Prey

  The elf-girl ran through the ferns, breathing hard. The golden fronds slapped her face, and she ducked her head, seeking cover under their canopy. She had to stay hidden. She had to keep running. Her young muscles were screaming in pain, but she knew the stakes, and she pushed herself onward. Prey could not afford weakness once a predator caught their scent.

  She broke out of the undergrowth. The gentle hillside sloped down into a rock-strewn hollow. In the distance rose the low stone wall and the settlement’s watchtower. She was almost home.

  But she couldn’t make it back to the walls – not over open ground. She could hear her pursuer crashing through the underbrush somewhere behind her. She would be outpaced in no time on the flat. So she bore down into the hollow. The soil was thin here, and the golden ferns gave way to fungal clusters. Gravel sand underfoot left lighter footprints. Boulders littered the ground, leftovers from some great flash flood. The elf-child threw herself onto her hands and knees and backed into a little crevice between two rocks.

  Heart in her throat, she reached back out and risked exposure to shift the gravel and obscure the signs of her passing. She heard heavy footfalls and snapping foliage. Wriggling backwards, she squeezed herself as deep in the shadows as she could. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed the crevice narrowed where the two rocks met. Trailing fungus creepers draped the rocks, offering further camouflage. Wrinkling her nose as the damp smell, she hid herself under a strand of lacy creepers. Her breath came in rapid pants. She clapped her hand over her mouth to soften the sound.

  A distant snarl echoed through the hollow. She heard the rattling crunch of footpads on gravel. A shadow fell on the ground just outside her hiding place. Adrenaline fired her blood, and she bit down on the hand in her mouth. She grew lightheaded as the terrible anticipation stretched out.

  She waited. She had to be silent. She could not betray her position. She could not forfeit the chase. Not now! Not when salvation was so close. Not when she could taste the sweetness of triumph, the comfort of strong walls and the pounding bloodsong of victory. It was what all prey lived for: the heady joy of outlasting the hunter, of surviving one dance to start another. It was the way of things: the only Way.

  The elf-child heard heavy breaths, hissing through clenched teeth. A shadow advanced on her burrow. One great lizard foot came into view, then another: scales the color of dried blood, toes tipped with blunt claws. The clawed feet paced back and forth. The predator was searching for her scent.

  Her stomach churned with fear, and her blood sang with a terrible joy. Her skin felt on fire. She had never felt so alive.

  The feet stopped directly in front of her. She caught sight of a tail, its tip flicking idly as the hunter bent forward, to examine the patterns in the gravel.

  Then with a sudden growl, the shadow flung itself into a run. She watched the silhouette sprint off in search of a new trail.

   Her ribs ached, and she saw spots in front of her eyes. Only then did she realize she had been holding her breath, and she slowly let it out.

  She didn’t dare move for the longest time. She held herself perfectly still, listening to the world beyond her burrow. She heard the rustle of wind against the golden ferns, the whistling of insects, the drumming of her heart in her ears. But nothing more.

  She counted to eight-eights in her head. Then she counted backwards back to one. Still she heard nothing. She crept forward on hands and knees, halfway to the mouth of her burrow. She counted again, and again she heard nothing large than a cicada stirring outside.

  If she had fooled the hunter’s poor sense of smell, she had a chance. If she stuck to the shadows as long as she could, she could get within a hundred paces of the watchtower. She could still do this.

  She poked her head out of her burrow. She looked both ways before shimmying out on her belly. The gravel scratched her bare limbs. She crouched and dusted off her knees, readying for a run.

  She heard a low growl coming from behind her. Slowly she began to turn, to look up at the summit of the two boulders, and the menacing silhouette perched high above her.

  With a shriek, she took off, running pell-mell towards freedom. The hunter let loose a defeaning roar, then gave chase.

  She wove between the boulders, trying to keep a rock between them. He was faster, but she was more agile. Whimpers lodged in her throat as she pumped her arms and legs. Once, twice, his monstrous shadow enveloped her, and she ducked just as a clawed arm lashed out. The air hissed by her ear as he missed her by a mere fingerspan.

  She ran towards a large cluster of fungal hives. Triggered by her approach, the hives let off a cloud of spores, and she used the distraction to cut sharply to the left. She had only the final flat to cross. She could almost see the watchtower window. If she could just get a little closer, she could wave up to the sentry. Not that he could save her in time. But she was past a rational thought. She only wanted to delay the inevitable as long as she could. One more step, one more breath.

  Again his shadow covered hers, and this time both arms came out. She screamed her defiance in one long howl as a pair of hands clasped about her waist, lifting her clear off the ground.

  “Taal!” he roared triumphantly.

 “Noooooooooooo!” She flailed ineffectively. But she was no match for his strength. One muscular arm locked tight about her, and she squealed as the claws of his right hand bit into her ribs.

 “No fair! No tickling! Nooooaaahahahaha!” She kicked and pummelled him until he relented, and swung her upright. Perched in the crook of  his arm, she seized his scarred face in her hands and roared back a hoarse war cry of her own.

  If it sounded more kittenish than terrifying, Beast gave no sign. He beamed with fatherly pride. “Good hunt,” he pronounced, touching his nose to hers.

  “Yes,” Naga agreed, giddy. “Again?”

  He flicked a red-gold curl out of her face with his free hand. “Shouldn’t we go back to Mama now?”

  “No, again!” Naga insisted. She matched his broad smile. “This time you’re prey!”