downswing: (allegria)
ʟᴀɴ ᴡᴀɴɢᴊɪ | 蓝忘机 ([personal profile] downswing) wrote in [community profile] westwhere 2022-04-25 12:03 am (UTC)

No, and her markings appear few and scant and unlikely to condemn her to a limp or a stagger. She claims she possesses — a weapon. Perhaps sorcery, as seems to be the ken of so many among them. 'Back-up,' and though he first distrusts the notion —

He who runs first is more exposed. There is a limited wealth of assistance he can provide from a distance. Better to risk his skin and provide her with precaution of where dangers lurk than to allow her to meet them face on.

So be it. One nod, more sketch and the slant of his eyes mean — and then he dashes forward, step thundered, a life of training and magical enforcement colliding to create his speed here, now. His progress here, now.

To his gladness, no creature pursues him. He hears no heaviness of step, no growls, no hard breath, feels no claws entrap him. The waters greet him, and he smells the wet of them, the damp — then the blood, old and rusting, and the foul deterioration of animal flesh, and he sees now the reason why his stones never broke the lake's waters. Sees the pebbles balanced clumsily where they've landed on a spread of woodland creatures, murdered fresh or dragged.

This, then, was the carnage or feeding site of the Beastmaster's animals, hours before. Unequivocally. A disgusting display, but — he calls back, over his shoulder, "Emptied path. Come."

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