The Feral Ones

O N E

   THERE is something haunting in the presence of a full moon. Such florescence and dominance could not be hidden for long for behind the rolling gray clouds, the moon shone intimidatingly on the land beneath it. Like the Devils eye staring straight into the souls of the damned—and as the fog rolled into the darkness of night, his howl could be heard above all.

Announcing his presence. Demanding to be heard.

Riley awoke with a start, her heart threatening to escape her chest as she grabbed her blade. Eyes narrowing as she stared at the opening of the tent, expectantly.

The tent opens slowly at first. So slowly Riley thought she had imagined it, but when the tent did open, Riley jerked the sword forward at the shadows throat—or what she hoped was its throat. Her heavy breathing was suddenly silenced as deafening laughter arose from the figure. Riley squeezed her eyes shut tightly, an aggravated groan drawling from her lips.

"I could have killed you, Ander." She told him slowly, running a hand through her short black hair. She threw the sword down to her left before falling back.

"The look on your face would have been worth getting sliced to pieces!" He helped pull her up. "C'mon General Rowan's talking about you again."

Riley stifles a yawn and Ander frowns, "Having those dreams again?" She nods sluggishly. "What was it this time" Ander questions, following Riley out of the tent.

She shrugs, her fingers instinctively finding the faint scar that ran across her neck. "I died." She turned to look at Ander, a scowl on her face. "Just like every other time."

"But what if—"

"I watched myself die, Ander. There are no ifs—I saw it!" Riley snarled with malice. She turned forward, eyes trained on the figures in the distance. "I don't want to talk about it."

As Riley—with Ander right behind her—stalked closer, General Rowan emerged from the crowd.

"Ah my best warrior, Lee." Riley let a small grin squeeze onto her face as she nodded curtly at the crowd.

General Rowan turned toward the crowd of both the old and the new, "The little lad I was telling you all about—the one who managed to snag a savages head last week." The words reeked of the pride General Rowan had for her. Boosting about things that some would call a lie, and many a lie there was that left General Rowan's mouth.

But Riley couldn't bring herself to care. Of course she wasn't actually a thirteen year old boy who, miraculously hadn't undergone puberty, but by the way the crowd hung on Rowan's every word, they believed him.

In their eyes she wasn't an eighteen year old orphaned girl, but a strong, male warrior by the name of Lee who could take the Feral down just with a glint of his sword.

"He speaks the truth." Riley said arrogantly, raising a lone eyebrow at the crowd. "Does anyone care for a demonstration?"

A murmur passed over the crowd, as all eyes fell on her. Ander sighed behind her, throwing his hands in his pockets, waiting for the cocky bastard that thought they could take Lee on.

"I bet I can take him!" A man shouted, making his way toward the front of the crowd. Riley smirked, doing a once over of the overly-confident man. "You're awfully short for a lad!" The man sneered, his dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.

She tilted her head, her deep brown eyes staring into his grey ones as she swiftly took her sword in both hands, "Vamos a bailar un poco." Let's dance a little.

Riley raised her sword high over her head confidently. In that moment she was no longer that scared little girl she was all those years ago, she was a front-line warrior of the defense.