Open [Sacred Arch Hotspring] A Dangerous Game

[Duenna]

Timestamp: Summer 3, 516

The city made her anxious. Granted, supposed the deer, it seemed that most things made her anxious; it was a large portion of her personality. And as exciting as it was to be surrounded by all manner of life, and hustle and bustle and noise, it did so terribly point out the utter isolation that she was feeling. Clad in her single, simple cotton shift dress and roaming the castle grounds like a shadow had exposed her to a thriving economy (not so different from Endrykas, really) but more importantly the variety. Where her homeland had been horses and man, all manner of creatures persevered in Syliras; Duenna had kept her senses wary for a sign of her own kind but had found nothing.

Maybe there aren’t any others, thought the doe as a single dark limb parted the brush before her. The tasty summer foliage interrupted her thoughts momentarily, her slender head darting to the ground betwixt the trees. [i]But there must be. Wiser men than I had said it was so.[i] Nevertheless, there was no one Duenna could ask about it now. Without properly knowing why, Duenna had informed none she had come across of her true heritage. Her mother’s shame had made her hold it furtively, a secret she couldn’t share—not that she had anyone to talk to. The doe kept her eyes downcast, her soft voice nearly inaudible as she had arranged for her quarters in Syliras. And what a horrid home it was! The darkness, the claustrophobic bricks that caged her in—she missed the grasses! With the door latched shut it was the only time she could shed her gown and let her fur be free, but even then, what to do? Pace back and forth across the tiles, worried someone might question the echo of hooves in a castle?

It was why Duenna hadn’t been able to resist when she heard about the Hotspring. “Safe enough for the children,” had appealed to her danger-avoidance, and the presence of the water meant that surely no one would question a single cotton garment hanging on a branch… She had followed some guards as they made their rounds, her own boring appearance setting off little attention. Though a full grown woman, she often appeared a teenager, and her shyness did little to offset the impression. After the men had gone, she had spent a few minutes admiring the Hotsprings. After all, there was a certain beauty to them, and they did appear quite comfortable—but her true goal was a pressing need in her mind. Thus the clothes had been shed, her nude body sheltered by the trees. A thrilling burst of light, and the girl was gone, replaced by the deer. Buoyed by the sheer joy of a free animal, she had kicked her appendages wildly, racing through the woods like a mad woman. But such exuberance was soon tempered by fear, and then her pace was slowed. After all, safety as a woman meant danger for the doe. Skinny, straggling thing though she was as a lass, a fallow deer was many pounds of meat for both beast and man.

Thus she walked the line of danger carefully, eager to fill her belly on the free foods of the forest without attracting attention. After all, who knew what else could be lurking in the shadows borne by the afternoon sun?

[Morrigan]

Myles surged ahead of her, darting in and out of the brush lining the road, nose searching all of the smells that the woods had to offer. Morrigan paced along behind him, occasionally calling the hound back when he wandered too far. Each time he circled her way, bounding up with a wildly wagging tail, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth before rushing off to explore once more with the warm sun on his sandy fur.

She had no general direction for the day, so when she came upon him waiting for her at a small split in the road, she followed. It was a well-used footpath that lead to the hotsprings. Further north beyond the trees was the watchtower and Pavi Lak; areas rich with game. The energetic dog clearly had a better idea of where to go today than she did. Roots and stone gnarled the otherwise smooth path underfoot, and the redhead climbed carefully, trying to keep the flash of fur between the trees in sight.

Morrigan found him again by the water investigating a stray dress hanging from the low branches at the edge of the spring. The owner of the garment was nowhere in sight. Pale fingers fiddled curiously with the hem as she looked around. No secret lovers or frolicking children today. Perhaps it had been forgotten another day.

Myles grumbled low in his throat; a curious mix of whine and growl. His ears were perked as he peered into the trees across the water. She dropped the fabric and touched her nose. It was a silent cue she'd taught him; "Find it." He padded silently around the edge of a pool and across the natural stone bridge, head low and nose working overtime. Morrigan followed in quick pursuit, boots falling silently on moss, then with deliberate care across stone and leaves.

She pushed aside a low-hanging branch and entered the fringing forest beside the hound who waited patiently for her. He watched ahead intently; quiet, alert, and waiting. Slowly so as to not disturb the branches around her, Morrigan pulled the bow from her back and drew a single arrow. She placed the nock upon the string and readied to draw, half-crouched under a veil of leaves. The pair of them watched for movement among the trunks and fronds; Morrigan growing anxious of whether the dog had smelled man, beast, or monster. Perhaps the owner of that garment had been eaten and her partial remains lay nearby. The thought made her skin crawl.

There! As her apprehension came to a head, movement caught the corner of her eye. The hunter turned and drew back the string of her bow until the old arrow's feathers tickled her chin. Sooty fur peeked through the green, then a delicate leg and two large ears that flickered nervously. Morrigan had never seen a doe so dark. She'd heard of rare white deer, but not the former. A pelt like that could bring her quite a profit, but just as she released the string, Myles knocked into her leg and threw her off balance. Morrigan stumbled and the arrow buried itself loudly in a tree's just left of the foraging doe, ruining all chance of a kill.

"Shyke, dog! What are you doing?"

[Duenna]

A shiver twisted its way through her flesh despite the warmth of the day. Her slender neck had lifted her angular head, a neurotic glance to and fro betraying no foe or threat among the trees. What had set her off? Being a Kelvic had, in some ways, made her queerly independent—after all, she trusted her inborne instincts more than any other creature, despite having never been taught by a mother doe. It was a peculiar mix, considering their burning thirst for companionship. They could live alone indefinitely, miserable and upset, but surviving all the while. Distracted by her own pensive thoughts, she bowed her head again to the sweet summer grasses, but…

A sound! Her muscles went rigid, her skull rising like the crest of a wave and then frozen still. Though her wide eyes were capable, she simply could not spot what it was that had perturbed her so—her ears had afforded her the general location, but offered no finer details. She could hear no chatter of visitors to the Hotspring, no metallic jostling of armor for the Knights… Was it simply some minor forest creature snapping a twig? But then why do they stop creating noise? The leaves rustled again, and Duenna surprised herself with the swell of energy that emboldened her, so eager to sprint away; the sinews beneath her pelt twisted and defined—and then a chirp. A small, tawny bird hopped from the bushes before her, pecking at the ground beneath. Had she been human, she would have sighed her relief, the tension melting away from her body.

Until, of course, the whistle of an arrow thudded into a tree trunk next to her. The nightmares of an anxious mind were realized, confusion and abject terror flooding her consciousness into an incomprehensible mess. Her forelegs lifted from the ground, her body twisting skywards like a spooked stallion, a desperate maneuver to angle herself to safety. She fell back to the earth, hooves finding their purchase in a new direction. She saw them then, a flash of red, some sort of pale cinnamon hound. Alone though she was, Duenna was quite young for a full grown woman, and she had never before been placed in a position to run for her life. Her lungs heaved, desperate to get the oxygen to her musculature as her first steps carried her away, but she could think of only two things.

A bow, and a hound. Endrykas had its own share of hunters, and she knew what it meant. A doe was fast, but so was a hound. Could she outrun him? And with the bow, the girl needn’t even get close—Duenna could almost feel the arrowhead pierce her hide, the shaft embedding its way to bring her down. Who wouldn’t? A deer is food, a deer is life for the man… but few men would cannibalize the girl. She was worthless prey, wasted and unappetizing. And perhaps, perhaps that would be enough to guarantee her survival. And a huntress, not a hunter. Naïve though she was, she knew the inherent dangers of the opposite sex, and the general safety of her own. Nevertheless, Duenna had never known such fear, such abject terror as the steps of the doe fell away to a flash of light. Where once a deer had flown, the woman fell with a shriek: its yell animalistic in its primal despair.

Naked, her spine bent her low, ribs wracked with sobs as she curled herself into a ball in the dirt, her dark hair falling over her contorted face. She had no shame in the nudity, of course, for a Kelvic did not mind either of her skins, but she could not shake the suspicion that she would be soon facing the Gods. “Don’t kill me!” A harsh, grating plead into the air around her as she wrapped her arms around her legs defensively, the words punctuated by her bleating sniveling. “Please! I am… I am not food,” the second set of words far more pathetic in their volume, barely quivering through the trees. Would her gamble save her, or doom her again? She could only wait, fate dependent on a red-headed hunter and a dog.

[Morrigan]

It appeared as though the doe would simply flee, as slender limbs kicked the air and she jerked upright in fright, but as the burst of light enveloped beast and manifested woman, Morrigan was appalled. Not at the realization that her kill was truly lost, but that she had almost snuffed out what now lay tangled in the leaves before her. She'd never known a Kelvic, and this harsh introduction was less than ideal. Myles was the first to act.

As the huntress dropped her bow, the hound lept across the gap between master and victim, cold wet nose snuffling bare skin and wild hair. His tail wagged slowly as he looked up at the redhead, as if to say, "I found it!" A low whine from the animal drew her from the cold shock that had rooted her in place, and finally she moved.

"Oh my gods," Morrigan exclaimed, stumbling over to the prone figure and dropping to her knees. The young woman was the epitome of submission, and the huntress dared not touch her for fear she may break into pieces. Pale fingers hovered hesitantly over dusky skin that twitched and shivered restlessly. Heart in her throat, she waited for several long beats before finally placing a feather-light touch upon the poor creature's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." She'd almost killed someone. She felt sick. "I didn't know. Are you okay? Please be okay." Of course the girl wasn't okay, she'd almost been shot. Morrigan ran her hands through her bangs nervously, pulling them away from her face and rocking back onto her rear, legs folded tightly in front of her.

[Duenna]

Each second persevered far longer than it should, strung out like honey between fingertips. Waiting for the guillotine to drop, the slender metal felt far different than she thought it would: no stinging pain, no warm bloodletting… a soft, snuffling set of nostrils pressed against her goosepimpled flesh. A man could deceive, a woman could manipulate, but there was no lying to be found in the behavior of a dog. Her own language was Pavi, and though canine was different from cervine, there was something in the similarities between them. And this dog in particular spoke ‘friend’. Her eyes lifted to just above the ground, she could see his paws in the dirt, excitedly circling her for his master.

His summons had been successful, for the fire-haired maiden soon came stumbling forth, the pattering of her steps completely non-aggressive. Though still she fibrillated, she could not resist the beginnings of hope stirring inside her breast. Morrigan’s words only assisted the effect, and though common speech was not her best, the tone of it would not be ignored. Her gambit had been successful, after all; the huntress had no desire to slay a wastrel, and whatever pathetic life Duenna had managed to snare would be hers after all. Nevertheless she trembled, for such extremes of emotion could not be banished too quickly, but the grace of warm fingers along her back was a dear comfort, spoken almost like Pavi: I will not harm you.

Morrigan’s gentle pleas roused her, and tentatively her head rose, unusually large eyes flickering over both the woman and the hound. He was a friendly beast, with a swaying hind end, and Duenna thought she could almost smile at his amiable face. She inhaled, the scent of him captured in her nostrils as her body unfurled. The other girl seemed almost as fearful as herself, Duenna noted as she began chewing her lower lip. A good sign, really, that she would not have enjoyed a murder—it soothed her own trepidations, and she attempted a queer contortion of a smile, hoping to assuage some of Morrigan’s. Though Duenna’s dark pupils roved Morrigan now, hoping to commit her to memory, her hand reached out to Myles in hopes of tracing along his thick fur.

“Am alive,” she offered, her voice nearly tinny with all the recent stresses, her body melding with the sounds in some sort of makeshift combination of Pavi and common tongue. “It is good, am alive,” she furnished this last comment with a strong nod, hoping the makeshift motion would steel her words. Her smile seemed more genuine now, drawing herself up to mimic Morrigan’s position, attentions sliding back to the Inganu canine. “Dog is good, too.” In her homeland, Duenna had actually been well spoken, but her forays into common tongue had yet to stabilize in a true command of the language. Hopefully everything came across well—perhaps an odd hope, considering the situation. A naked, frightened beast having a conversation in the woods… she rode the thrill of survival still, and everything seemed all the brighter for it. “My name is Duenna.”

[Morrigan]

The defensive creature slowly unfurled from her prone position as Morrigan watched, apprehensive and sick with guilt, hovering like a mother over her babe. Large eyes met hers, filled with uncertainty but stirring of understanding. The look from that dark gaze made her relax. The face, though now human, was the ghost of the doe. It lurked just beneath the surface in the flighty manner of her posture and the alert suspicion in her wide set feature.

The redhead relaxed considerably more when Duenna moved to touch the hound. It was as good a sign as any, and took her by surprise under the current circumstances. Myles seemed to know what to do far more than she, for he sat back on his haunches and licked the Kelvic's tan fingers, butting the hand with his long snout. He would have her smell committed to memory now.

Finally the demure creature spoke, so softly that Morrigan had to focus. Her words were cloaked with an accent, making it blatantly clear both by the sound of her voice and the incomplete sentences that she was not a native to this region. How then, had such a creature ended up alone in the Bronze Woods? Was there a companion not far, waiting for her to return? All the more reason to be grateful that arrow had missed its mark.

"Yes, it's very good. I'm so sorry." The huntress regarded the hound as he soaked up the attention. "I think he saved your life." His eyes closed as the Drykas-born rubbed a particularly nice spot on his neck. Morrigan smiled, mirroring the Kelvic's own. "Duenna," she repeated, memorizing the name. "My name is Morrigan." Her lips wavered though, slipping into a worried frown once more. "Are you alone?"

Here was this poor creature, seemingly by herself, naked in the forest. Of course the springs were just a few meters behind them, and it was a relatively safe area as far as the woods went, but their current situation only showed that no one was completely safe.

[Duenna]

A soft chortling echoed from her throat at the tickle of Myles’s tongue, her fingers more aggressively finding purchase along his skin as she gave him her affection. Morrigan was speaking, her vocabulary easy enough for Duenna to perceive, though she shot a look of surprise to the other when she mentioned that it was Myles after all who was her savior. “Oh, good dog, pretty dog! Dog is friend of deer,” she cooed, as both hands darted up to rub along his great furry skull, murmuring sweet nothings into his ears. What a lovely hound! Duenna was unsurprised, for animals were so much more talented at the delicate art of identifying the other. Humans saw only whichever face she showed them, barely pausing to consider there might be anything more under the surface—but the animals knew, wily little things that they were, Duenna thought there might be a touch of the arcane to them all.

When her fairer companion shared her name, Duenna again repeated. “Morrigan,” low-toned, like Echo pining for Narcissus she couldn’t help but mimic. It seemed fitting, well matched for the lass. Sometimes at home in Endrykas, she had thought that people’s names had been poorly chosen—a smooth motion for a harsh man, or a jittery wriggle for the serene. But she liked Morrigan, and doubted she could pick a better one to fit the pale wraith of a hunter. A question disrupted her musings, and attentions returned rapidly to Morrigan’s curled lips. Are you alone? If only I could explain to you just how very much so, but Duenna didn’t have the words for her situation, and so she could only shyly nod. She knew that admitting as much proved her weakness and fallibility, but if Morrigan did not wish to kill her, what harm could there be in honesty?

“No herd,” she added plaintively, attempting to withhold any self-pity from the inflection. No fawns, no stags, no does—nor even the horses of Endrykas ran with her now. How she missed them and their strength! She had seen the horses of Syliras and found them lacking the same personality, all alike in face just like the knights who patrolled. The horses here did not bicker, did not run and jump, did not fight and frolic—they performed, they obeyed. Nevertheless, she could see how they would be more appreciated by the soldiers for it. “Does Morrigan have a herd? Perhaps… perhaps,” she could not keep a quiver of excitement from her tones, “Perhaps puppies?” Another giggle, almost child-like. For all the maturity of her body, it appeared three years of living had done little to temper her enthusiasm for puppies.

Her mind drifted back to her dress abandoned on its perch, pondering whether she should return to fetch it. Morrigan had not seem offended by her nudity, though she knew many humans were disapproving with the ease she ran about in her own skin. Glancing back to where she left it, however, she was not inclined to abandon the friendly hound and his master.