Seeking Revenge

CHAPTER EIGHT: KSENIA

Much like other times I've had to pick up and go, I have no idea where I'm going--I just have to get away. I trek late into the night, taking twists and turns until I make myself dizzy. Tonight, I just need to create distance between me and the town. Tomorrow, I'll find my bearings and formulate a more solid plan.

The stars shine brightly through patches in the thick canopy of trees. The air is still, save for a few wisps rustling the leaves of bushes and trees. I focus on one of the wisps and squint, hard. The air shimmers and a form takes shape. Its skin is pale, practically translucent, as well as its hair. Its clothing is white and shimmery like it's been sewn with bits of silver. Its eyes, a soft, pale blue, watch me with interest as it lifts its hand in a tentative wave. I slowly lift my own and wave back. It blushes and zips away, leaving some small branches waving after it.

Sometimes, especially in times like these when I'm feeling frightened and lonely, I like to imagine that the sylphs are watching over me. That way, I don't feel so alone.

Eventually, close to sunrise, I find a relatively flat piece of ground and set to work on my tent. When I finally finish, I crawl inside and take hold of my new sharpener. I scrape my sword against it, pausing occasionally to listen for Warriors. I don't want to be caught with a dull blade if they manage to find me any time soon--which isn't likely. Even so, I can't help but be prepared; Warriors aren't the only ones who have it out for me.

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I open my eyes the next morning, groggy and bleary-eyed from a restless two hours of sleep. Taking hold of my sword, I duck through the entrance of my tent. The air is fresh and crisp, and a thin layer of dew is still covering everything. This is my favorite part of the day: The few moments, early in the morning, when everything is still. Being in the middle of it all, taking part in the peace, is the only way I can keep my sanity. I stand, taking deep breaths until the stillness is gone and the animals awaken.

Time to find some water, I think as I glance at a nearby tree covered in moss. The dirt and leaves on the ground are moist when I rub them between my fingers, and I follow the signs of water until it leads me to a small stream. From there, I follow the stream until it trickles down some stones into a large pond. The water is cold as ice and clear enough to see small fish playing tag at the very bottom.

As soon as I strip to my underclothes and step into the natural pool, the water washes away my anxieties and my shoulders release all of their pent-up tension. The cold water embraces me warmly, and I relax into it with a sigh. 

I can feel the energy in the water. It makes my fingers tingle, itching for me to manipulate it. I shake out my hands underwater and close my eyes. If I want to survive, I can't use magic; that's what Dad had told me.

A variety of small fish emerge slowly from their hiding places in the rocks to investigate what's intruding their space. I can't help but giggle when some of them nibble at my toes. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a family of sea-hounds and stand deathly still. They can be incredibly territorial, and I'm practically in the middle of their home. They swim closer with webbed feet, watching me with wide, deceivingly innocent eyes. One of them snaps at the water, showcasing a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. Soon, all of the fish flee and the four golden-furred water-hounds have me surrounded.

I find it incredibly ironic to use magic to save myself right after refusing to use it, yet here I am, doing exactly that. This kind of magic is different, though. Releasing it in its raw, original state just dissolves into thin air without producing much of a trace. I figured that out a while ago when I did it by accident and nothing came to kill me.

I let my arms float to the top of the water and lift my palms to the sky. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on my inner source of magic and draw it out from the tips of my fingers. Little gold flecks dance in the air, pushed around by the wind currents. The water-dogs become entranced, completely forgetting about me. They open their toothy mouths and snap at the golden snowflakes.

After some time, it becomes clear to me that they're no longer hostile. I stop producing the magic, and when it all finally disappears, the water-dogs look back at me. They are still wary of me, but I don't give up. I stand there, stalk-still in the freezing water with my hand out until the largest of the four finally gives in to his curiosity. He glides over with all but his eyes submerged in the water and slows when he reaches my hand. His two whiskers tickle my palm, but I dare not giggle.

I let out a breath I don't even realize I was holding when he nuzzles my hand with its big black nose. He slides further up until his head takes up my entire forearm, and I pet him. He shudders with pleasure.

The others come over in a playful mood and circle me, nipping at my underclothes. I gently shove one of the smaller ones and it shoots off in the opposite direction like a golden bullet. The others chase after it once they realize it had gone.

It must be at least an hour before I manage to pull myself from the pond and throw my clothes back on. I fill my canteen to the brim with the water flowing from the rocks, wave goodbye to my newfound friends, and head back to camp. The rest of my day is filled with setting various types of traps in the hopes I can catch some birds and other small game.

When the sun falls below the trees, I go to bed with fresh cuts from my pain tolerance training and an empty stomach.