A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

XX

I sleep fitfully, but when I wake a few hours later, Artie is sleeping peacefully. I only hesitate to press a kiss to his forehead and pull on some shoes before sneaking out, duffle strapped on. It's dark in the main cavern, most having shut shop for the night. The candles were all but extinguished, and only the usual guards were doing their rounds. I crept past quietly without any trouble, and started the trek to the other exit. My feet seemed to make too much noise, my heart and breathing too loud as I move as fast as I dare through caves and halls. I have to hide several times as torch wielding warriors stroll past, and each time I feel as if I am about to have a heart attacked. I am sweating like crazy, my fear and hesitancy quickening my heart. I'd left my ring, after much debate. Leaving would break Archer's heart, and I am not certain it wouldn't break mine. But I had to go, I knew he wouldn't let me, and so I left it as an apology, and hope he understood what it meant for me to leave without it. It seems to take forever to reach Arronax's room, and even longer to finally feel the fresh air on my face, to see the fuzzy grey of outside. I don't stop to savour the feeling of being outside, my nerves are too on edge. I simply take note of the moon to my left and move in the opposite direction, following the base of the mountains.

The rhythmic crunch beneath my feet lulls me into a trance, and I find myself thinking more and more of Archer. What would happen when he returned and found I was gone, how would he feel? How would he react? Would he try and find me, would he succeed? Or would he just let me go, not caring enough to look? It was making me depressed, and doubt myself more and more, so I shoved the thoughts as far away as possible, concentrating rather on making sure I couldn't see or hear anything that would suggest I had followers.

I walk for hours, the moon rising above me then dropping below the horizon in front of me. As the sun rises, I stop in the shadows to rest, eat and drink. Then I pick a path through a short, narrow gully onto the side I arrived on. I felt like I was making reasonable time, and my spirits lift as I trudge along. Even with the shadow of who I left behind, I manage to smile without forcing it. Its early morning when I see dark smudges in the distance. I stomp towards them cautiously, and it's when I see people flitting between the hulking masses that I stop in panic. If I can see them, then they can see me. This is confirmed when some stop, then start towards me. The mountains were some distance from me, but I turn towards them and start jogging. I chance a look over my shoulder, and jolt in fear when I see several bodies running at me, getting closer by the second. I kick myself into gear, running as fast as I could. But I hear them behind me, feet crunching on the ground as they hiss and shout at me. My breath rasps through my chest, and sweat drips down my face, even in the cold of early Winter. There's a whistling sound and something wraps itself around my ankles. I tip forward, throwing my arms out to break my fall. Pain jolts up my arms, and I cry out in agony as my head hits the ground and I slide to a stop. I roll over, already scrambling to pull the rope from my legs.

Get free! Get free! Get free! My head screams at me, and my nails catch and scrabble in a vain attempt to free myself, to get away. The people have slowed now, and I have a small hope that it's just Archer and his hunting mates. But as they get closer, that hope shrivels and dies. Painted in red, white and pink, hairless, tattooed they slink up to me. Sharp teeth leer at me and I let out a sob of fear. They crowd around me and I despairingly think of the butchers knife in my bag. One of them, a man or woman I couldn't tell, raises a club and I can only raise my arms protectively as it's brought down on my temple.

I wake up with a pounding headache in a dark, dusty room. My throat is dry and I moan as I roll over, a knot of rope digging into the small of my back as I stare up at a ceiling. Ceiling? I roll back onto my stomach, pressing my face to a threadbare rug as I wriggle my bound legs up under me until I am able to kneel. I rock back, attempting to end on my feet, but I over-balance and fall back completely, the thud making me still in fear, heart racing as I strain to hear any sounds of my approaching captors. But all is silent, and I try again, this time successfully rising to stand. Dusty sunlight filters in through a single, grimy window. On either side are benches stacked high with rugs, pots, pans and crates. It appears I am in a wagon, and as I come to this conclusion, it jolts, tossing me into the side.