This Bleeding Earth

Armed to the teeth

Tula watched them pass below her. Five, and armed to the teeth. 

They shambled along, snouts darting around erratically. It was as though they were following a scent. Maybe they were. For they were enemies of a bygone time and Tula had never seen them in person before. Only in paintings or in mental images conjured up in her imagination. Following from atop the ridge, she stalked them. They wore armour and ragged leather which wasn't something Tula was unaccustomed to. The explanation for the way her brow was furrowed in confusion was the features of their actual bodies. Where skin should be was feather. Where hand should be was talon. Where nose should be was beak. The colour of this patrol's plumage was inconsistent, some were brown, some green, some blue. These human-bird hybrids moved with purpose, Tula saw. She guessed that they were hunting. The set of their shoulders and the watchfulness in their eyes gave it away.

The patrol was passing down a small ravine and Tula had to hop precariously along the lip of the ridge to keep up. Thankfully, she was agile as a cat, and quick as a snake. Every step was silent. The patrol seemed to be communicating, but it was hard to make anything out. Every muffled word was followed or preceded by a primitive shriek. The background noise of a late summer evening also did nothing to help Tula hear their conversation. Better than being given away by the snap of a twig in winter, she thought, leaping across a small crevice. The forest uplands could be as quiet as a graveyard in the cold months.

Out of her peripheral vision, she spotted a rock face blocking her way up ahead. A sudden ultimatum presented itself: circle around and risk losing them, or jump down to the floor of the ravine. To face this mysterious patrol head on. Her green eyes sparkled with the prospect, but she knew the risk was great. The impassable obstacle was coming ever closer as she deliberated. Her hand went to the edge of her cloak. She felt the familiar outline of her weapons, one on each hip. Putting thoughts of glory aside, she tried to come up with a plan.

Half the soldiers of Mirasreach would've charged at them head on the minute they spotted the patrol. The other half would've ran ten miles in the opposite direction. Tula was not just a soldier, however. She was a scout. Perhaps the best scout Mirasreach had ever seen. She knew full well the difference between being confident and being headstrong. Between being brave and foolish. Eventually, she made her decision. She pulled the cowl of her brown cloak over her head and dropped down onto the gravelly floor of the ravine, rolling to reduce the impact of her fall. Crouching, she ripped the two daggers she carried free of their sheaths. "Who are you? And where do you travel?" Tula asked from inside her hood.

The bird-like soldiers stopped, feet sliding on the loose stones. Silence ensued and they exchanged several darting looks. "You travel in lands foreign to your own. I would know who you are." She stressed the final part of her demand. They began to make a strangled clucking sound and their tongues lashed within their beaks. They were laughing at her. Eventually, one of them spoke, "Step aside." Its voice was shrill.

"No." She replied, grip tightening on her daggers. Her resolve wavered slightly as she stared them down. She wondered if she'd bitten off more than she could chew. The humourous atmosphere among the soldiers departed with the response of their leader. "Step aside, or we'll kill you," it hissed. The others all drew their weapons. They carried rusty, ugly-looking blades. Counter-intuitively, Tula was pleased to see this because they would be cumbersome in close-combat.

"Forgive me for saying so, foreigner." She drew back her hood and flipped both blades, "But, I don't think you will". Before them, the soldiers saw a girl, slender and fair. Her golden hair flooded down her back and her skin was pale as starlight. Yet, if there was ever a perfect embodiment of why a book should never be judged by it's cover, it would be Tula Jinnamere. Her face held the expression of a demon: a face ready for battle. And to combat, she was no stranger.

"What are you waiting for? Get her!" The leader called. The soldiers stopped gawking and hurtled towards her, screams echoing off the walls of the ravine. She backed off slowly to increase the distances between each soldier. They might overcome her as a unit, but not individually.

Ducking the first clumsy swing, Tula hamstrung one and danced around the reach of a second before plunging her other blade into its stomach. It tried to pull her down, but she ripped free of its grasp. A third soldier brought down its blade in an overhead attack, which she parried. Her shoulder jarred painfully and she leapt backwards. Her assailant pressed forward, but failed to notice its dead comrade laying on the floor. It stumbled and fell to the ground face-first. Before it could rise she stabbed it through the back of the neck. The fourth soldier and the chieftain who had spoken to her previously both halted their charges. She walked gracefully to the one who's leg she had slashed to begin with. It was howling in agony and failing to regain his feet. Circling behind, she gripped the back of its neck and cut its throat.

"Don't be shy." Tula's chest rose and fell quickly as she stood facing down the remaining two. Her goading angered them into resuming their charge, which was exactly what she wanted. A grin crept onto her face. However, a few metres short of her, the chieftain stopped. Before she could make sense of this, the footsoldier reached her. She parried a slash and a jab, then rolled away to avoid a third swing. Her attacker screamed in fury, but still the chieftain didn't charge her down. Over the shoulder of the footsoldier, she caught a glimpse of it un-slinging a bow and notching an arrow. She inwardly cursed herself for not noticing this detail earlier.

Panic started to set in and she pressed forward, desperately trying to get to the chieftain, while keeping her immediate foe between the him and herself. The footsoldier blocked a couple of attacks, before he fell for a feint. She knocked the blade out of its hand and stabbed it in the chest. Tula kicked the creature free of her dagger and saw with dread that the chieftain had nocked an arrow already. It was pointed straight at her chest. He loosed instantly, at a range of mere metres. Acting on pure instinct, she brought her daggers upwards in an arc, waist to head. The vibration rattled through the hilts as she somehow slashed the arrow over her head. It fell harmlessly onto the path behind her. The chieftain turned to run, and she let it go. She tossed her right-hand dagger lightly into the air and caught it by the blade. Lifting it level with her ear, she took aim and hurled it at the fleeing creature. It flew just wide of its head. Mildly shocked, she tried with the other dagger. This time it thudded into the centre of the squawking creature's back. "Strange." She muttered, and went to retrieve her weapons. Once she reached the chieftain, she turned it onto its back. Its tongue lolled from its mouth. Tula grimaced. Studying its features affirmed that she had never seen any creature like this before. Fearing that there might be more of them nearby, she hastily cut a talon from its hand and plucked a feather from its neck.

Dashing in the direction that the soldiers had been heading, she left the ravine and entered the main bulk of the forest. It was awash with golden light as the sun bathed it. It was a light she was accustomed to. Tula always thought that it was a grateful light, and kind. As though the forest could sense it was one of the last times it would be bathed so gloriously before winter arrived. 

Tula touched her prizes to check they hadn't fallen from her belt. Baron Junus needed to see them. If another war with the Falcon King was coming, he had to know.