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3rd of Summer, 514AV
The air still smelt of Spring, though it had passed a few days prior. It was her favourite season, although Summer was a close second. Having lived in Avanthal for her short childhood, the warm was a welcome change from the hard tundra of old.
Every morning she would make her way from her small living quarters, and venture towards the pass. It was one of the places she felt safe, although it was a double edged sword, for each time she approached, she felt as if she was waiting for something. This morning was no different. She'd donned her clothing, the simple things that people of low income would usually wear, all in black, and made her way down the lightening streets. Few people were out this time of morning, a few sailors on their way to the docks would occasionally pass by, but most people seemed to prefer the comfort of their beds and lovers arms this early in the morn.
There seemed to be no distinct line between the pass and Zeltiva, but Zasantha sensed a change whenever she moved from the city into the rough terrain. It felt more homely, like she belonged away from the smoke of the town, and the pungent scent of salt on the wind.
As she entered into the pass, she took a moment to look up at the mountains. It often felt as if they called for her, asking her to brave their peaks and see what she might find. She never did, but that calling to run free was there.
Along the edges of the road were patches of sparse vegetation, sometimes along the path flowers were beginning to bloom, finally warming under the fresh, Summer, sun.
She bent to pick one of those flowers, it was the most peculiar shade of pink, but as her fingers went to close around it, thorns spiked at her fingers. It was unexpected and made her leap back in surprise, her bloodied fingers going to her mouth, and the blood licked clean.
She'd never seen that kind of flower before, well she'd not seen many flowers anyway, a few paintings here and there, and the usual wild flowers that popped up along the pass during Spring.
Gathering her courage again, she removed a small shaving razor from her backpack and approached the blooming flower. Bending low, she wrapped the corner of her cloak around her hand, grabbed the stem of the flower, and sliced the head from the stem with the razor.
She stood up, and brought the flower up to her nose, inhaling softly of its scent. She exclaimed loudly, startling birds in a nearby tree into flight. The smell was the closest thing to divinity as she had ever known. Her senses could not begin to fathom the different nuances of smell that wafted beneath her nose.
Very gently she found a pocket in her backpack, and placed the flower within it, hoping that it would not become crushed. Perhaps whenever she returned, someone could tell her what it was.
She continued deeper into the pass, not really looking for anything specific, just looking at everything. The thought of changing crossed her mind, but as it did each time, it made her cringe, so she pushed the thought away. One foot in front of the other she wandered on, glancing occasionally at the sky and the distance specks, presumably birds, that drifted high on the drafts.
She lost track of where she was going for a while, just continuing as she always did, left foot after right foot. She only managed to look up in time to see some form of beast grazing ahead off to the right of the path. It was beautiful creature, smaller than many were, but elegant in the way it lifted its head to the air to try and gauge whether she was friend or foe. Whilst the doe was weighing up options, so too was Zasantha.
Her bow felt comfortable against her back, but she knew it would feel better in her fingers. Thinking along those lines, she unslung it from her back and ran her fingers of the beautiful yew wood, her eyes never leaving the doe, which still stood quietly about 250yds away.
Very slowly, she slipped her backpack from her shoulders and pushed it under some shrubbery with her foot, out of sight of potential thieves. Then, with just as much caution, she reached over her shoulder and felt for the arrows sitting in their quiver, removing one with minimal sound.
The doe seemed to sense something, as her ears pricked and she raised her head in a more alert fashion, however her gaze was not towards Zasantha, but down the road, where the sun had not quite managed to cast all of its early morning brilliance.
Zas notched the arrow gently against the bowstring, and pulled back towards her jaw, using most of the strength in her sinewy shoulders and arms.
It was like the calm before the storm. Her sense as strained as her body was. The doe suddenly shot away from her safe point, running towards the archer. She didn't move. She knew in some part of her brain that the deer would dodge her. She had other problems to worry about.
From the fading darkness came a guttural noise, something that seemed mixed between an animal and anger. The hair on Zas neck stood to attention, and she shifted the aim of her bow away from the fleeing deer, and towards the shape that was appearing in the light.
Most of her body told her flee, flee away, but she also knew that if she could kill the mongrel that now stood in sight, she could potentially fetch a pretty coin for his pelt; if she survived.
Don't be stupid, you're a panther, you can take him she reassured herself, though she felt anything but confident.
Inhale, exhale. She repeated the mantra to herself for a few seconds whilst each sized the other up. It was but a fraction of the fourth second before the monstrosity roared to life, and bunched up it's hind legs and leaped towards her.
She simultaneously let loose the arrow. She held no hopes that it would hit the creature, and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction when it slammed into the wolf's shoulder.
The monster made a soul wrenching cry as it lost control of it's right side.
A small smile slipped onto Zasantha's lips, she quickly pulled the quiver from her back and placed it where her backpack lay hidden, and tucked her bow in with it.
The wolf was trying to approach, it's lips pulled back in a snarl against it's teeth. It knew it needed to kill now or be killed; it could not walk away from this fight.
The cringe that usually came with the thought of changing stayed away as she stripped down to the body that she was born with. Clothes were so restricting. Then she began to change, conforming to the light that was the change.
It only took moments, and where prior a pale young woman had stood, naked in the cool air, a sleek, black predator now watched the pathetic, wounded creature in front of it. Her eyes glinted with amusement as she slowly approached the now whining pup.
It was over in moments, her teeth dripping life blood from the now dead wolf. She ran her tongue over the sharp, killing weapons, enjoying the taste of the dead.
She strolled over to where she'd kept her belongings and turned back to the more uncomfortable human form, donning her clothes as quickly as possible; one would never know who may see a naked form and try to take advantage.
She took the shaving razor from her bag and made her way back the creature, dragging him of the path and into the small clearing that previously a deer had been grazing.
Taking her razor she began to cut into the skin around his neck. It was a ragged cut, but she slowly began to peel the skin from it's flesh. Occasionally it would rip, and a large, ragged split would appear in the skin, making the fur appear ruffled.
Eventually she got to the tail, and just cut it away from the fur, she didn't need it.
She held her prize up to the bright morning sun and smiled in satisfaction. A master tanner would have cringed at the state of it, splattered with blood, an arrow whole through a major part of it, and ragged lines running about the place, but Zas was proud of it.
She hung the fur over a low hanging tree branch and hustled up as much kindling and small pieces of wood as she could, stacking it into a pile. Then, she took her steel and flicked the flint against it in quick succession. It took several attempts before the fire stirred to life.
In a mediocre attempt at making a smoking rack, she found appropriately shaped stick and arranged them over the fire, at smoke level. Then taking her now blunting razor, she began to shave pieces of meat from the creature, stabbing the pieces onto the hang stick.
Once she'd finished, she had about 15 pieces of meat hanging above the fire, smoking away.
She'd left aside a very meaty haunch, which she had cut from it's main corpse. Standing precariously over the fire, she held it to the flames, trying to sear the outside. One side became blackened as the fire got hotter, burning into the flesh. Zas crinkled her nose in disgust, but nonetheless she pulled the meat from the fire and set it aside for a few moments.
After using a little bit of water from her skin to wash her hands of the blood, she returned to her meat and dug into a satisfying, if tough and bland, meal of fried wolf.
Once her meal was finished, she refixed her quiver to her back and her bow over her shoulder and head. Finishing with her backpack slung over the opposite shoulder, and the wolf pelt, covered now in dried blood, over her head like a hood of honour.
.
.
Every morning she would make her way from her small living quarters, and venture towards the pass. It was one of the places she felt safe, although it was a double edged sword, for each time she approached, she felt as if she was waiting for something. This morning was no different. She'd donned her clothing, the simple things that people of low income would usually wear, all in black, and made her way down the lightening streets. Few people were out this time of morning, a few sailors on their way to the docks would occasionally pass by, but most people seemed to prefer the comfort of their beds and lovers arms this early in the morn.
There seemed to be no distinct line between the pass and Zeltiva, but Zasantha sensed a change whenever she moved from the city into the rough terrain. It felt more homely, like she belonged away from the smoke of the town, and the pungent scent of salt on the wind.
As she entered into the pass, she took a moment to look up at the mountains. It often felt as if they called for her, asking her to brave their peaks and see what she might find. She never did, but that calling to run free was there.
Along the edges of the road were patches of sparse vegetation, sometimes along the path flowers were beginning to bloom, finally warming under the fresh, Summer, sun.
She bent to pick one of those flowers, it was the most peculiar shade of pink, but as her fingers went to close around it, thorns spiked at her fingers. It was unexpected and made her leap back in surprise, her bloodied fingers going to her mouth, and the blood licked clean.
She'd never seen that kind of flower before, well she'd not seen many flowers anyway, a few paintings here and there, and the usual wild flowers that popped up along the pass during Spring.
Gathering her courage again, she removed a small shaving razor from her backpack and approached the blooming flower. Bending low, she wrapped the corner of her cloak around her hand, grabbed the stem of the flower, and sliced the head from the stem with the razor.
She stood up, and brought the flower up to her nose, inhaling softly of its scent. She exclaimed loudly, startling birds in a nearby tree into flight. The smell was the closest thing to divinity as she had ever known. Her senses could not begin to fathom the different nuances of smell that wafted beneath her nose.
Very gently she found a pocket in her backpack, and placed the flower within it, hoping that it would not become crushed. Perhaps whenever she returned, someone could tell her what it was.
She continued deeper into the pass, not really looking for anything specific, just looking at everything. The thought of changing crossed her mind, but as it did each time, it made her cringe, so she pushed the thought away. One foot in front of the other she wandered on, glancing occasionally at the sky and the distance specks, presumably birds, that drifted high on the drafts.
She lost track of where she was going for a while, just continuing as she always did, left foot after right foot. She only managed to look up in time to see some form of beast grazing ahead off to the right of the path. It was beautiful creature, smaller than many were, but elegant in the way it lifted its head to the air to try and gauge whether she was friend or foe. Whilst the doe was weighing up options, so too was Zasantha.
Her bow felt comfortable against her back, but she knew it would feel better in her fingers. Thinking along those lines, she unslung it from her back and ran her fingers of the beautiful yew wood, her eyes never leaving the doe, which still stood quietly about 250yds away.
Very slowly, she slipped her backpack from her shoulders and pushed it under some shrubbery with her foot, out of sight of potential thieves. Then, with just as much caution, she reached over her shoulder and felt for the arrows sitting in their quiver, removing one with minimal sound.
The doe seemed to sense something, as her ears pricked and she raised her head in a more alert fashion, however her gaze was not towards Zasantha, but down the road, where the sun had not quite managed to cast all of its early morning brilliance.
Zas notched the arrow gently against the bowstring, and pulled back towards her jaw, using most of the strength in her sinewy shoulders and arms.
It was like the calm before the storm. Her sense as strained as her body was. The doe suddenly shot away from her safe point, running towards the archer. She didn't move. She knew in some part of her brain that the deer would dodge her. She had other problems to worry about.
From the fading darkness came a guttural noise, something that seemed mixed between an animal and anger. The hair on Zas neck stood to attention, and she shifted the aim of her bow away from the fleeing deer, and towards the shape that was appearing in the light.
Most of her body told her flee, flee away, but she also knew that if she could kill the mongrel that now stood in sight, she could potentially fetch a pretty coin for his pelt; if she survived.
Don't be stupid, you're a panther, you can take him she reassured herself, though she felt anything but confident.
Inhale, exhale. She repeated the mantra to herself for a few seconds whilst each sized the other up. It was but a fraction of the fourth second before the monstrosity roared to life, and bunched up it's hind legs and leaped towards her.
She simultaneously let loose the arrow. She held no hopes that it would hit the creature, and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction when it slammed into the wolf's shoulder.
The monster made a soul wrenching cry as it lost control of it's right side.
A small smile slipped onto Zasantha's lips, she quickly pulled the quiver from her back and placed it where her backpack lay hidden, and tucked her bow in with it.
The wolf was trying to approach, it's lips pulled back in a snarl against it's teeth. It knew it needed to kill now or be killed; it could not walk away from this fight.
The cringe that usually came with the thought of changing stayed away as she stripped down to the body that she was born with. Clothes were so restricting. Then she began to change, conforming to the light that was the change.
It only took moments, and where prior a pale young woman had stood, naked in the cool air, a sleek, black predator now watched the pathetic, wounded creature in front of it. Her eyes glinted with amusement as she slowly approached the now whining pup.
It was over in moments, her teeth dripping life blood from the now dead wolf. She ran her tongue over the sharp, killing weapons, enjoying the taste of the dead.
She strolled over to where she'd kept her belongings and turned back to the more uncomfortable human form, donning her clothes as quickly as possible; one would never know who may see a naked form and try to take advantage.
She took the shaving razor from her bag and made her way back the creature, dragging him of the path and into the small clearing that previously a deer had been grazing.
Taking her razor she began to cut into the skin around his neck. It was a ragged cut, but she slowly began to peel the skin from it's flesh. Occasionally it would rip, and a large, ragged split would appear in the skin, making the fur appear ruffled.
Eventually she got to the tail, and just cut it away from the fur, she didn't need it.
She held her prize up to the bright morning sun and smiled in satisfaction. A master tanner would have cringed at the state of it, splattered with blood, an arrow whole through a major part of it, and ragged lines running about the place, but Zas was proud of it.
She hung the fur over a low hanging tree branch and hustled up as much kindling and small pieces of wood as she could, stacking it into a pile. Then, she took her steel and flicked the flint against it in quick succession. It took several attempts before the fire stirred to life.
In a mediocre attempt at making a smoking rack, she found appropriately shaped stick and arranged them over the fire, at smoke level. Then taking her now blunting razor, she began to shave pieces of meat from the creature, stabbing the pieces onto the hang stick.
Once she'd finished, she had about 15 pieces of meat hanging above the fire, smoking away.
She'd left aside a very meaty haunch, which she had cut from it's main corpse. Standing precariously over the fire, she held it to the flames, trying to sear the outside. One side became blackened as the fire got hotter, burning into the flesh. Zas crinkled her nose in disgust, but nonetheless she pulled the meat from the fire and set it aside for a few moments.
After using a little bit of water from her skin to wash her hands of the blood, she returned to her meat and dug into a satisfying, if tough and bland, meal of fried wolf.
Once her meal was finished, she refixed her quiver to her back and her bow over her shoulder and head. Finishing with her backpack slung over the opposite shoulder, and the wolf pelt, covered now in dried blood, over her head like a hood of honour.
.
.
