- Messages
- 49
- Character Biography
- Link
For a moment, Rori could only hear the blood pounding in her ears, loud and chaotic, like the drums from the camp, like the storm of her own fear.
So this was how it ended. Devoured by wolves whilst running from a tribe of orcs who had taken her captive. It made for an interesting story, at least.
Her chest ached with each ragged breath, her heart clawing its way up her throat, and her entire body trembled from cold and shock. Something hot trailed down her back, a slow, burning sting that she barely felt until it bit deep.
Then came the sound of violence, real and brutal. She looked up just in time to see Urosh crash into the pack like a thunderclap.
The wolves fell upon him in a snarl of teeth and fury, and she could do nothing but watch, huddled into the gnarled roots of a twisted tree, clutching her useless rock like it might save her. Her breath came in sobs that made no sound. The forest rang with roars and the crack of bone, and she flinched with every blow, every cry of pain as she waited for them to come for her next.
But he didn’t fall.
He stood his ground, bloodied but unbroken, his strength something savage and terrible to behold. One by one the wolves fell away yelping, whining, thudding lifelessly into the dirt or fleeing into the trees until only silence and the stench of blood remained.
When he turned toward her, she froze. For an instant, she thought he might finish what the wolves had started. She tightened her grip on the rock, her muscles screaming with exhaustion. But he only sank to one knee beside her, the sound of his breath ragged and heavy in the dark.
Are you bitten?...
She blinked at him, unable to speak. Slowly, she shook her head, strands of wet hair clinging to her face. “No,” she rasped. Her voice trembled, weaker than she wanted it to be. “Not bitten.”
The perfect claws that had raked across her back burned like fire, but how could she complain when he was bleeding from half a dozen wounds and still upright?
She looked at him for a long moment, unsure if she was supposed to apologise, thank him, or curse him. He was the reason she’d been in danger at all. And yet… he’d saved her life. For his own coin, yes, but it was her fault they were so far from his camp. The wolves would never have dared attack them there.
Her throat tightened. She looked away, pushing herself to her feet with trembling arms. “Those wounds need to be cleaned. And stitched,” she said softly, the words catching between defiance and concern. “You’ll bleed out before sunrise if you don’t.”
The rock slipped from her fingers, landing soundlessly in the moss between them.
So this was how it ended. Devoured by wolves whilst running from a tribe of orcs who had taken her captive. It made for an interesting story, at least.
Her chest ached with each ragged breath, her heart clawing its way up her throat, and her entire body trembled from cold and shock. Something hot trailed down her back, a slow, burning sting that she barely felt until it bit deep.
Then came the sound of violence, real and brutal. She looked up just in time to see Urosh crash into the pack like a thunderclap.
The wolves fell upon him in a snarl of teeth and fury, and she could do nothing but watch, huddled into the gnarled roots of a twisted tree, clutching her useless rock like it might save her. Her breath came in sobs that made no sound. The forest rang with roars and the crack of bone, and she flinched with every blow, every cry of pain as she waited for them to come for her next.
But he didn’t fall.
He stood his ground, bloodied but unbroken, his strength something savage and terrible to behold. One by one the wolves fell away yelping, whining, thudding lifelessly into the dirt or fleeing into the trees until only silence and the stench of blood remained.
When he turned toward her, she froze. For an instant, she thought he might finish what the wolves had started. She tightened her grip on the rock, her muscles screaming with exhaustion. But he only sank to one knee beside her, the sound of his breath ragged and heavy in the dark.
Are you bitten?...
She blinked at him, unable to speak. Slowly, she shook her head, strands of wet hair clinging to her face. “No,” she rasped. Her voice trembled, weaker than she wanted it to be. “Not bitten.”
The perfect claws that had raked across her back burned like fire, but how could she complain when he was bleeding from half a dozen wounds and still upright?
She looked at him for a long moment, unsure if she was supposed to apologise, thank him, or curse him. He was the reason she’d been in danger at all. And yet… he’d saved her life. For his own coin, yes, but it was her fault they were so far from his camp. The wolves would never have dared attack them there.
Her throat tightened. She looked away, pushing herself to her feet with trembling arms. “Those wounds need to be cleaned. And stitched,” she said softly, the words catching between defiance and concern. “You’ll bleed out before sunrise if you don’t.”
The rock slipped from her fingers, landing soundlessly in the moss between them.
