FANGS

Whispers of The Wind

I can barely get up. It's 5:00 am. I roll over, then jump out of bed. Though the school has heating, it's cold regardless.
I dress quickly, with a heavy sweater and stretchy pants. I use running shoes, too. Not that I'll be doing much running in the next 48 hours, but, it'll come in handy if we run into any dangers. No pun intended.
I meet Striker outside the building. Despite the fact that we stayed up till 1:00 am to discuss the trip with Mr. Firm and the dean, getting only four hours, FOUR HOURS, of sleep, he seems as fresh and awake as ever!
"How can you be so chipper?" I mumble. "We didn't get much sleep, we had to remember LOADS, there's stress, and we could get killed on arrival at Scarana Castle; and you're totally pumped!" I exclaim.
Striker emits a slow rumbling chuckle, which sends tingles up my spine.
"You have no idea," he says, peering at me from beneath his shaggy mane. "It's hard to keep up the looks!"
I huff and he chuckles, more than several times before the MultiCar rolls into view.
" 'Ello miss, Sir," the driver greets, addressing us. "We'll be on our way now."
"Guess this is it," I sigh, glancing at the academy one last time.
We climb into the car; and Striker's arm accidentally brushes my hip as he clambers in. We both recoil as if we had been charged with an electric shock. I struggle to control my breathing, trying not to hyperventilate.
I huddle against my seat, nervously. Striker looks scared, like as if he's committed a crime. It's a first. Incredible. I didn't think that was physically possible!
I let out an involuntary snort. Striker glances at me curiously. I return his glance with a an even stare. Soon, it's a staring contest. I stare at his handsomely chiseled face, the fine contours, his beautiful eyes, the serious mouth.
I want to tear my eyes away from Striker's searing stare, but I can't. I want to keep staring. We keep this up for what seems like hours, even days, but I know it can't be.
Finally, the driver, fed up, complains, "You two are as quiet as mice, don't you EVER talk?!"
We break our gaze at the same time.
"Tie," Striker whispers.
"What?" I ask, confused.
Striker brings his wonderful eyes back to my face and explains.
" Neither one of us wins for the staring contest. It was a tie."
"Oh," I say, feeling like an idiot.
Of course he meant the staring contest! How stupid. Shoot me now!
"Yeah," Striker says, grinning, dispersing the awkwardness there was before.
As we get closer to Hakriatta, the car begins to shake and judder.
"Gedout! Gedout!" The driver yells.
We all pile out just in time before the whole thing blows up.
"Well, that's that," the old driver says, looking sorrowfully at the charred remains.
"Good thing is, we are very close to Hakriatta. I can get a ride; and you two can... Well, do your thing,"
"Yup," Striker says, running a hand through his hair.
I sigh.
"Why did it blowup?" I ask, wearily.
"Prob'ly overuse," the driver comments, taking out a stick of tobacco and grinding it against his teeth.
"Sabotage," Striker mutters.
My eyes grow big as saucers. So does the driver's.
A cold fury seems to have penetrated Striker's very being. He starts going around, punching trees and raging like a wild animal.
"Weeeel, I'm gooone," the driver says, backing away.
I don't stop him, as he makes his escape.
After a few minutes of this tortuous activity, I go up to Striker and gently place my hand on his arm.
"Stop," I plead. "Whoever did it... It doesn't matter. But you should save your energy for if anything comes up."
"You're right," he says.
"What's that?" I ask, inching closer.
"You're RIGHT, I said," Striker mutters.
"OOOO, a BIG first! Never thought the king of snobs would deign to say THAT!" I tease.
Striker rolls his eyes.
"Let's go, we should find an inn before nighttime, or else we're screwed,"
"And why is that?" I ask, fluttering my eyelashes.
Striker rolls his eyes again.
"Because we'll be in a forest?" He says, in a matter of fact tone.
"And why is that bad?" I press.
"You and me, alone in the forest..." He trails off.
I raise an eyebrow.
Striker has the decency to blush.
"I didn't mean, like THAT," he rushes to say. "I meant, there's wolfs and stuff."
"Wolfs and stuff," I say, skeptically.
"Um, yeah," Striker mumbles.
An involuntary giggle bubbles up my esophagus; and escapes through my mouth.
"It's not funny," Striker says, trying to look mean and imposing, but I see his mouth twitching.
I hurriedly lean down and grab a handful of snow and whip it at his face. He veers to the side, right on time.
"Oh, you wanna play?" He asks, grinning wickedly. "I'll give you PLAY!!!"
I giggle again. I just can't seem to stop them.
Striker lobs a fastball; and it hits me squarely in the stomach. For some reason, this makes me laugh even more; and I stumble into the canopy of trees and lay sprawled on the ground.
"Are you ok?" Striker asks, but he's laughing too.
"Yes," I simply say; and stare into his eyes.
"Stop looking at me like that," he says, looking unnerved.
As he scrambles backwards, I grab a fistful of his sweater and pull him towards me.
"Whoa!" He shouts, skidding across the ground.
Soon, we are face to face. I reach my fingers out to touch Striker's face, but he brushes me off. I try to chase after him, but he's too fast. I slowly lose consciousness, until everything is a black haze.

I find myself in a simple, but clean and roomy chamber.
My eyes lock with Striker's; and I blush, remembering yesterday. Why had I done that? I inwardly curse myself.
"You were drugged," Striker says, laying down the carving he'd been working on.
"I got you to a doctor; and he gave some medicine to help."
"What kind of drug was it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
Striker doesn't answer, just averts his eyes.
"Tell me!" I beg.
"I dunno," he murmurs, but I can tell he's lying.
"TELL ME!!" I command.
Striker scowls and starts to leave the room. At the doorway, he pauses.
"There's one thing we know, someone knows about our mission; and they don't want us to accomplish it."
Then he's gone.
As soon as the doctor comes in, I burst out, "What drug was it?"
"It was a drug of desire," the doctor says, clearly amused.
My jaw drops open, I blink a few times, but can't wrap my head around the possibility, but maybe that's why I went all gushy on Striker....
My head spins, then I faint.
I wake to the sound of Striker chiseling.
"What are you making?" I ask.
He starts; and cuts his thumb on the knife.
"SHIT!" He yells, so loud, I expect everybody to come running over to inspect the damage.
"Lemme see," I say.
I see Striker's hesitation.
"C'mon," I say. "I'm not gonna hurt you!"
Reluctanly, he extends his arm, revealing the cut, gushing with blood.
"Not that deep," I declare, moving to get out of bed.
Striker blocks me with his free arm.
I wrestle it away and jump out before he can move again.
I locate the bathroom, fill a tub with warm water, grab the antiseptic bottle, a washcloth; and a rag, then rush back.
Striker's face is mottled with anger, so much, that he can't speak. His shoulders are also tense.
When I dip his thumb in the warm water, he relaxes by the tiniest fraction. I lower my head to keep my tiny smile from showing.
As I clean and dry his thumb, Striker totally relaxes. Gradually, but still.
After I've tied the rag, I pull back, but Striker catches my hand; and rubs his fingers gently over it.
I look up at him in surprise. His face is as impenetrable as ever.
"Thank you," he whispers, then gets up and leaves the room.
It's only after he's left that I realize he's left his carving behind.

I wake to a gentle knock. A maidservant pushes open the door and hands me a bowl of soup. Then directly leaves. Ok.
As I eat, I hear the wind howling in the eaves. I shiver. The door creaking open raising goose bumps on my arms; and I scream.
"Chill, it's me," Striker says, emerging from the other side of the door.
He grabs his carving and moves towards the door.
"Don't leave... Please!" I cry.
Striker looks back at me; and says," Ok,"
I instantly feel safer. MUCH safer.
Striker comes near my bed and starts carving again.
"Do you think you can journey again tomorrow?" He asks, his voice deliciously deep.
"Yes," I affirm.
I study his face as he carves. So.... Wonderful.
"What?" He asks gruffly, when he sees me watching him.
"Nothing," I say, turing towards the window.
The branches make the wind whistle, as it travels along the night sky.
I turn back to watch Striker again. The carving is almost done.
I sigh. Striker looks up, sees me staring again.
"What?" He asks, again, but this time, curiosity tinges his tone.
I don't say anything, just look up at him.
Striker absentmindedly carves, watching me.
"Ouch!" He exclaims, as he cuts his index finger.
I jump out of bed, making a beeline towards the washroom, but Striker slides his hands around my waist, pulling me back. I'm so stunned, I sit directly in his lap.
"Let go! Your finger is bleeding!" I protest.
But Striker makes no move to let go. He runs his hands down to my hips; and my pulse quickens. Then he presses his check to mine.
"You smell delicious," he murmurs, pulling me closer.
"Thank you," I say meekly.
Having Striker this close is making my head whirl.
He strokes my hair, until I fall into a deep slumber.
I bolt up, then relax, as I realize it's Striker I'm leaning on.
"Hello," Striker says, as I turn my gaze to him.
"Um, hi?" I say, uncertainly.
Striker grins.
"Ready to hit the road?" He asks.
"Yeah," I reply.
I move to get up, but Striker captures my waist in both hands; and lifts me up, then plants me firmly on the ground.
I squeal. Striker laughs.
"For you," he says, handing me a small article.
It's the carving. A smooth circle, with a small jewel pounded into the middle, on a black cord.
I look at Striker funny.
"What?" He asks, surprised. " If you don't like it, i'll take it back,"
"No, I'm just... Surprised, is all."
Striker still looks doubtful, but he doesn't press. Then we're off.