Sapienophobia

Chapter 18

After combing through more of the later journals, I came to the conclusion that I'd never be able to outrun Sod. Not with a month's worth of endurance training.

I knew that he was flexible, exceptionally so, but not to this extent. He could twist his body in all sorts of positions to escape capture or restraints. And he was fast.

I bet he would've made that jump to the tree.
Anyone but me would've made that jump to the tree.

Not only that, he was clever too. According to the reports, he outsmarted human detectives trying to find him with magic and sent them in circles.

It didn't mention his exact methods, in case we damned Anides got any ideas, but it made quite the impression on me.

I had to stop my pity from turning into uneasiness before I second-guessed killing him.

If he really was all that clever, he wouldn't have a bounty in the first place, I reasoned, deluding myself.
He also wouldn't need to run.
If he makes smart decisions when he's under pressure, will he make dumb decisions when he's relaxed? When his guard's down?
Not necessarily, I shouldn't jump to conclusions.

I felt the lessons I learned from my prey mentors still held some merit.

Shouldn't just catching him show that I'm threatening enough then? Looks aren't everything.

I found myself looking in the mirror on the backside of my door. I wished the reflection wasn't so clear.

Was I always this ugly?
Before or after the hand?

The stance I took aimed for straightforward but accomplished awkward. I turned my head to observe all peripheral angles.

My features seemed widely unsymmetrical and unproportionate. My skin was embarrassingly glossy. My scalp was so round it nearly entranced me, like looking into a perfect sphere. The dark green patches of my skin overlayed the smaller gray ones. The bulgy orbs I called eyes were, from the looks of it, unevenly spaced from the bridge of my nose. I twitched my tapered ears downward. I was lucky my clothes had spared me the sight of the rest of my body.

The clothes I wore, other than the boots, made me look like an indoor boy.

I thought I looked very...froggy. Childlike, clearly, but froggy.

Not threatening at all.
Scenery can help. I don't want to be in the Murks at night, but if I stand straight up in the distance in a foggy, shadowy part of the undergrowth, I might look horrifying.
I think it's the mystery of not knowing or expecting a random silhouette in the distance that frightens onlookers.
The response should be the same if they can't see me clearly.

Root said my complexion took after Mother. It appeared to be the only thing I took after her, but I wouldn't know.

My mother died when I was two; call it cruel, but I don't remember her. Father and Root were the only immediate family I'd ever known so seeing them mourn for someone who was a stranger to me made me uncomfortable. That's not to say they never told me stories about her or her love for them, us, but it could only convey so much. I can't miss something I never knew. And I could tell they pitied me for it.

I saw how Father yearned for her and would grow silent every now and then when his tongue slipped to mention her. I saw how Root would dream of her only to awake to Father trying to quiet his grieving sobs. They pitied me, but I pitied their pain; I didn't want to understand.

I refocused my eyes on my reflection.

Maybe I should slouch a little more? Hunch my back.
No.
Do people sharpen their teeth?
What about humans' appearances make them monstrous? Mimic that.

A sheep in wolf's clothing. Only other wolves would be able to differentiate.

Regardless of their mannerisms, human likenesses were unsettling to me. To have protruding pores that futilely stood up on end depending upon the body's stimulations. To have pupils that could needlessly expand or shrink depending on their exposure to light.

Their very breath felt out of place in my perspective of the world.

The Anides were not a proud race as no race could be described as proud. Incapable of using magic, we boasted our ability to do everything else; we worked hard and true where the humans wouldn't.

We are distant kin to the salamander as humans are to the ape. However, humans never failed to remind us of our lineage, blind to their own hypocrisy as usual.

In my opinion, the appearance of Anide folk was more than aesthetically pleasing.

I doubted I could specify which traits would strike terror in Sod the most, even with our similarities, now that I thought about it. But I could get close.
Everyone fears death.

I think I'd try my hand at poisoning the guy if I knew where he was getting his water from.
What about poisoning the fog? He'd wade right into it with no way to escape.
The same would go for me if the winds change.

I blanked for a couple of minutes going over other types of traps, all of which needed practice in reality.

In the Murks.

I shrank from the thought of having to return to that place. Procrastination and close distractions provided the assistance I sought.

If I were Vera, I'd just do a full sweep of the Murks, post a dispatcher every few clicks so Sod couldn't escape without being spotted. Box him in.
It'd be a waste of time and resources if he wasn't there, though.
I could do that. Set up an alarm system with thin wires and bells.
Any animal would sound it and it'd take too much time. The Murks are wide.

I went through the journals again. I sat on the floor shoeless to examine them; the stool may have scratched a cover when I got up or sat down. When I was hungry, I locked my door before scavenging in the lobby.

The pages were aged and beginning to change colors. One could tell the books' spines were poorly made at the time of publication. The pages were becoming unsewn. If I had sat the text in any other position than face down closed, I was confident the glue would give up on holding everything together. The journals were literally coming apart at the seams.

One would've thought I was a bookbinder with the way I was tending to the texts.

I regretted not bringing Father's medical sewing kit. I pulled the strings that were loose and tied them for stability.

I even went as far as to retrace over the ink so that I wouldn't be blamed for fading the writings. Letting the ink dry on its own would take an eternity. Instead, I hovered very carefully with the bedside candle. I placed my hand beneath it so the warm wax wouldn't stain the pages. They wouldn't sundry and leaving them wet all night may have made some stray ink lines. I had lost myself between the pages at some point and night had fallen when I looked up again.

I clasped the window with my good hand, using my second best to hold the pane against the sill. I began stacking the reports in the corner of my room, free from my walking space and possible spills. The earlier ones went first. The weight of the latest journals on top of the oldest ones on the bottom pressed them closed. They were also thinner with larger pages so it was more efficient. It was almost skillful, flittering around the youngest notes to stoop and nab the others hidden amongst. My focus didn't waver. I turned and my foot clumsily knocked the spine when reaching for the last ones.

And two of the pages of the later journals were ripped out.