85 Summer, 511.
Being thrown off the back of a caravan is the sort of reality that a stowaway expects, but a reality that they hope never comes true. But in the case of Tarn and road burn that he had on his shoulder, the reality was a tingling burning sensation all along his shoulder and upper arm as he looked out to the road on either side of him as the caravan pulled away down the road. The merchant was armed (something that he overlooked when he hopped into the back) so trying to usurp his control would be deadly and not to mention the little fact of the Knights that may or may not occasionally patrol this well-travelled road and ask what was up. That very same threat was the reason why Tarn got up to his feet and off of the road; his clothes didn't exactly make Tarn look all that intimidating as he looked like someone that took pleasure rolling around in the dirt and grime of the streets. The Wildlands were a dangerous place to be alone, and a place where Tarn was sure he would meet his death. The little dagger at his side would do nothing more than to annoy a beast that wanted to snack on Tarn’s bones and his skill for surviving outside of an urban environment was next to nothing. There were no familiar landmarks; there were no streets or merchants or peasants – just trees, rocks, and some more trees. The wound on his shoulder had dirt and sand that had dug under the surface of his skin and made the injury burn even more along his flesh as he moved through the forest, not following a path or any sort of general direction; for all Tarn knew he could be travelling around in a damn circle and yet still be fascinated by the greenery of the trees around him. And the rocks. The damn rocks that stuck out from the ground as if someone had purposely placed them all in Tarn’s way just to annoy him. His vision caught site of a pond or lake in the middle of the little forest that he found himself in, a body of water that was unnaturally clean and clear and looked like it would be a good place to try and get cleaned up. Once he was at the edge of the water he stepped inside the cool water that lapped at his legs. He grinded his teeth as the coolness overwhelmed his body as he sunk down to his knees and brought a hand cautiously behind his back to the wound. It wouldn’t be so easy to simply brush off the sand that was embedded in the flesh as it worked itself into the soft, red tissue and it required more elbow grease to work those tiny, minuscule pebbles out of the flesh. The entire time Tarn stood there he grunted out like an animal with a thorn in its paw while scrubbing away at the bloody wound. Tarn’s motions stopped as he saw some small brush move in the distance, not by the wind but by some creature. He hoped that it was something harmless and cute, like a bunny, that he could try and catch and eat for food. As he thought about how he would go about doing that, he had no plan other than to simply run at it and hope he would be able to catch it and break its back. That’s how real hunters did it in the wild, right? As the creature walked casually out from the brush Tarn saw exactly what it was – a damn cat, and not a cuddly one either. From what little Tarn knew of wildlife he thought it was a cougar, and cougars weren’t something he remembered being all that friendly towards anyone. He narrowed his eyes as he got a closer to at the beast – was that blood on his muzzle? – and Tarn did not move a damn muscle as he squatted there in the water, with only the top of his shoulders and head poking out from the perfect stillness of the pond. The beast, of course, could plainly see that Tarn was in the water and it turned its head in his direction. Tarn had no idea what the beast was thinking and he hoped that the paranoid thoughts in his mind were right. Cats don’t like water, so why would this cougar risk going in the water to some grubby looking human? Then as he rubbed a finger over the wound on his back he knew exactly why the beast had come out of hiding and towards the water. The scent of blood would probably not only attract beasts that fed on meat, but also of the sea monster that lie dormant at the bottom of this pond. Because with Tarn’s luck, that magical beast was probably sniffing his butt under the water at that very moment. |