The wind whistled in a low breaze, shifting through the branches of the willow trees, shielding Neerah from sight. Perched on one of the thriving branches, she silently unsheathed her dagger from the thigh of her trousers, gripping it, ready to strike her prey. It was moments like these, where her heartbeat grew louder, as if it were telling her what to do; guiding her hands and thoughts. She could focus on the sound of her heart, the scent of a nearby lake, and the view of a grazing buck, all the while preparing herself for what was about to happen.
The buck had a set of long antlers, sprouting off like tree branches and covered in flourishing vines, sprouting small buds of flowers. He was truly a gorgeous catch, one that would bring Neerah and Lahrizi a feast of a dinner, at least compared to what they were used to, and they could sell the excess meat to the market the next time they travel into town.
She gripped her dagger tighter as her heartbeat quickened, signaling that death was nearby and ready to take hold of it's next victim. She took one last breath, holding it as she quietly raised her dagger, throwing it with precision, and striking the buck in the heart. It collapsed, crashing to the ground, creating a loud sound amongst the eerily soundless forest. She discreetly dropped to the soil, approaching the deceased deer wearily.
Thank you for your sacrifice. She thought as she tore her dagger from the chest cavity of the deer, wiping the scarlet blood on her grey trousers. Though having done this many times before, she could feel tears welling in her eyes. If Lahrizi was here he'd tell her to stop being so sentimental; to not feel pity for a creature who was born to die for the benefit of man. However, something in her always mourned the death of an animal who only lived to be killed. She sheathed her dagger and hoisted the animals corpse on her back, holding it on by the legs and heading back to camp.
When she arrived at the entrance of a dreary cave and the sound of fire crackling beyond, she knew she was home. Trekking in further, she could see the caves walls dripping with moisture, creating crystal-like stalagmite along the edges of the cave. Further in, the small campfire burned, surrounded by their pelts that they used as sleeping bags, and the few stocks of pans that they collected from nearby markets.
"Lahrizi?" She questioned, dropping the deer in the corner of the cave that they deemed the cleaning station, where some of their gear laid to gut their catches.
Checking the rest of their minimalistic campsite, Lahrizi was nowhere to be seen, nor could she smell his stench of mud mixed with gin. He hadn't gone hunting saying as he had left behind his bow, quivered arrows and his dagger. And she doubted he'd go to the market without her.
YOU ARE READING
The Dance of Cursed Hands
FantasyNeerah Sabili is a young huntress, apprenticing under a man who goes by the name Lahrizi Dalysin. When she finds out that Lahzri isn't who he said he was, her life is thrown into distress. Will she make it?
