She ran, her lungs heaving as she plunged into the humid forests. Bugs, birds, frogs and snakes filled the air with noise, but not enough to cover her escape or mask the pounding footsteps of her captors. She tripped on something and fell face first onto the ground. Spitting out the dirt she kept running. Her throat and chest burned, her legs stung from the lashes of vines and thorns, not to mention her back, stripped of its skin from her whipping.
She heard them shouting and hurtled herself towards the left, she heard the scenting-birds and the crashing of the giant steeds on which her hunters rode. She ducked branches and almost screamed as she came to a cliff, almost flying off of it. She stopped and looked around, her captors were nearing, she had nowhere to go but down.
She looked.
Down below, a shallow, wide river that could never cushion her fall and let her survive. She looked up at a tree and started climbing, knowing very well that their bird-steeds could get up into trees just fine, but it would give her a little bit of time. Her nails, on her toes and hands, were worn down from hard work, but she had long fingers and toes and strong arms. The upside of being a slave was that she was strong. These forests were her home, even though the men and their birds were good in the forest, they belonged to the grasslands.
She kept on climbing, her fingers and toes grasping at the smooth bark, hoping she didn't disturb anything that lived there.
Something wrapped around her ankle and wrenched her to the ground. She yelped and groaned as the breath whooshed out of her. A foot was pressed to her foot, the foot of a scent-bird, the ugly thing squawked and and shook itself. Above it, large men in thick armor riding on robust, flightless birds with long legs leered at her.
She didn't struggle, she was caught between death and slavery. At least with slavery she would get another chance. Someone called off the bird but she laid still, the dirt pressing into her bare backside, her loose tunic ripped from the lashing. Her wounds stung and what was left of her clothes stuck to her skin, coated with salty sweat, jungle moisture and tacky, dark blood.
"Get up, Slave."
She stood, shakily, she was caught, her heart was in her throat, she didn't want to go back. She didn't want to die. She kept her head down and her long, matted hair around her face.
"Hold out your hands."
She held out her hands, wrists together while the manacles were clasped and then she was pushed back on the ground. She laid still, if they pushed her down, they wanted her down, she heard someone get off of the steed-birds. She started to sit up, wondering what was happening.
"Lie back." One of them came towards her, she heard their boots, but she laid back.
Someone's rough hands grasped at her tunic and she stiffened and then sat up, quickly scuttling away. She figured out what they were about now, this was one thing she wasn't having.
"I told you to lie back." She stood up, backing away from the bulky man until her heels brushed the edge of the cliff, the man bared his ugly teeth and rushed her.
She cringed back as much as she could without falling until she heard a loud thud and a hiss. Blinking, she looked up from between her fingers and almost feel from the cliff leading down to the river.
A naga, they were supposed to be dead, a long-extinct species of man-serpent. She realized that she was leaning up against the naga's tail instead of falling. She curled up and scooted closer to the ground, fear gripping her. Now, it was death, rape and slavery, or uncertainty. She looked up at the creature, scaly strings of deadlock-like hair that hung below the shoulders, a muscular backside that was covered in dark scales, she couldn't tell the color. The naga rose so that almost all of its body was off the ground and looming menacingly over the men and their birds. The man that was going to violate her was getting up, using a tree to support himself. She heard another hiss and the birds, with their riders, jumped back.
The naga hissed once more and all but the man who had been struck by the snake-creature fled. The man who was left stood up and started to advance on the naga. The creature whipped around, and struck. Suddenly, there were two small punctures and a small trickle of blood on the man's neck. the man touched his neck, and then started laughing.
"Ha! A liddle bih, dis won' do nothin'." The man slurred, like his lips were numb, the naga gave a satisfied hiss and turned towards her.
The face was masculine and smooth, covered in orange scales, or maybe it was red. There was no nose, only a small bump. Nine, shallow dips, like nostrils, went under the nose-bump and along the cheekbones, under the black eyes. Somehow, the scaly face managed to look a tad concerned. Suddenly the naga grabbed her hand and pushed it against the scaly chest which was cool and smooth to the touch. She felt vibrations, she could almost hear them, like the creature was making a sound far too low to hear, but low enough to feel.
She didn't understand, the scaly, clawed hands that had her hand pushed against the small, smooth scales were gentle. Nothing like the stories of nagas that had been told and passed around throughout the ages. Nagas were man-eaters, thieves of children, cannibals, savages.
They didn't save runaway slaves from guards.
The naga seemed to understand that she wasn't understanding. It, he, curled around her and hesitantly handled her as thought to warn her that he was going to pick her up. She heard a thud and turned to look at the man, he had fallen to the floor, his breathing erratic and shallow, like his lungs weren't working correctly. She gave the naga a cautious nod, tomorrow, there would be more guards and hunters and scent birds, she needed to be away, and with a naga might be her best option.
The great creature was silent, flat face emotionless as she was carefully picked up and cradled as though she was something delicate and fragile. Compared to a naga she might be. She had no scales, no claws, no fangs, no venom, all she had were legs and arms. Weighed down by exhaustion and the aftershock of adrenaline leaving her body, she was beginning to nod off and then decided to start talking, if only to stay awake.
"I'm Bem." She said, introducing herself, the serpent-man looked at her doubtfully and chuffed as though he didn't believe her.
She growled a little and folded her arms, the use of given names was forbidden, you went by what the overseer decided to call you. Her slave name was Bem, peace. She felt low rumbling in the naga's chest, it seemed almost sarcastic.
"The use of given names is forbidden, so is the giving of names. People only give names to make their children individual from the masses." She winced as the naga's scales rubbed wrong against her raw, skin-stripped back.
The creature rumbled more, somewhat apologetically and curiously.
"Yes, I was given a name, but I can't use it while I'm a slave." She paused and looked up at the creature, dawn was coming, she was beginning to see that his face was covered in orange-red scales, his body a striking cobalt blue with an orange belly, black back and a pair of red-orange stripes down his sides along with a red-orange tail. "Do you have a name?"
She heard a kind of low, rumbling noise that sounded like "Eeewahtohk".
"Iwatoke?" She said, leaping to a name of something in an old story, the naga nodded. "My given name is Sachet, but you mustn't tell anyone."
There was an approving rumble in the naga's chest, she blinked and tried to relax, but the sting of the wounds on her body prevented her from doing so. There was another rumble, like angry thunder.
"Did I do something wrong?" She asked, not wanting to alienate her only help, the naga shook his head and paused to indicate one of the wounds on her legs. "Theses are just from running away." The naga gestured towards his back. "That's from breaking ranks, taking extra water rations, taking a little bread and for mocking an overseer."
There was a soft chuffing rumble, kind of like laughter, almost approving.
"What happened to all the other nagas? And the naginis?" She asked, Iwatoke stopped his silent slithering across the forest floor for a moment, shook his head and kept on going.
She leaned her head against the naga, her neck was starting to ache from being held at such an awkward angle. She closed her eyes, and despite all of her pain an discomfort, she managed to start to fall asleep. . .
