𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐌'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘 | ❝ Great works are performed not by strength but by perseverance. ❞
A quest to complete a bestiary leads Ruselm to force the infamous witcher Geralt, of Rivia, to accompany him during his travels after many ins...
RUSELM'S BESTIARY CHAPTER TWO ─ FIGHT OF THE WARG, PART TWO
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'SHIT' WAS POSSIBLY the only viable word running through Ruselm's mind. He knew there wasn't much else he could do once the warg was behind him, breathing the smell of death onto the back of his neck. As soon as he turned to look back over his shoulder, the young man would find himself in a fight for his life so he continued to stare forward, towards the river. He had no idea how long the warg would wait like this, in this little cat and mouse game of theirs, but Ruselm had to push himself to think.
What else could he do?
Ruselm was cornered. With the beast at his back, there was nowhere to go. The tree he took shelter behind was on his right, another tree at his left. Ahead was the now-torrential river, behind was the monster. Her soft growl grew in volume, a reminder of the danger he'd willingly walked into.
What was it he'd said to Luvrad and Ben? Congratulations on surviving, lads, wargs don't usually let their prey get away. How ironic. Just fantastic.
If he ran now, the warg would be upon him in a matter of seconds, if he even managed to get a few feet ahead. That was a matter of receiving Lady Luck's blessing. He wasn't feeling particularly blessed at the moment. Or the other option, if he turned, he'd come face-to-face with the she-beast and be devoured and that would be the end of the adventurer extraordinaire he so aspired to become. That's it! That was the unfortunate end.
He might as well accept his fate now.
Ruselm of Nazair, They'd say once he was gone. Dead because of his own foolishness! Though, now that the wheels in his mind were finally turning after their barrage of creative insults at his intelligence, Ruselm began to think more and more about his options. He knew how crazy this thought was in his head, but... what else could he do? Running meant dying. Staying meant dying. Turning meant dying. Facing, however?
Well, he'd find that out for himself.
As slowly as he could move, inch by inch, Ruselm turned his head to face the she-warg behind him. The beast's dark manlike eyes glittered with human malice, her canine fangs and dagger-sharp teeth were an ugly shade of pale yellow, as Ben had described, and the red stain of blood persisted even as saliva dripped from her teeth. Ruselm stared at the stains as rain continued to pour down on them, wondering briefly if his blood would soon mingle with the life-force of countless others this warg had killed.
She narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly and was unaffected by the water streaming in rivulets down her muzzle, hot breath fanning over Ruselm's face. And, for the moment, he was still alive. Somehow.
