ROTTEN to the Core [EN]

Chapter 4 - Food For The Worms

The hunter's gaze lingered on the princess' features. Her skin was as white as snow. The long, curved lashes cast light shadows on her rosy cheeks, and her lips were parted. She was beautiful. Stunning. It made him pause for a second.

Then, a rustling sound reached his ears.

The hunter paused in his movement. He listened, strained into the darkness. His gaze roamed tensely. Was there another rustling in the shadows? Was something creeping around? 

His fingers gripped the handle of the hunting knife so tightly that his knuckles stood out white. Many dangers were lurking in the depths of the woods, and if his loyalty to his queen had not been far more significant, he would never have ventured so deep at night. Although his breathing was calm and shallow, his heartbeat pounded like wild drumming in his chest.

Then he heard it again. 

The cracking of a branch breaking under too much weight. He wheeled around and saw the movement of a shadow in the thicket. A body pushed aside branches and moved quickly through. Leaves rustled and fell to the ground.

Slowly, he reached for the strap of his crossbow with his free hand and pulled it from his back. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His fingers were ice cold, but his body burned with tension. What was it? A wolf? A bear? Or something worse? The man's fingers slid to his side. Knife or bolt... if the beast had already come this close, hand-to-hand combat would not be to his advantage either way. He was a hunter, and HE was the one who lay in wait for his prey and who fired the deadly bolt from the ambush. But now it was he who had been cornered.

In the darkness, he could barely make anything out. Shadows and dim light blurred the figure. Only the rustling guided his gaze. Its breathing was heavy, and each breath seemed treacherously loud to the hunter. When did the beast jump? He had to wait for the right moment, or he would be as good as dead. His finger tightened around the trigger of the crossbow.

Then, suddenly, there was a rustling in another direction.

The coat fluttered, and his finger pulled back the trigger. The hiss cut the air, and the bolt shot away. At that moment, a jolt went through his body. The hunter felt the next breath refuse to enter his lungs. Instead, only a rasping, gurgling sound escaped his lips. The taste of warm blood washed down his throat. As his gaze dropped down his chest, the tip of a blade protruded from it. His blood-drenched it in wet red, and the hunter felt his life drain away inexorably.

The cold made his fingers increasingly numb, his senses duller. The crossbow fell to the ground and remained there in the dirt. Again, he tried to breathe—the last gasp before he sank to his knees and finally to his side. There, he lay motionless beside his weapon as shadows loomed out of the darkness—three from behind a massive rock, another from behind one of the broader trees, and two from further away.

"Why does this world-weary fool venture into our forest at night?"

"He tried to dump his filth on us," their leader replied as he jerked the sword from the hunter's back. He wiped the blade on the dead man and nodded his chin to the figure of the girl lying on the ground.

"Another poor thing in the queen's way, I'm sure," one of his men snorted, stepping closer to the victim and suddenly drawing in the air more sharply. "Boss... you've got to see this!"

"Search him. He's bound to have something useful on him. And... look for his horse. He didn't come here on foot," the addressed man ordered, turning to his comrade while the others of his gang mauled the hunter. When his eyes fell on the figure on the ground, he could not believe his eyes.

"That's the princess."

"Is she dead?"

The leader did not answer the question immediately. Instead, he leaned down and put his ear to her chest. "She's still breathing... But very weakly." He considered for a few seconds, then slid his hands under her body and lifted her onto his arms. "Looks like it's our lucky day today, men," he called to his cronies, and spiteful laughter washed into the night.

"And what do we do with the hunter?" one of the others asked, nudging the body with his boot.

The leader glanced over his shoulder at the hunter, who had become prey.
"Leave him where he is. The wild animals deserve something to eat too," he said, "... and the rest is food for the worms."