t sure whether it was Jhyrack or the hidden archer that had pushed her to the ground. She cried out in pain, balance interrupted, only one hand to help break her fall. Her wrist on her good hand bent too much, a soreness that was nothing compared to the pulsing hot sting that made her break out in a cold sweat.
“By Aranyhíd and Ezüsthíd’s left hands!” Ryna cursed, naming old gods that Jhyrack would have no knowledge of. The pain she felt was overwhelming, but not unfamiliar. She froze because as a slave she had froze, starstruck by crimson and swollen limbs. Running or fighting would be a punishment akin to unimaginable torture.
When her head cleared enough a second later, she saw the arrows sticking out from Jhyrack. She screamed again, if only because of the shock. She had, somewhat naively, thought him to be invincible after his stunt with the orcs.
“You’re bleeding!” There was momentary reprieve from the archers and Ryna looked at the direction the arrow came. She didn’t see much, hair in her eyes, obscuring her vision. “What do we do? What do we do?”
“You stay down!” Jhyrack growled. His voice changed as he spoke. The words fading into a deep growl. A series of pops sounded as his body reshaped itself.
Rhyna was lying in his shadow now. He was a full sized minotaur. Black, red and brown fur covered his body and his horns were as wide as his shoulders.
He might have bristled with arrows, but he charged forwards into the trees. There was a scream. It started as one of fear and morphed into something gut wrenching and fatal.
The sounds continued, but Rhyna would hear something closer: elven voices. They spoke in their native language.
“They were supposed to run!”
“Not fast enough. Where is she?”
“Keep looking!”
“We just need her head then run as fast as you can!”
Ryna’s cheek was pressed hard to the ground, and though her eyes were closed tight, her imagination was far worse when it came to feeling the ground shake and the sound of his body shifting. Disgusting, Ryna thought, pointed ears catching every crack and pop. She shivered, unable to contain the tremors of fear in her body. She wanted to run away, but the thought of getting another arrow lodged into her body was enough to keep still.
At least, until she heard the elven voices. Elves. Ryna held her breath. There was an option: no savior, but elves would be more dignified than the brute she was with now. She could have an intelligent conversation with them, perhaps even convince them to let her go instead of back to the King.
Ryna poked her head up, searching for the elves. She had hoped they would be the tall and beautiful kind, if only because it would let her worry less about them forcing themselves on her. Any noble-looking elf would have the manners to not even think of such a foul act. But even the shorter wood elves with their thick accents made of slow syllables and drooling drawls would be better than Jhyrack, and they were known for a lack of values when drunk.
“I’m here,” Ryna hissed, not yet had she caught sight of any movement towards her direction. Ryna slowly began rising her knees, catching sight of the minotaur’s giant furry back. Ryna’s throat became dry. He was massive, his horns absolutely terrifying. There would little time to run away, the moment Jhyrack turned around, he’d see her trying to run away.
A whip wrapped around her calf, tripping her so she landed on arm and side. Her injured hand flared with a new pain. She cried out, cut it short by biting her lower lip. She turned, seeing a elf with hair the color of sunlight approach her warily. He had something in his hand that smelled bitter and sweet, like the paralyzing poison pollen from the nebáncsvirág flower. The Hurt-Me-Not-flower was known for its beautiful soft blue petals and pollen the color of amaranth that could paralyze any adult that breathed it in.
“It’s ok,” Ryna said, holding up her hands in peace. “You can take me, I won’t put up a flight.” She tried to smile, but the flicker of disgust in his green eyes told her she had failed to appear harmless. The elf held up the small knife, getting ready to strike.
Her story didn't exactly hold his attention. Something about barbaric practises and magic. Her question, however, did catch his interest.
“What would I fear if I ran away… from a home…that never wanted me?”
“Not a lot. Fuck em. I'm brilliant. I would go far away and if they sent anyone back I would kill them.”
“So is that what will become of you? Dangled from a noose? But you do not fear this?”
He took her words literally.
“Worse ways to go if the hangman chooses the right length of rope. Which reminds me. I will have to tie you up so that I can have some sleep.”
—
“I saw that.” Ryna accused, pointing a finger directly between his wandering eyes. “You’re peeking.” She hugged herself, arms pressing over her breasts as her pruning hands gripped her round shoulders. Brows settled low over her limpid eyes that burned with a bitter blue glare. “Brute,” she muttered as she swiftly turned her head to the side, unable to look at Jhyrack further unless she wanted her simmering fury to grow into an uncontainable wildfire.
She could not do anything about it, even if she got so angry that she thought about risking breaking a hand to punch him. She had always used magic for everything; now, she had none and, therefore, was at his mercy. Ryna frowned deeply. Why was she always at someone’s mercy?
Ryna turned her back to him, hands flat on the pool's surface, pressing them against the tension of the water. It was the feeling right before a body broke through its surface, when there was momentary resistance before the release, as the water gave in and accepted the item into its form. She breathed deeply, focusing on this feeling. She could feel the pull of the moons, the push of her body. It wasn’t enough, but she could collect it, store it inside her, and hopefully, let it grow. A drop in a depleted well. But it was something.
Her mood soured then at the suggestion of tying her up, so much for having the option of sneaking away in the middle of the night.
“I hope you haven’t had the perversion of tying me up before giving me something to wear. Is my dress ready? What is taking you so long?” A shiver of fear– had he noticed how awful her undergarments were? She stood up, using her body and hair to cover herself. “Maybe I should wash them myself if it’s taking you this long.”
“Hah!” Jhyrack barked a laugh at her suggestion. He had, at least, kept his eyes to himself after her accusation.
With his back to her, he stood tall. He could have held one thick arm out to the side and she could have walked beneath it without her horns even brushing his tunic.
“You do not fear the noose, but you do not like the idea of a bit of rope play,” he chuckled.
“Leave these to dry,” he added as he stepped away. She had been made uncomfortable enough. There was no need, he decided, to complain about having to beat her clothes with rocks to clean them.
He rifle through his bag for his spare tunic. To backward strides and he held it out for her.
“Here.”
What do I fear?
He didn't even need to think hard; he knew the answer. After his low start in Molthal he was afraid of dying without feeling he had lived a life. He wanted many accolades, many bastard children. He wanted to go down in a blaze of glory and to have songs sung of that day.
—
The tips of her ears blushed bright as if the sun had suddenly burned them. She felt a heat bloom across her chest that matched the same heat alongside her cheeks.
“You—“ a lashing halted on her tongue, something about him being a oaf and how no one would want to be tied up, no one would want to feel like a prisoner, and she would have threatened to scream the entire night and keep him from sleep if he did not give her her clothes immediately. But before any of it could come out, he offered her clothing, not looking at her.
Ryna huffed, one arm still wrapped around her chest as she leaned forward, arm reaching out until she could grab hold of his offering. Suspiciously, she held it up to her nose but it seemed clean, a mixture of the soap and something smooth and smoldering. It surprised her how vibrant and alive it felt when she inhaled, her quick whiff turning far more decadent.
Ryna stepped out of the pool, eyes still on the mercenary, lips twitching in preparation in case his head moved even an inch. With the same speed in removing her attire, she had pulled the tunic over and pulled her long, wet hair out of the collar. Though the tunic was so large on her that the collar hung around the widest part of her shoulders, quick to slip off of one if she adjusted one side higher than the other. The tunic ended around her knees, suitably covering her, even if she were to kneel or bend over. But against her wet skin, it somehow ended up sticking to her, and her long, wet hair had already drenched the back of the tunic.
“It’s not very soft.” She plucked at the sleeves, but no amount of preening would make it appealing as the clothes she once wore back at Court. “But it will do.” Fingers twitched as she smoothed the fabric over her body one final time. “Thank you.” The words were quick and soft, subtle yet honest. Something was better than nothing. “Are we staying here for the night?”
He gave a slow shake of his head. That she would complain about the weave of his tunic went it was at least dry. Admittedly, she had been in such a hurry that it was now clinging to her form.
There were few that ever deserved to have their dignity stripped away. Better to mete out punishment with a single swing of the axe. It did not even sound like she had done anything wrong, but it was not for him to judge those who paid for his services.
“Further from the water,” he said. “Prey come to drink at night. Predators wait for them. I am going to wash the orc filth from my hair. You are going to stay where I can see you? Running would be stupid. Trying to take one of my weapons would be worse for you.”
His tone was remarkably light given that he was making a threat. The bulky bounty hunter started to remove his boots.
“Oh.” That was why a wild animal always found her whenever she camped near water. She had thought being near water would somehow mask her scent and give her the option of fresh water without getting lost while also leading her further away from the Kingdom. She knew less about the natural world than she had previously thought.
Ryna looked around the area, eyes catching on the ivory brush and his hammer. She raised a brow. “You’re worried about me stealing your hammer? I have morals.” And a lack of muscle. She went to the edge, picked up the brush, and began brushing her hair. It was now or waiting until Jhyrack finished. “Ow.” She caught the brush in one giant knot the size of an acorn. She pulled it out, tried to brush through it again, and had the same result. It would stay in her hair even without holding onto the ivory handle. “And where shall you have me sit so your keen gaze can keep watch? Perhaps I can teach you then how to keep your eyes to yourself and not impose onto one’s privacy?” She huffed, but it quickly turned into a sigh, equal parts exhausted and exasperated.
“I am not worried about you stealing my hammer,” Jhyrack said with a shake of his head. “Just stealing a knife and trying to hide it to try and escape later.”
He was also worried that she might turn it against him or even - in a fit of desperation - herself. That didn't need saying.
“Imposing…” he muttered. “I am so sorry.”
He was quite obviously not sorry at all. He set his bare feet into the edge of the stream. The water was refreshingly cold and crystal clear. Jhyrack took his time over his straps. There was a steel plate on each shoulder and several more knives and pouches hanging from his chest and belt. He set these all aside, folded his tunic over them and stood up.
“I shall be impressed by yourself control,” he laughed. The entirely make Jhyrack turned around and picked up his soap. It was odd to use it after someone else, he thought.
“I would not blame you. I am quite magnificent.”
There was an an awful lot going on at her eye level if she glanced before he stepped into the water.
The knives hidden beneath the tunic hadn’t gone unnoticed, but Ryna wasn’t as foolish as earlier. She wouldn’t lunge for them and risk being knocked out by one meaty hand. As Ryna turned to face him, readying a lecture, she froze, unable to speak, hardly able to think. All that caught her eye was the trail of stark red maple along the length of a valley made of muscle ridges and curving sinew; growing wide and spreading itself into a vibrant autumn forest that was a warning for Ryna to look away.
Her gasp turned into a squeal as she spun quickly away from him, hands going to cover her face. Hot embarrassment made Ryna look like the sun had a personal vendetta against her. The rosy undertone deepened, blood running hot under fair skin because of a heart that beat too quickly. The usual rhythm ceased as a drum that did not belong to Ryna’s rational mind began beating a song she did not recognize.
“You!” she cried, pacing back and forth, trying not to think about it. The image persisted, even when she closed her eyes. Magnificent was the wrong word to use, she thought as she rubbed at her eyes, monumental would have been much better. Gods, she felt hot all over; she couldn’t figure out if it were the shame or the anger or something entirely else at this point. She pivoted on a heel, seeing his back laced with pale scars and his tail with a tuft of red. That same red that… she shook her head, and the hairbrush’s ivory handle whacked her in the cheek. She pulled it out to furiously brush over that knot.
The painful distraction was needed if not wanted.
“You always travel alone, don’t you? How else could you stand there, nude of all things, without worrying what I might see?” Ryna mused. “Is it a lack of respect? It can’t be. Your ego is bigger than your… you.” She turned towards him once again, the red in her cheeks and along her decollete not disappearing. Even the tops of her shoulders were warmed with a pink hue. She stopped her brushing, her hair now neat and straight. A few places along her scalp felt tender. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, to make a joke out of me?”
“On purpose? I suppose I am always moving my body on purpose,” he said without much of a pause.
He waded into the water until it was up to the middle of his back. He had to go out until the middle of the stream, unlike her. Out until the water moved swiftly enough to pull on his tail.
“I did not do that to make a joke. And my ego is large but so is…so ehhh…”
He lifted both of his hands and tilted from side to side, pretending to mentally weigh the two up.
He took a deep breath. With his chest filled he was an inverted triangle in the water, a narrow waist rising to broad shoulders. There was a loud splash as he dropped into the water.
He rose suddenly, flinging his hair back.
“Not everyone wears perfumed robes and hides behind a parasol. You should see an orc tribe at a festival,” Jhyrack laughed.
She set the brush down as she sat down, neatly folding her legs beneath her. She began the process of scrunching her wavy hair, thinking how nice the cream she had back at Court was. Her hair would still become frizzy, even with the aid of Jhyrack’s soap. She debated if she should tie it back, or at the very least, out of her face. Should she cut it? That felt like a punishment.
“Oh, yes, your everything, horns and hands included. That’s exactly what I had just said.” Ryna scrunched up her nose and pursed her lips as if she had just bit into a lemon. She wanted to look as displeased as one could, turning her head to look at her captor. The tighten muscles along her jaw slackened, suiting her soft round features than the twisted displeasure she had worn seconds ago. She tried to make that same face but it couldn’t be as it was before.
“Why? What’s so special about a orc tribe at a festival?” She asked, leaning in.
“Yeah funny, didn't catch you staring at my hands,” he laughed.
It was shortly followed by a mutter of: “Best get those silver hairs out of my brush. Don't want to look old.”
He didn't deny the comment on his ego, managing to confirm her observation with a fear of his own.
“It gets hot on the plains of Molthal. They don't wear much at the best of times.”
Another soft laugh as he scrubbed some dried blood out of the hairs on the back of his arm. He stood tall. The waters just high enough that the plains of his muscles led to just a strip of damp hair.
“At a festival they wear nothing but paint. Quite the sight!”
“Many men fawned over my hair,” she huffed, the desire to chuck the brush at him was swallowed by the fear of angering him. He was her captor, she his bounty. Even her pride couldn’t dissuade the will to survive, and angering someone of Jhyrack’s stature after seeing him annihilate the group of orcs would be foolish. If she wanted to live, she knew what she had to do.
He was confident and therefore he’d get sloppy. He had to. Ryna had seen it countless times before, she had even told Jhyrack of the recklessness and ego she had watched unfold before. But she didn’t hang from a noose. She wouldn’t become like them.
“They wrote poems about me, a fair maiden as bright as the dawn, soft as rain, who put all the stars in the sky to shame.” Ryna was smug as she said this, collecting her hair from the brush. Her curious gaze went back to Jhyrack, to rove over a body unlike that which she had seen before. Many of the men who wrote about her were shorter than her, and thin like reeds with hands that seemed too big for their constantly bent arms. She ignored them unless they were the key to getting new books, though one had been sweet enough to be a friend for a few years. The Magician King was a jealous man, however— if he caught her smiling at one, the next night they’d be gone, presumed dead.
“Clearly they thought of me as something beautiful to behold even with all my dresses and robes.” It was nothing to be proud of, but it hid the green envy she felt in her chest. “But I am sure you fit right in with these festivals, after all, you had no qualms about showing your intimacies to a lady. I bet you enjoyed gawking at them all. What were these festivals for? Knowing Mothal… I assume war?”
“My…intimacies?”
Only the threat of other hunters and wild beasts kept him from roaring with laughter. She had to settle for a rolling chuckle.
“As bright as a baby fawn, soft of brain, who got lost and lacked anyone to blame!”
He didn't ask for a review of his words. They were for him to enjoy alone.
“The orcs have their own gods and stories,” he explained. “They honor them in many ways. One festival is for the young to prove themselves. Great Rites. Course there's a lot of showing off and courting and fucking. I'll give em one thing, they know how to set about one another with enthusiasm.”
He started to wade forwards out of the water. A shake of his mane and flick of his tail flung some of the cold water away.
“Your hair is nice. Sure it deserved many poems. Now, you finished with the brush or you want me to put that up for you?” he asked. He didn't know why she had looked lost with it, but perhaps she was accustomed to ladies in waiting dressing and decorating her for her king.
“You’re lucky you’re as big as you are.” Somewhere between a growl and a hiss, Ryna’s voice was as pointed as her glare sharper than any dagger. It hid the fact that deep down inside, she feared him while she was without her magic words and spells.
She did listen to what he had to say about the orc customs. She made a face when he said “fucking” but didn’t comment on it, instead wondering if witnessing it could be another force of nature. It sounded like it was intense, and intensity is what brought her the most power. Ryna tried to imagine what they were like, but Jhyrack hardly painted a picture with his words. All she had were blurry shapes and smeared colors.
“When do they have these festivals?” She asked with a tilt of her head. “Every year?” Ryna held onto the brush, realizing he was coming closer and leaned back, holding the brush against the center of her chest. “Put my hair up?” She echoed, eyes wide with uncertainty. “Do you know how to be gentle?” She ventured, glancing at one hand. Could a hand that large be gentle? but that was the wrong question to ask. Could she trust him around her horns? “Because if you rip out a chunk of my hair I will do you one worse. If not now then later, I’d shave off your entire head.”
Jhyrack scoffed. He took the brush and stepped around her.
One hand came to rest upon her shoulder. He could barely fit the whole hand there and even the gentle touch was a heavy weight. The brush pressed gently to the crown of her head between her horns and started down.
“I don't know when orcs do their festivals. They are spread far and wide and have different gods and customs.”
The brush snagged.
His hand lifted from her shoulder. He handed her the brush back.
Her hair was fine moonsilk. It weighed almost nothing, but there were fine knots that he needed to carefully unwork with his fingertips.
“I will not tear any out, but if I must, I will cut out a tiny knot…” he explained.
She closed her eyes, squeezing her eyelids so tightly together that they burned. Tense when Jhyrack placed one hand over the slender curve of her shoulder, tenser still when he drew the brush down her head. Ryna had tried telling herself that the knots were normal, her hair was wavy, wouldn’t it make sense for wavy hair to not be perfect like straight hair? How many knots had she ignored? How many would Jhyrack find?
“No,” she said, as she took the brush, her fingers shaking. She clutched the handle tightly in that small hand, knuckles turning white. “Don’t cut my hair, please. It’s….” Ryna trailed off, eyes wistfully opening to let out a few tears. “When I was a slave, my hair was short. But I am no longer that so….” Another pause, heavy realization sinking in.
She was a slave again as long as she stayed within his reach. Captive once more, there was little she could do and even less that she could say. Jhyrack would do as he pleased, if he indulged her it was because that was his choice, not her will.
Ryna wanted to cry. She could feel the tears creeping up in her eyes, a scratchy lump forming in her throat. She thought about that heavy hand reaching to her throat, how easy with one hand he could choke her for her earlier words. He could slap her now, for telling him not to do something, making her vision blurry and her head spin. But he didn’t, instead picking at the knots in her hair. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but it kept the tears away.
“If you cut it, try not to make it look ugly. The King happens to be fond of my hair. If he takes pity on me it won’t be the me with short hair.”
Jhyrack made a low rumbling sound. It wasn't a threat; anyone could instinctively tell that. When he growled a threat it could be heard for a mile. It was a little sound of impatience.
He stepped back away from her and picked up something from his pack. The soft rasp of a knife being drawn from its leather sheath seemed unnaturally loud over the gently flowing water.
“Hold still,” he told her. His hand came to rest upon her shoulder once more, his thumb against her neck and his hand so large that it spilled over her shoulder.
With that impressed upon her he peeled some strands away. A little pressure at her scalp and it was over.
He pushed his hand in front of her. Between finger and thumb was a tiny bundle of silvery strands around a tight, coarse knot.
“I am not trimming your hair. Just removing a few knots that will not work loose.”
—
She was statue-still, as he directed to be, every bit of her hard and tense as if he would judge her performance. Ryna remained quiet as he worked, keeping the grunt buried deep in her throat when he pulled at her hair that was as thin as spider silk, able to be looped into a needle thrice without breaking.
When he shoved the knot in front of her bitter blue eyes, she took it from his hand, fingertips grazing the rough skin of his thumb for half a second. She was still soft unlike him, but then again, she wasn’t swinging a giant hammer around.
“Okay,” she whispered as she inspected the silvery knot, hopelessly hoping that she could find a solution to unwind it if she stared hard and long enough. She resisted the urge to shrug off his hand from her slight shoulder, his weight and size ever present. She was practically in his shadow as he leaned over her.
“Thank you.” This time it felt forced, only half genuine. She was reminded of when she was bought and brought to the castle. She had to be groomed immensely then, too. She had fought it then, biting and kicking and screaming. “Do I… smell better now?” It was hard, thinking how decades had passed, and she was back where she started. There was a saying she had heard briefly from a stable boy: same shit, different smell.
“You do,” he grunted.
Her thanks were stilted, but he was not in the business of being paid in gratitude. He would be paid in coin.
His fingers worked through fronds of hair, seeking out knots that were beyond a brush. A few tiny spiderwebs of hair fell lightly to the ground, caught on the air for a final dance.
Jhyrack then returned to the brush, smoothing out the moonlight silver until her hair was almost presentable.
“There, fit for a king. May he keep you as a pet instead of hanging you.
“Hah! Perhaps if you escape again we will meet once more.”
Jhyrack paced away. He gave his entire body a shake, flinging water droplets from his flame red hair.
“Gather yourself,” he told her as he dressed. “We will find a quiet spot and I will tie you to a tree. If you are good, I will keep the knots loose enough to be comfortable.”
She immediately became sullen, suddenly jerking away from Jhyrack to face him and see only his broad back as he strode away from her. It infuriated her how he said whatever he pleased, feeling no consequence of it. It infuriated her how he found laughter in her struggle. She wished she were as big as him, as strong as he was so that she could strangle anyone who laughed at her.
”Your work is just…” Her hands went to inspect her hair. There was not a single strand of hair that was out of place and perhaps best of all, her hair was free of knots. Now when she touched it, it felt sleek and smooth, almost as if she were back at the castle. Not quite, but close enough. She marveled at it, fingers gliding through her wet locks, enjoying them before realizing she had meant to insult Jhyrack’s good work. “Alright. It’ll do.” Ryna said stiffly, standing up to then hear the worse news.
”Tie me?” There was an edge to her voice, shrill and nervous. “What if I must relieve myself? What if there is a snake or a spider crawling up my leg?” Blue eyes narrowed. “If I am tied then I cannot run if you force yourself on me. Is that your plan?”
He decided not to rub it in. Her surprise at her hair being well dressed amused him. His own hair should have given it away, but when one crushed a pack of orcs with a hammer and laughed about it people made assumptions.
“If a spider or snake crawls up your leg you wanna be staying still anyway,” Jhyran told her.
Fully dressed, he collected his things and motioned for her to start walking. They would pick a path upwards to somewhere with cover. He didn't want to light a fire and draw anyone to them tonight so they would need some shelter from the wind.
“I will tie you with enough rope that you can go around a tree,” he said.
“Force myself on you?” he offered another shrug of his broad shoulders. “Would not need the ropes but that's not my style. Will take you back to this king in one piece.”
She shuddered at the thought of anything crawling up on her, unsure if she could imitate a statue while things she despised– things without legs and things with many legs– made their way up and over her body. Ryna hugged herself tightly, though it did little to suppress her trembling limbs and thrumming heart. She said nothing else as she slipped on her shoes, ready to shuffle after Jhyrack. His words typically would have brought her some relief, but she couldn’t be naive. What men said didn’t necessarily correlate to what they did. Her King had said many things, but either Ryna lacked an innate cleverness to see through his honeyed words, or she was foolish enough to believe them. She frowned, liking neither possibility.
As Jhyrack moved, she followed after him, taking twice as many steps as he needed to, clutching the waterskin, bundle of dried meat, and her sopping wet clothes into a tight ball against her chest. The crisp forest air slowly dried her pale blonde hair, chilling her skin until she stepped into a patch of sunlight whenever the trees parted from their dense, overbearing pattern of casting shadows.
Soon enough, Ryna’s cheeks bloomed with red roses, and a matching palette adorned her lips and the tip of her nose. The higher they climbed, the more the breeze from below began to feel like a wind, still as chilly but with an icier bite. The sun was setting, slowly dipping below the mountain peaks that rose above the darkening line of green.
“How much longer?” She huffed. The birdsong had now quieted, shadows growing long as if attempting to reach for Ryna to snatch her from the fading light.
“We will go to those trees,” Jhyrack explained.
Between two rocky out-cropping was a little patch of trees. No one than a stone's throw across. It looked thin enough that they could pick through it, but dense enough to hide them from view. The forest had started to thin out as they gained height.
He glanced over his shoulder. He had been perfectly comfortable in silence, listening only for her steps behind him. Jhyrack had traveled long distances on his own.
“You might not like where we are going, but you will get there safely,” he reaffirmed as he approached the trees. He used his hammer to push a hedge aside so she could slip under the trees and into the shade.
He chose a thick trunk, setting down his bags on bare earth that was covered only by dropped and browning needles.
He unrolled his bedding.
“You can have this,” he offered, though he clearly wasn't entirely happy about it. He didn't want her catching a chill and dying on him.
The minotaur set about tying a length of rope around the trunk.
“So…what is best and worst happens to you? He hangs you for running away, what if pity?”
—
Outward and begging branches snagged at the oversized tunic less and less with one final tug at her drooping shoulder as she slipped under the hammer. She kept her eyes on it, wary but knowing there would be little she could do if he actually swung it at her. Ryna was careful not to knock her horns against it, as if they were made of porcelain and could chip.
“Oh, joy.” The captured woman said with a roll of her eyes. “I was so worried about my safety on the way back to my master.” The food and water had rejuvenated her tongue, somewhat. She was quiet as Jhyrack began to set up a camp. She didn’t offer to help, instead she stood stiffly and stared at him.
Ryna took the bedding, bringing it first to her nose to sniff. It smelled like him and his soap. It could have been worse. It could have smelt like her earlier today. Her frown deepened, watching him set up her momentary prison for the night. He had warned her what would happen if she resisted, if she tried to play any games. Tonight, and maybe even for a week, she’d have to do what he wanted.
“Pity?” Ryna echoed, her voice soft like the fading rays of the setting sun. New sounds could be heard now. A chirp of crickets. A cold breeze that blew by her pointed ears like a soft moan. Gooseflesh dotted her bare flesh like the hidden constellations above. A rustle of leaves meters away, in a bush she couldn’t point out. “The Magician King doesn’t know pity. He knows nothing of mercy or empathy. He only knows…” she trailed off, looking up to the sky for answers. The first of the stars twinkled at her.
“He only knows how to win.” She brought her limpid gaze back to Jhyrack. “He only sleeps for an hour, maybe two, every night. His mind is constantly thinking of what needs to be done and what could be done. I’m sure before I ran, he had already thought of me doing so. He just didn’t know when. I’m sure he already knows what he will do with me. I don’t need to worry about it.” Ryna kicked at a loose pebble, watching it roll towards the Minotaur but it would not touch him.
“Perhaps hanging would be merciful. Would you stay to watch?”
“Ah depends what kind of hanging,” Jhyrack said. “If they make em dance and struggle a while it's a good laugh. Otherwise it's a drop and a snap. Not worth watching.”
He didn't even know why he said that. She might have been more quiet if he was kind. The way she took affront at everything he did - when he was just doing his job - made him want to verbally lash out.
“Maybe you'll be stuck in a tower again. Hands.”
The rope secure around the trunk of the tree, Jhyrack dropped to one knee and held out one hand towards her. The other kept the end of the rope.
He would give her enough slack to walk around, but he would tie both wrists together. He glanced after the rustle in the leaves. It sounded like a bird hopping around it's home in a hedge.
“Two hours sleep a night. Sounds fucking boring.”
“Spoken like a brute from Mothal.” She muttered as she took the first step to being tied up for the night. She leaned a shoulder against the bark, the cool bark digging into her flesh. She shoved both her hands towards him, glaring hard at the rope in his hands. Anger bubbled up in her chest once more. She had the sudden urge to throw curses at Jhyrack, indignant to the fact that he had to be a captor even if he had combed her hair and given her fresh clothes.
She thought about kicking him in his shins but figured that a broken toe wouldn’t do her much good.
“He gets his best ideas at night. When everybody is sleeping. The more people that dream, the less sleep he needs.” Ryna said bitterly, thoughts of the tower looming in her mind. It felt like a prophecy that she would see that tower again, even if she ran again.
“Steals dreams?” Jhyrack mused. “Sounds fucking creepy,” he reflected.
He quickly roped around her forearms, pulling little loops through and down. They were quite firmly bound together, but quite comfortably. She wasn’t going to be able to remove herself from the tree, but she could feel her hands and move her fingers.
“So what does he want with your magic then?” Jhyrack asked.
She had explained in a manner, but he hadn't quite understood.
Jhyrack didn't move far away. There wasn't much room in the space within the copse of trees. They shielded them from the wind that climbed over the hills more quickly than they had.
“I didn’t say he stole dreams.” Ryna snapped, knuckles white as she dug her nails into her palms. She shook violently, lips twisting at the effort to restrain her instincts while Jhyrack tied the rope around her. Out of habit she pulled against her bonds, confirming herself what she already knew. It only deepened her frown, brows pulling close and casting shadows over her eyes. Ryna closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, she had the strength to open her mouth with careful words.
“I can subvert the… tension of magic.” Her voice was level, lacking the edge from before. “I can see magic, feel magic, hear magic, smell magic, and even taste it. I know if it’s here or there or nowhere; if it belongs in one space but not another. I can see the beginning of magic forming, and I can see the residue a spell leaves. Of course, I need magic to do it.” Ryna shook her head with a wry huff of a laugh. “And I cannot replenish magic with food and bedrest. If it were that simple….” She trailed off, but the pointed look she gave to Jhyrack said everything she did not.
For a long, drawn-out moment, Ryna said nothing. She battled with the idea of keeping things secret, things that had always been secret. She didn’t feel much better saying them out loud, there was little she could boast about in the state she was in. And telling the truth was somehow leaving a strange taste in her mouth. It was uncomfortably bitter, like bile.
“I’m sure this is boring you. You don’t seem like the type to enjoy fairytales.”
She had a strong reaction to having her hands bound. For the first time he felt a flicker of sympathy. As she started to speak he listened more carefully, deciding that she might reveal what trauma caused her behaviour.
He had seen people walk up to the block and look their accuser in the eye. Barely a word before the axe came down. That had always confused Jhyrack; he could only imagine fighting until the last of his strength failed him.
“It is not boring,” he said with a shake of his head. He fished around for a small metal tin. Inside were dried biscuits. He took one for himself and offered it.
“Particularly if you are to make threats,” he added with a grin.
“What do you need to replenish magic if you are to challenge me?” he asked.
She took a biscuit, a gnaw in her shrunken stomach. Ryna supposed she was lucky in how Jhyrack had tied her to the tree so she could move around and bring food and drink to her mouth without help.
“Unbearable, brutal tension. Natural and unforgiving in its consequences.” She said. “The moment before a bending branch snaps, the pull of the sea before waves crash on the shore, the crack of thunder before the rain, the shape of clouds before a storm, the moment a cat wiggles its haunches before pouncing or the moment an archer releases the arrow from their bow.” She raised a brow. “Even the moment a sprout pushes soil out of its way or a butterfly unfurling its wings for the first time can replenish me if I tune into it.” The dry biscuit hadn’t moved an inch towards her lips, held stiffly between her thumb and forefinger.
“If you think knocking me unconscious or poisoning me into sleep will save you, you’re wrong. There is tension in dreams, too.” She took a small bite then, chewing slowly, turning her head away from Jhyrack.
“Well that was a bit shit as threats go,” Jhyrack said after considering it for a moment.
He grinned from ear to ear.
“But you're saying you are a…”
He gave a wave of his huge arms as he floundered for a word.
“...a magical sponge. And when you've soaked up enough I won't be able to stop you?”
“Poisoning isn't my style so we will just have to see what happens then.”
His gaze drifted across the magical creature he had to take safely back through dangerous terrain. It was a miracle she had made it this far. It was, he thought, a shame to take her back just to be the concubine of some king. Or to be dangled from the noose to make a statement.
“Actually what can you do with the magic? Or is that a surprise?” he laughed.
Ryna took another bite, the heat and passion draining from her face. “A threat? You’re mistaken, bounty hunter, it is a promise my own being makes without regard for what I want.” Though she had given so much to Jhyrack, it seemed lost on him, taking her words strictly at face value. It didn’t help the need she had to spill secrets was unmet if they could not be understood. Maybe a brute couldn’t understand the complexities of magic.
“You won’t be able to blink, much less stop me.” Ryna said after her moment alone in her head. “Well, if I didn’t need to conserve magic. Maybe I’d have to use a chant though I’ve long outgrown that practice. I imagine you’re used to spells regarding the elements. Vines holding you hostage, balls of fire, lightning coming out from someone’s palm. I could do all of those simultaneously. But those spells affect the environment. I’d rather…” Blue eyes darted to the minotaur’s face, hard like diamonds. “Take a quiet approach. I’d pull your insides out with a single twist of my wrist. It wouldn’t be a wound, it’d be you getting cored from a force you cannot see. With a crush of my fist, I’d shatter your soul.”
She sighed, shoulders slumping. “But there’s no reason for you to fear that, spirit magic is powerful but takes years to build up. You need an excess of magic stored, and to keep that magic one has to take much time out of their day to rewind all the stored magic into something that cannot be released.” Oh, how to explain it to an idiot like him so he doesn’t make that awful sponge analogy again? “Like… braiding your hair. A strand might get loose, so you’ll need to retie it. Again, and again. Tedious and boring and no matter how you tie it, a single strand of hair will always get loose because magic is not stagnant, it’s fresh and flowing and moving. If you leave one thread loose, the others will follow and then you risk a natural diaster taking place.” She finished the biscuit and wiped the crumbs off her fingers. “It’s why elves are superior to humans when it comes to magic. Humans don’t live long enough to perfect this skill, if they’re even aware of it. I’m sure even older, primordial beings are instinctual of this, like how snakes can swim through water without ever having done it before.”
Jhyrack leaned forwards as she started to explain. The minotaur was a touch frustrated that he seemed unable to follow her, but far stronger was the enjoyment at a good challenge.
The road back would be dangerous in places, but it was going to be boring for stretches. A handful of orcs barely satisfied his lust for battle. If she could grow strong and turn this wilful attitude into a genuine challenge then he would relish it.
He grinned encouragingly at each threat, even slapping his huge thigh when she said she could shatter his soul.
This was more like it.
Then came the reality. The bitterly disappointing reality.
“Hhmph.”
Jhyrack turned away.
“I am normally sent after dangerous people. Each is a challenge. Fame comes from overcoming all of them.”
His tone still rumbled far and wide, but it was soft by his standard.
“No one is saying: ‘Look, there is Jhyrack who carried this pretty girl back from the mountains all on his own.”
“You should rest. I will watch for a while.”
Silence for a small while as he settled himself down to rest.
“So…” he suddenly spoke. “It is like a sponge. But one you are holding and it leaks as fast as you pour. And it is a long hard walk to a river to plunge it in. I was right.”
—
Ryna’s head tilted, curious, with her chin pointed to the bounty hunter. A delicate brow raised in question at his words. So he could be honest after all. His jeer bruised her ego, calling her helpless like a fawn and soft in the head. Maybe she had just needed a bath, or did the threat of destroying his entire being was what brought some appeal to her? The slanting smug curve of her eyes and slight pull of her lips into a smirk hardly meant she worried about that question.
Jhyrack was right in needing to rest. She was tired, even with the food and water and luxurious bath given to her, there was still an ache in her body that made her feel sluggish, even while sitting down. She could close her eyes, keep some wits about her, but rest for a moment. She wouldn’t fall asleep. Ryna yawned, eyes fluttering shut as she tried to rest her head comfortably against the tree. No, she wouldn’t fall asleep, just rest her eyes because right as the first wave of drowsiness washed over her….
“Ugh, no,” she huffed, opening her eyes to glower at Jhyrack. “Did you not listen to me at all? I don’t want magic seeping out because something bad will happen. An earthquake, or suddenly everyone in the castle, is sick with an incurable disease. Magic is dangerous, especially in places it shouldn’t be.” Ryna sighed, shoulders slumping. “You can’t choose what form it will take when unleashed unfettered.” She closed her eyes once again.
“As for absorbing… break a large branch in half or start a fire and I can show you what it’s like.”
Jhyrack growled. The noise was one of frustration, rather than one of anger. He had thought he had figured out her powers.
Why did she have to make this complicated?
“Sounds like a magical sponge to me,” he murmured under his breath.
“You really want me to get a branch?” he asked. “I am not starting a fire.”
This had all been fun and games when he'd been catching a glance at her tits instead of being lectured on magic.
—
“Jhyrack.” Her voice was stern, it didn’t belong to a prisoner. “Do you want to see or not? I’ll only give you this opportunity once, understand?” Ryna waited a moment, looking up at Jhyrack through her lashes. “Just make sure it’s a big branch but not so big that you can’t bend it in half.”
He narrowed his eyes. He stood up. Jhyrack was obviously torn. He did want to see what she was explaining. He also did not want to be fetching a branch because she spoke sternly to him.
“Fucking branch,” he muttered. One final protest before he went to get a branch.
He eyed her as he used the serrated side of a knife to work through the base of a branch. Her tone had sent a flare of anger through him, but it slowly settled into a touch of respect for her attitude.
The branch was six foot long. He stood over her with it held in both hands.
“Well?”
—
“Well?” Ryna hummed back. “Well bend it. Like I said a minute ago? Or did you….” She trailed off, biting her lower lip to keep back the snark. Jhyrack was holding a branch as tall as her, though hardly as thick as she was, it was unnerving to think of herself as the thing between his large hands, moments from being broken in half. She cleared her throat, smoothing out the scowl on her face into something far more placid.
“You sawing through it gave me a little but I need more… tension. If you have the discipline for it, bend it slowly until it snaps.” Her hands held each other, as if begging for it despite her harsh tone. “Turn around though, I don’t want you getting wood chips in my hair. I just washed it.”
The minotaur scowled back at her. He rolled his eyes.
“You did not say…”
Jhyrack shook his head. What a deeply frustrating quarry. He had so far to take her. She was being walked to a dark fate, but could she not have accepted that with stoicism like most he captured?
He did not turn his back on her.
Wood chips in your hair!
Instead he turned a slight angle to break the branch away from her.
His broad shoulders flexed as he pressed the middle of the branch to one thigh and drew back slowly. It started to bend, the green outer layer splitting and peeling as it started to give.
Ryna’s face scrunched towards her glaring eyes, sparkling and sharp like diamonds. Ass, she thought. Bullheaded barbarian brute. That felt far more satisfying than just ‘ass’ though it somehow lost the edge of being one, succinct word. As the branch broke across Jhyrack’s knee, it was inevitable as a piece of wood, the length of a splinter and as thick as a thin, dried leaf, to hit Ryna. It fell against the curve of her neck, slipping to the hollow between her collarbones.
“You!” Her voice was hushed, less of a whisper and more of a breath. But she could feel it. There was the strain in his muscles, steady and deep. She could feel it, like a particular frequency only she could hear. A slow twang of strings for her ears alone.
Then there was the branch. The low, steady tempo from Jhyrack was more than a thrum. A beat of a drum. Soft and slow, and yet the more the branch broke, the faster and louder she could hear the drum. Like a herd of horses galloping over the edge of a hill. And at the silent song’s zenith, there came the crescendo, like earth splitting apart, a volcano erupting, the crack of lightning turned to fire.
Her skin was hot, white hot, like her veins were only made of candle wax. She opened her hands, and there before Jhyrack, as Ryna flushed pink from the red, a blue glowing orb of light was revealed to float just above her two palms. It was eerie. It was bright. It cast light all around them.
Ryna never knew this rule often spread by word of mouth: having light might allow one to see, but it allowed far more to see them. There were things in each and every wood— dark and hungry and restless. A long, slow howl could be heard in the distance.
He gave a hearty chuckle for her scowl. If she was going to be irritating him for the entire trip back then he would find some amusement for himself along the way.
The moment shifted. He didn't have a sense of the magic at work, but he could feel her concentration. Jhyrack fell into silence as he set his muscles working against one another to keep the flex and break of the branch slow and controlled.
She skin changed hue as she opened her hands. She was a curious creature. He hadn't seen anyone who used magic like this. For all his bluster to wind her up, he knew many times of magic and how to avoid being killed by them.
“Huh.”
Jhyrack slowly unbent the branch.
“You'd best make that light go away,” he said. He set the branch down and reached for his axe. Smoke and flickering fire light could deter simply beasts like wolves, but there were worse things out there.
By far the most concerning would be another party on the lookout for Ryna. He had taken the high path to avoid them.
A disagreeable part of Ryna wanted to refuse Jhyrack’s knowledge. A more reasonable side, mixed with fear, wanted the light to go away as well. But one who grew up in chains always had a rebellious streak. She looked at the swirling orb of light. It was like a thousand blue fireflies cycled around each other, sparking and dimming and then sparking again.
There was no need to taunt with a ‘make me’ though the thought occurred to her. The bounty hunter could make her. He had been fair to her— no generous, Ryna realized. He didn’t use her body, had brushed her hair without cutting it in fear of lice, and had let her bathe.
Now it seemed absurd to her. Tied to a tree, wearing his oversized tunic, hair clean and braided. Tue light dimmed as the orb became smaller and smaller. It winked at her, shadows growing long against her bust and face before disappearing completely.
The darkness, it was easier to speak.
“You won’t use me for pleasure.” It was a statement. Even now, she could tell he would not touch her. He didn’t leer, he didn’t touch, he didn’t show his strength to frighten her into submission. “You willingly give me the fuel I need to perform magic.” Ryna’s face turned toward him, though her soft, solemn face was hidden beneath the shade of a cloud and tree limbs. “You wash my clothes. Comb my hair. Give me food and water. It doesn’t make sense. Are you daft? What do you get by treating me this way? I am your slave. The Magician King wouldn’t know what you do to me, treating me well or poorly wouldn’t matter as long as you return me alive and still of sound mind.” Her stomach dropped, her blood ran hot. Ryna had tears in her eyes. She had to take a deep breath before speaking again.
“So what are you doing with me?” It was worse, thinking of the what ifs, what could happen, what could change. The kindness was expected, she was a prized pet, but there has been times when kindness was used to hurt her, a creature constantly reaching out for companionship. Her last words were more of a breath than a whisper, a thought not meant to be spoken. “What will you do to me?”
Her sudden outburst and series of questions caught him off guard. Jhyrack had been prepared to chastise her for potentially giving their position away, but in the darkness she started with the most surprising accusation and the continued.
He slowly sat on a fallen log and tossed the two branches aside. In the darkness, even the moon was enough to reflect a glint off his fangs. I anger, he thought to threaten that he could pin her, use her, empty himself into her all night but that it would not be worth her complaints.
He didn't react so quickly. Sitting his silence, the minotaur breathed heavily and tried to mentally walk through the confusing position he was in. She was owed no explanation, but he decided to try. She sounded broken. He told himself that trying might lead to less pathetic mewing on the way back.
“I take this work because I hear of great magical power. A danger to char and catch. This is…a challenge. A way to make my name. Jhyrack. Bounty hunter.”
He sighed.
“Are you daft…” he repeated quietly.
“And then I find a broken creature about to have her head sawed off by an orc. They do not slow me. You are not so hard to catch. This is disappointing. I hurt people if I need to. Enjoy it sometimes. You are very pretty, but I wash you because you smell. I feed you because I do not need to be cruel.”
“I… do not understand why you ask this!” he growled in frustration.
“Nevermind!” Ryna spat, fidgeting against the tree trunk. Toes curled into the dirt as she gnawed on her lower lip with sharp, pointy teeth. “I don’t even care anymore.” She huffed, glowering at nothing in particular, ignoring the shiny rivulets gliding down her cheeks. Her stomach was flipping over and over, her mind probably more confused than Jhyrack at her questions.
She supposed the bounty hunter was right, at his size, he didn’t need to be cruel. The magician king had become stunted and feeble over the many, many decades. Each body worse off than the last. Each body disposed of quicker than the last. When the magician king had first laid eyes on her, he was a man in his forties, able to still stand tall with a straight back. His shoulders didn’t slope forward and were wide and filled with plump skin and muscle.
Now his bodies were born hunched with uneven limbs, teeth and a head full of hair. The face would look like it had melted or that someone had accidentally smeared their thumb across the nose while it was still being molded like clay in the womb. The magician king became crueler with each passing year. Little disgusted him, and perhaps that was why he was inclined to things that were bloody and disgusting and filled from dark imaginations.
“I’m going to sleep. You can go ahead and keep watch over me. Or not. Maybe a nicer, smarter, handsom-er bounty hunter will take me away from you.”
“Oh fuck you,” Jhyrack laughed.
“And I'd kill anyone that smart and handsome anyway,” he added.
It seemed like he would fall to silence, but then he continued to grumble.
“Never caught anyone that complain I cleaned their clothes and didn't rape them? Maybe I will give you a proper fucking so you can meet your fate after a good…”
Jhyrack trailed off and gave a sharp growl of frustration.
He didn't mean any of those things. He was suddenly disappointed at himself in even rising to her insults.
“I will watch over you. Go to sleep.”
Scrunching herself up, Ryna tried to make herself smaller and smaller as each word left his mouth. Her thighs were pressed tight together as she drew them to her chest. Suddenly, she felt naked and defenseless wearing this oversized tunic belonging to him, smelling of him. She sniffled, rubbing her tear-streaked face against her arm.
The tunic felt rough, scratchy against her rosy cheek. Abrasive like him. Rough like him. Brutish like him.
“Well how am I supposed to sleep now after you just said you’d attack me and kill my imaginary savior?” She warbled pitifully, hiccuping at the end.
“Go to sleep. I will watch for trouble. Don't try and tug on the binds. Your clothes will be dry by morning.”
She was - he reflected - a particularly strange quarry. He was accustomed to collecting hardened criminals and vigilantes and crazed wizards. He was a violent creature, but not cruel. Not to the weak.
Not that he was perfect. At some point in the night, he thought about her cupping her soft breasts and imagined standing her before him and sliding his cock between them.
It had, after all, been quite a lonely march on the trail of the court sorcerer.
In the early hours, something snuffle at the edge of their camp. Jhyrack woke up and growled. It was gone into the darkness before the deep rumble finished.
He was up early with the light. Standing to gather their things and to collect her dried clothes.
Though fatigued in every nook and cranny of her being, body, mind, and soul, Ryna found it hard to fall asleep. Her captor was not far from her, and now her imagination had ignited with his fiery words. Her blood ran hot as she closed her eyes, trying to get comfortable. She held herself together like one cupped their hands around a beginning flame slowly taking to kindle.
‘A proper fucking…’ he had said, as if he knew anything about the word proper. Hair raised along her spine, and nape of her neck. She closed her eyes tighter, but the darkness only brought forth the opportunity to put images to the words.
She knew he found her pretty. Perhaps a little pathetic, too. She doubted he felt any sort of pity towards her. But pathetic and pretty? Ryna thought she could use those to her advantage. Lower his guard, give her that window of flight. And right now… well, right now she needed him to survive. Without his intervention earlier today, she wouldn’t be alive now. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
She could do it. Her life depended on it. Even if it meant resorting to seduction. Manipulating Jhyrack was her only choice.
It took her time to get settled. She had to relieve herself although her body was shaky when she squatted low. When she had first escaped, it had been a clumsy squat. Now, even with her thighs and fingers shaking, she didn’t have to worry about sullying herself. She didn’t need to be called smelly again.
In the end, Ryna did end up taking Jhyrack’s bedding. She tried to resist it, thinking of it as some sort of way to rebel. But during the night, she felt something with too many legs crawl against her foot and yelped from fright. The blanket felt like more protection— more than she had had for awhile. The comfort, though nothing as grand as what she had in the palace, was more than she had in months. It put her to sleep.
She was too tired to dream, and so only old memories floated throughout the night. Ryna could’ve kept sleeping, completely unaware of curious guests.
Jhyrack’s growl may have been low, but it rumbled through her veins. A sound so deep and primal that it chilled her despite her blood running hot. Like prey, Ryna froze, bleary blue eyes looking about. She stayed quiet, listening to her captor lumber about. When she sat up, her fidgeting during the night had her flaxen hair halo around her face in ethereal tendrils.
“What was it? A wolf?” Ryna whispered, holding the blanket tight around her. “A bear? A monster?”
“A something,” Jhyrack rumbled back.
“Didn't see. Not gonna chase something if I don't know what it is. Didn't sound too big.”
He hasn't been fully awake. It could have been something small and harmless. If it had been something large with sharp teeth, he did not want to give it cause to turn and fight.
He picked up his hammer with one hand. He gathered her clothes with the other. His hands were large enough for the task and it allowed him to keep the weapon close.
Despite his nonchalant words, he kept one ear in the direction of the unseen creature.
“Here, your clothes. Stained but not…”
Crusty, stiff and smelly, he thought to himself.
“...but better.”
His heart rate had spiked from being woken up by a threat. Red hairs stood on end across the back of his neck.
“Eat quickly, we move quickly. I want to get across the rocks and avoid leaving a trail. Do you understand?”
Jhyrack was curt and to the point. Once they had some distance from the skirmish with the orcs he would feel better.
“I’m sure not many things are bigger than you,” Ryna said with a roll of her eyes. She leaned her head against the tree, yawning as she shimmied her shoulders, beginning to stretch out her long limbs. She avoided his eyes when she took her clothes. That was easy to do, when she could focus on her bundle of a stained dress and underwear somewhere in the folds.
Ryna sniffed the dress, once her favorite color. It did smell better, though any softness from the fabric was now long gone. Finally, she stood, hardly graceful and needing the tree for support.
“Goodness, rushing me like this? Can’t wait to get your fame and reward?” Ryna’s voice was loud now. She yawned once more nonetheless. “Could you at least untie me now?” She raised her tied hands to Jhyrack. “You’re so quick to pack up it's like you’ll leave me behind.” The frown was small, its presence great upon her face.
“Why hurry?”
“It is light. I want more space between us and where I killed the orcs.”
Jhyrack dropped to one knee and unwound the rope from her wrists. He had tried not to tie it too tightly. There was a red mark beneath the rope, but it would fade soon.
“I am in no hurry to return,” he said, turning his back and stepping away. He slowly wound the rope into a loose loop.
“A little more distance across the rocks and no one will follow our trail,” he said.
“At least it will make it much harder to follow us.”
“So you’re scared.” Ryna said, staring at his broad back for a moment while she rubbed at her wrists. Her eyes lingered longer on his tail, perhaps the more honest part of him. She turned then, pulling his tunic up and over his head.
Most things would get caught on her horns. This didn’t, the opening so large that it slipped off her shoulders if she wasn’t careful. She shook though she tried to be intentional with each movement, playful and flirty and coy as she dressed herself in her own clothes. Of course, stepping into her dress that was stiff was never a graceful affair.
As she looked over her shoulder, to see if he was peeking, she was met with disappointment. Maybe she should have made more of a fuss, grunting or huffing to get him to look at her. Silent seduction was much easier in court, with fans and smiles instead of having to stand about naked before dressing.
“I don’t see why you’d be scared. All the orcs are dead. Or did you miss one?” Ryna had just began smile, lifting her chin, haughty despite her recent failure. She reached out to Jhyrack, stepping towards him so she could grab his attention with her hand. “Stop turning away from me and look at my face.”
She didn’t scream when she saw the arrow pierce through her hands. It was when she realized there was blood, and a lot of it, did she freeze, blue eyes widening in shock. She was slow in turning her head to where the arrow must have come from, too slow to hide from the other arrow flying towards her. Her scream was soft, a pained, breathless cry of shock with an arrow still wedged in the middle of her palm.
Jhyrack was focussed on getting their camp packed away, but it was impossible to miss the change in her tone. He was not a deep thinker. Jhyrack wasn't going to second guess the reason.
She approached him slowly. He turned his head slowly until he could see her hands reaching for him. The minotaur frowned. He heard the thwack of the bow string the instant before the arrow appeared. It quivered in the back of her hand.
“Fuck.”
His enormous hand grabbed her shoulder and he pushed her to the ground. The sniffle must have been a hunting hound.
Two more bow strings were plucked. Two arrows found their mark. Jhyrack had a thick hide, but they pierced him. They would leave shallow wounds, unable to slice him to the bone. It still hurt.
Jhyrack dropped to his knee and grabbed a broken log. He had used it to rest his head.
He flung it into the trees and heard the satisfying sound of it colliding.
“Fucking elves. Stay down!”
At first, Ryna wasn’t sure whether it was Jhyrack or the hidden archer that had pushed her to the ground. She cried out in pain, balance interrupted, only one hand to help break her fall. Her wrist on her good hand bent too much, a soreness that was nothing compared to the pulsing hot sting that made her break out in a cold sweat.
“By Aranyhíd and Ezüsthíd’s left hands!” Ryna cursed, naming old gods that Jhyrack would have no knowledge of. The pain she felt was overwhelming, but not unfamiliar. She froze because as a slave she had froze, starstruck by crimson and swollen limbs. Running or fighting would be a punishment akin to unimaginable torture.
When her head cleared enough a second later, she saw the arrows sticking out from Jhyrack. She screamed again, if only because of the shock. She had, somewhat naively, thought him to be invincible after his stunt with the orcs.
“You’re bleeding!” There was momentary reprieve from the archers and Ryna looked at the direction the arrow came. She didn’t see much, hair in her eyes, obscuring her vision. “What do we do? What do we do?”
“You stay down!” Jhyrack growled. His voice changed as he spoke. The words fading into a deep growl. A series of pops sounded as his body reshaped itself.
Rhyna was lying in his shadow now. He was a full sized minotaur. Black, red and brown fur covered his body and his horns were as wide as his shoulders.
He might have bristled with arrows, but he charged forwards into the trees. There was a scream. It started as one of fear and morphed into something gut wrenching and fatal.
The sounds continued, but Rhyna would hear something closer: elven voices. They spoke in their native language.
“They were supposed to run!”
“Not fast enough. Where is she?”
“Keep looking!”
“We just need her head then run as fast as you can!”
Ryna’s cheek was pressed hard to the ground, and though her eyes were closed tight, her imagination was far worse when it came to feeling the ground shake and the sound of his body shifting. Disgusting, Ryna thought, pointed ears catching every crack and pop. She shivered, unable to contain the tremors of fear in her body. She wanted to run away, but the thought of getting another arrow lodged into her body was enough to keep still.
At least, until she heard the elven voices. Elves. Ryna held her breath. There was an option: no savior, but elves would be more dignified than the brute she was with now. She could have an intelligent conversation with them, perhaps even convince them to let her go instead of back to the King.
Ryna poked her head up, searching for the elves. She had hoped they would be the tall and beautiful kind, if only because it would let her worry less about them forcing themselves on her. Any noble-looking elf would have the manners to not even think of such a foul act. But even the shorter wood elves with their thick accents made of slow syllables and drooling drawls would be better than Jhyrack, and they were known for a lack of values when drunk.
“I’m here,” Ryna hissed, not yet had she caught sight of any movement towards her direction. Ryna slowly began rising her knees, catching sight of the minotaur’s giant furry back. Ryna’s throat became dry. He was massive, his horns absolutely terrifying. There would little time to run away, the moment Jhyrack turned around, he’d see her trying to run away.
A whip wrapped around her calf, tripping her so she landed on arm and side. Her injured hand flared with a new pain. She cried out, cut it short by biting her lower lip. She turned, seeing a elf with hair the color of sunlight approach her warily. He had something in his hand that smelled bitter and sweet, like the paralyzing poison pollen from the nebáncsvirág flower. The Hurt-Me-Not-flower was known for its beautiful soft blue petals and pollen the color of amaranth that could paralyze any adult that breathed it in.
“It’s ok,” Ryna said, holding up her hands in peace. “You can take me, I won’t put up a flight.” She tried to smile, but the flicker of disgust in his green eyes told her she had failed to appear harmless. The elf held up the small knife, getting ready to strike.
