Trapped

[Trente]

*
91st of Spring, 513

The steady rhythm of slow stallion hooves against the worn highway filled the diminutive family with dread as they lay huddled against the cool damp ground, shifting with all manner of unseeable wild life, some distance off the road. Trente felt a twinge of regret that his son's first glimpse of Syliran Knight on horse back would be as an outlaw, and not as he had, a son of Syliras, safe under the tremendous wing of the Syliran banner.

Matilis' stomach churned, but he knew better than to ask after food, with his face nearly buried into the rich moss upon the wildland's floor as it were, questions rarely improved his situation.

As if of second sight the small company of knights slowed as they passed, peering out over the trees bordering the Kabrin Road, careful to scan each tree branch for hidden dangers. Trente and his son, concealed beneath the fur cloak lay undiscovered as the scouts gathered steady speed again and continued their duty, to serve their order and keep the roads safe of scoundrels and outlaws of Trente's ilk.

Trente worked the stiff chill from his fingers as he finally allowed his son to raise, an uneasy popping and cracking reporting from his own limbs as they did so.

Matilis pulled a ripe vividly hued mushroom from the forest floor as they did so only to have it plucked deftly from his freezing hands to be tossed right back into the trees by his critical father.

"Do not press tongue to that which you cannot account for in simple terms." His words flowed naturally from him, as if any child should understand, but Matilis did not, only that hunger filled him and that he was not to consume the mushrooms from the forest floor. His ultimate obedience would hinder upon how hungry he grew in the days to come.

Trente understood this, understood well what hunger could drive a child to consume, and knew that his son hadn't the time to discover true hunger, not yet. He portioned the stale and stolen rations in his mind as they continued forth, marking the day in his mind. The Knights appeared to be on rotation in a five sun cycle, and though Syliran Knights could hardly be counted on to stay away when you wished them to, it eased his mind to think that their night could go unmolested, and that there would be likely a store of firewood awaiting them at the next check point.

And there was, enough to keep an easy fire burning throughout the night, and heat the already tough meat cured by the unfortunate travelers that he and his son had stumbled upon several days prior.

The chill of travel still pervaded them even as they drew their unwashed blankets in around them, and unrelenting dreams of walking along the Kabrin Road plagued both of their dreams. The sensation of movement seemed to cling to the weary travelers even as they rested, their feet throbbing and breaking with blister. Trente's nightmare was that the road had twisted onward in some sick joke of the dead and gone god of travel to extend onward past possibility, onward forever so that he and his son may walk forever and never reach his home, a place he had spent the better part of fifteen years trying not to recall.

This tentative rest was broken suddenly by a heavy sensation, one Trente did not truly wake to till his son shook at him from the cot's side, with hushed reports of something upon the roof of their tiny wooden cabin.

Trente rose bleary eyed and pushed his son aside, far more concerned than he appeared in his half-conscious state, yet far less concerned than he would be in the moments following his investigation.

He drew his sword, wanting to be prepared, though knowing there was no preparation for the wilds, and pushed close to the door, but it was from the fireplace the sound began. Slow and low through the heavy shadows of the darkened cabin came a rolling, at first like the whispers of an earth shift or a thunder's roar, but then Trente placed it.

Deep and haunting, funneling down through the narrow hearth chimney came the sound of a feline's purr in truly gigantic proportions. Trente had heard stories of these creatures, how large the Wildlands could grow them on the entrails of abducted children and fetuses of smaller more adorable creatures. Yes, so wicked those stories were he knew that there were no encouraging words for his son in that moment, that it remained best for him to wonder and create his own horrors to picture this fright, for none could be as unsettling as the thoughts which clouded Trente's mind.

"It must have pressed to the chimney for warmth."

Trente's words came in a register somewhere below a whisper, and his son responded with a sudden and croaked, "What is it?" Which won nothing but a passive expression from his father, which seemed little more than foreboding in the heavy shadows of the night.

"It will leave." Trente whispered after an elongated moment.

Trente quietly flipped shut the lock upon the sturdy wooden door, and moved to the side of the unpaned window fixed upon the side of the tiny cabin, eyes trained through the flickering darkness at the only remaining opening wide enough for such a creature to enter through.

This movement did not deter the fearsome creature above, however, as its pleased guttural purrs pervaded the air around them, gripping at their minds without reprieve.

Trente nearly found himself to sleep when another shift occurred upon the cabin. When his mind jolted to clarity the haunting purr had ceased, and an eery silence pervaded their darkening sanctuary.

Matilis sat in the corner wide eyed, nowhere near slumber, and Trente let the silence hang for a long moment before carefully rising up with sure tentative step and slack knees to slide to the hearth side where a newly stoked oil lantern sat, compliments of the ever watchful Syliran Knights.

He lit the lantern with several strikes of flint, which sounded to be shifts of giant rock in the night's silence, then steadied the flame and drew closer to the window. He was not fool enough to step from to doorway, regardless of what his bladder desired, but to rest easy required certain reassurances.

He held the lantern up first, rapier gripped firmly in his off hand, then allowed his face to follow a moment later. His heart ceased a moment as his eyes set upon gleaming eyes in return, and tufts of matted fur. In that moment he nearly let out a yelp of fear before his mind grasped the form before him.

Not ten yard away sat, with a panicked expression upon its face a harmless hare, nose twitching and chest heaving at the sight of the man holding in his grip what must have seemed like a fragment of Syna herself. Trente allowed himself to relax with a forgiving breath when the tiny animal suddenly crushed with the shortest squeal of death before a gurgle of blood escaping from its tiny throat.
*

[Trente]

*
Ripped muscle coated in twitching, undulating naturally toned tawny fur stretched for over two meters outward above the deceased hare, blood pooling menacingly from clenches jaws, more than capable of fitting its smooth robust teeth clear around Matilis' face. Ear to ear.

Its eyes glowed with an unnatural flame, like magic, as it settled its deadly gaze, unsettlingly calm, upon Trente's own petrified face.

Trente commanded himself to think, but with the eruption of a deep guttural growl from the predator any thought of immediate action dissipated into the haunting night.

Then, before Trente could find within him the wit to free itself from the beast's vocal grasp, the fire within its eyes grew at an expedient rate. Trente was nearly beheaded before he realized what had happened. In a fashion Trente had only beholden by men adept in flux magic the monster leaped with a dominating grace toward the window in a single imposing bound.

Trente withdrew his head instinctually, saved by a deep will to survive, a pool of skill possessing far more celerity than he himself thought imaginable.

His hand, however, stung horribly from some pressure as he finally pooled his body back against the close wall of the cabin. His heart stopped, had his hand been removed? He rose his arm up and saw nothing, blackness filled the room, then a sudden flare of light revealed his whole hand, attached as it were meant to be, a strip of pain along the fingers where the lantern's handle had been extracted forcefully from his grip.

Then alarm replaced relief as only inches from his face flailed a giant paw, with glistening sharp claws projecting outward like a series of well trained daggers. The sight fueled by an unsettling about of light and heat.

Trente pressed himself as firmly as possible to the wooden wall, as flakes of chipped wood flew from the sill about the window's opening, stripped by powerful claws, and Matilis screamed in what in a more mundane setting may have been a mocking satyr of a cry for help, but only added to the pressure within the diminutive cabin.

Trente allowed his eyes to stretch out over the contents of the besieged room, in search of the sudden blazing heat. Fire from the eyes of the beast, perhaps? No, the lantern and its oils spread like a noxious poison across the centre of their cabin turned death trap.

"Put it out!" Trente ordered with surprising stillness to his words, as his eyes settled back before him upon the immediate danger of the claws searching the cabins interior for something delicious and soft.

Trente took a deep breath in, straightened his back, and flow a quick exhale accompanying a deft strike of rapier point. Not deft as the wild creature of flaming eyes concocted as retaliation. The tip caught only to return on Trente with a sudden disarming pressure. The blade ripped from his hand as easily as the lantern had, and Trente marveled at the superior strength of the hunter striking inward at them.

There was a report of pain, however, and the claw withdrew with a hiss rivaling that of a giant snake.

Trente seized his moment, moving from the corner he had been pinned into with a dexterous leap to the floor, aside the licking flames, and ripping their only blanket from the bed which he had sat upon. It was, however, too late.

Trente did not see his son let the pale of water spill out, but he felt it upon his knees, and it ran past him like hot coal. Or at least he acted as such. He jumped again, out of the water, away from the fire, just as the oil spread along the cabin floor, whisked about by the liquid which immediately began to pop and crack menacingly beneath them.

The fire spread out, first, then grew upward, licking gluttonously at the handle of the only door. They were trapped.

Matilis moved to huddle in fright to his fathers side upon the narrow cot, astounded and appalled at how the water had betrayed him, only to have the corned of the thick blanket thrust into his small hands.

"Cover the flames." Trente had fury within him, had he not been so keen at the thought of maintaining his own life he'd have tossed the child by his uncut hair into the crackling flames just out of spite, but he had too much pride to sacrifice his only shot at survival for petty revenge against a child.

His heart pounding as if it would break free from his chest he made a final leap back, the blanket stretching out between them, nearly yanking free of the unprepared child's shaking grip.

Smoke plumed upward, burrowing into the delicate eyes of the two men as they thrust the cloth downward upon the fire with a desperate motion, resembling nothing of grace or training. This was survival.

It took some beating upon the flames both from blanket and Trente's gloved hands but with sparing burns and several lungs full of black smoke the two lay safely knelt over a smoldering damp blanket.

"Never," Trente suddenly spat with determined spite as he ripped the first glove, then the second from his tender hands, "dowse an oil fire with water."

Matilis croaked and choked upon the smoke, his eyes glowing a bloodshot red even in the dim light still projecting from the hearth.

Then, again, before Trente could catch peace or his breath gleaming eyes emerged from the darkness behind Matilis, poised curiously and challenging through the window.

Trente threw his arm out and caught Matilis by the hair, yanking him from the opening just as a wild hissing bellow emitted from the beast followed by ferocious claws of a persistent, playing beast, hardly scratched by the rapier's sting.

Matilis screeched again, and pulled himself into a fetal ball upon the charred floor, hands upon his aching scalp.

His father could feel the fatigue of smoke and frantic adrenaline dueling within him, his movement growing rushed yet inexpert. Wearing he grew of the monster's game. He reached out, grasping a hold of the unsecured cot and pulled the head toward himself, its postings rolling harshly over the defensive Matilis as he did so. Trente commanded the foot of the bed into the wall bellow the window with unattractive yanks and pushes which pulled painfully on his under undernutritioned muscles.

With an imposing yell of his own Trente forced his lasting strength into a final heave of the cot, pushing the heavy frame upward to conceal the window, the end just barely clearing the ceiling.

Trapped between wall and the cot's edge protruded the bladed paw, engaging in a contest of strength against Trente and the weight of the bed's body. The furniture shook and bucked between them till finally the strong arm broke free and pulled itself from the cottage, withdrawing back away from the window.

Trente panted, choked, and sweat profusely as he turned his back to the cot and held it against the wall, listening to the pitiable whimpers of his beaten son by his feet.

"Silence." Trente commanded, but the boy could not obey.

Trente prepared to give the command again, needing to know if the beast still stalked them when a horrific scream tore through the cabin, and echoes throughout the forest. Trente had heard this call before, and had wrongly mistaken it for harmless prey. How wrong he had been, and how frightened he was to realize the sheer number of these creatures that must stalk the forests of Sylira.

Following the scream come the imposing sound of the beasts weight falling upon the roof's peak once more, only to have that deep haunting purr join Matilis' sobs a minute later.

How cruel a creature to stalk prey, to trap them, and play with their minds. Trente knew not a human capable of such atrocities, believed not that a human was capable of murder for such cruel enjoyment. Even Hound's antics had hinted at a deeper meaning, a justification. What pleasure the indulgent monster perched upon their tiny sanctuary demonstrated was sickening to Trente, and for the first time in what it seemed he could ever recall he felt hatred for another creature. True hatred, to the depths that he wished for it and all it's kind to be ripped from Semele's face.
*

[Trente]

*
He dropped his weight against the foot of the propped cot, leaning uncomfortably back, with his pants staining in the pitch beneath him. Cold gripped at him, and weariness beckoned his consciousness to another place.

It took a singular word to summoned his son to his side, using the heavy fur cloak wrapped about him to offer them both warmth, and allowed the child to cling to his father as he found himself to an uneasy sleep.

Trente observed the hearth fire as he concocted their plan for escape. The night would be for rest, and the morning light would bring new strength to survive, and so when he had settled on his actions to come he closed his own eyes and weaved his frozen fingers around his sleeping son's shivering form.

He awoke to the smell of warmed rations, robbed of all delicate taste, instead saturated with overly potent spices tailored to hide the fowl tinge of the good's preservation. His son offered a steaming peace to him, along with a warmed pot of water, floating the peddles of a common plant which sprouted along the road side for taste, which Trente hadn't bothered to mention he found unpleasant and bitter.

He took it with no word of appreciation and chewed deliberately as he listened to the heavy stir of the creature above them, anxious at the scent of nutrients emanating from its trap.

"Pack," Trente ordered once he had imbibed the rations, as he rose and tested at his muscles and ligaments, ensuring all were prepared for what was to come.

His son obeyed without hesitation or question, tempered by the past Trente had never had the concern to inquire over, but knew all too well by the marks upon the child's strong worked hands which mimicked so well the marks upon Trente's own.

Once his limbs had been stretched outward and around the best the space would allow Trente ensured his son bared the weight of the pack then took the hatchet beside the fire in grip. He stepped upon the hearth's side with one foot, and let the other find firm footing upon a remaining cot. His rapier rest comfortably in his other palm, and dagger fixed to his waist.

The sound echoed harshly within the sealed tomb, and prompted a swift and agitated movement from the large hunter above them. Trente pulled back the hatchet again and swung with a sudden swiftness to the beams above, producing another loud report.

As he continued to strike the feline did not evacuate the roof, as Trente had hoped, but instead snarled and hissed with increasing aggression as Trente work his way upward toward the threat.

Now it is important to recall that Trente was no hunter, nor was he a carpenter. He had a plan to open a hole to the creature above and stab upward to it, as if he might slit at the heels of a bipedal foe, demanding the higher ground for himself. But, his dreams would not come to fruition, for the curse of a jack of all trades is that he possessed no true understanding of any. He could not know the build of the small cottage, nor the weight of the beast above him. Nor could he have guessed at the frail constitution of his own son.

Trente could recall little of the exact events that followed his inexpert actions. He heard with most clarity the screech of Matilis as the structure of the roof buckled, delivering the matted fur inward. Most clearly he could recall seeing the glowing yellow eyes of the retched creature, seeming not ferocious or dominant, as one would expect, but truly and utterly scared in the sudden trap, something Trente would contemplate guilt over in the following days.

It hissed and turned with razor feet which tared first at the cots then swung outward for Trente's neck. His training deliver him back a sweeping and steady step, and his blade up in a line which barred the goliath paw from its arch, parting the flesh and peeling, with some struggle, the blow to a wall which it chipped away at with reckless abandon, then departed in a flash. Trente found himself wizened enough by their first encounter not to loosen him grip, or drop his guard as the feline filled the contents of the room, sending shred mattresses abust and burning cinders aflare in search for an escape.

The beast and Matilis had the same thought, and when the harsh morning light, and cool damp air flooded through the part of the only door Trente's stomach sunk in understanding horror of what was to come.

Matilis was quick, darting through the opening with arm to his face, and eyes clenched shut. The predator was faster.

Never had Trente witnessed a child flung with such little resistance. With a sudden and unhampered swing the monster removed Matilis from the path before it, so quickly in fact that even Trente's keen eye could not follow the moment. It was as if Matilis was there, and then inexplicably gone.

The thick tail wiped once more through the cottage before the feline was gone from the confining trap, and left Trente maintaining a defensive pose as his heart and mind decided whether or not he still lived.
*