Lair of the Dark Elf - Part I: Aureate treasure
Something glistened among the fronds of interweaving ground ferns.
Catching in the sunlight, Anita could see very clearly, it was more than common millet. Looking closer, it emanated a resplendent sheen of aureate – an acorn! No common seed indeed!
Hands on the ground, she felt for signs from other ground scavengers, moisture from coarse grains of soil as large as her palms seeping into her bronze skin. The earth was silent, and the air held little movement, save for the vibrations from the chatter of her fellow bandmates.
She looked up, and scanned the vicinity. Curling tree vines snaked their way up large trunks as thick as a hundred heads, drawing serpentine squiggles that overflowed with smaller, budding leaves. Among them may hide predators of any kind – birds that would rip your necks into shreds, giant spiders that weave webs of traps, and grasshoppers that pounce on you with the turn of your back. But she wasn't interested in any of these, for the scouts had declared the area safe for foraging. They had reinforcements.
She touched the hilt of her blade. What concerned her was far more cunning. Her emerald eyes narrowed, catching reflections of ochre light. Her pupils dilated, and shifted rapidly.
Something had moved among the leaves to her left. It was slight, but nothing misses her eyes. Her ears twitched. A light growling could be heard. Inching closer towards the acorn in the distance, she heard the growling grow stronger. Eyes fixed on the eastward leaves, Anita took slow steps forwards, hunched in foliage. Blades of Sorrel grazed her shoulders with every step, thin notes strung from invisible lines. The hiding beast mirrored her, revealing itself, front claws reaching out in movements as nimble as hers. Brown fur bristled among the greens. A squirrel. The most notorious rival of the Steel Dust Pixies.
The acorn was getting larger now, its burnished sliver closer in view. The growling had deepened in timbre, as the beast saw its rival inch several steps towards its secret treasure. Hidden no more. Dark, sharp pupils scorched Anita's own. They gazed in threatening silence, beckoning her to come closer. If she dared.
Gripping her hilt, it was slippery in her palm. But she would not back down, the sack of millet on her back heavy with its incompetence.
She prepared for the advance, calves tightening like a spring, wound and ready for the rush of adrenaline.
A moment passed, a quiet second of mutual anticipation; fervent calculation. A single oak leaf fell from the sky. It touched the soil with a thin, slight rasp.
The spring unwound, and she flew forward! The growl reverberated, tossing pins through her every nerve. Her heart leapt as her legs plunged forward some more, right arm thrust far towards the gleaming auburn! It was close to her reach, millimetres from her fingertips!
Just as she felt the smooth surface of the acorn, she saw a shadow loom over her in its reflection – and a force propelled her downwards in a piercing stab at her right side. Needles flowed through her veins as the shadow growled and pushed her down to the ground, head hitting soil as its claws pinned her shoulders with tremendous force. All she could see was a blur. Head spinning, the sky was clouded by a thick shadow with dark, burning eyes, its screams splitting her ears. The beast lifted its claws, ready to tear her to pieces. All felt lost and palpitations gripped her, breaths rising in pitched crescents. Anita was not prepared to die. As it brought its gleaming claws down, She closed her eyes and winced to the sound of a crack!
She cried when warm fluid spilled on her arms and face. Expecting a thousand splinters to rip her, Anita was shocked when she felt nothing. Nothing at all. Widening her eyes, she touched her face.
Blood.
But not hers. Whose?
She looked up, dazed, legs writhing as if they had a life of its own. To her near left lay a furry, bristling being, lying on its side in a heavy mound of a hill, whimpering. A stream of dark maroon flowed from its neck. Its eyes stared blankly into hers, triggering sinking ships in the depths of her bracken seas. It whimpered once more. And she heard it echo within her hull.
"Anita, get up!"
Something coarse shook her shoulders back and forth, forcing her awake from her reverie. She found her eyes meeting two hazel ones, damp and large. "You almost died, what were you thinking?"
Anita opened her mouth to speak. Cullen, she voiced. But he didn't seem to hear. "Let's get you up, can you feel your legs?" His voice intermingled with a ringing.
His warm hands touched the writhing bodies. Under his spell, they warmed and calmed. Anita began to feel the sensations coarse through them, from her toes, to her thighs, and then to her spine. The numbness was going away, but with its dissolving, a sharp pain pulsed through her right thigh. "Ow...." Grimacing, her voice travelled out as she tried to move it. Cullen sighed, and smiled his crooked grin. "You're crazy. Trying to steal an acorn from a Squirrel at that proximity. You should have just let it be."
He hoisted her up with his strong arms, and let her lean against his side. A warmth brushed against Anita's neck. She blushed. "My sack!" She leaned towards the crumpled linen. All the millet had spilt from it. Her arms felt weak.
"Oh, lean on me, I'll get it for you," Cullen said hoarsely, and let Anita settle on a nearby pebble. He picked up the scattered seeds, each as thick as his palms, and placed them into the sack. With one swift bow he lifted the sack and carried it beside his own shoulders broad enough to balance both. Anita looked at her sack. It seemed tiny beside his. A lump rose in her throat as a heavier one dropped in her chest, down her stomach. Incompetent. The word continued to drill itself into her temples. Cullen extended his right hand to her. "Let's go."
Anita looked up to see his broad face, gazing down at her in the glowing sunlight. The words fell silent for a while. Slipping her hand into his, the same warmth poured into her heart, replacing the hole from the lump that had fallen.
A wind brushed her cheeks as a force pulled her up, and a giddiness filled her from the tips of her hair to the smallest of her toes. She thought she would fall, only to land into the warm chest of her dearest friend. It throbbed. Golden leaves were cascading down gently, and softly. She looked into his eyes and they looked back, reflecting her amidst a blush of plum freckles. "Let's head back", Cullen said in a low voice, beckoning her to lean on his shoulder with a tilt of his chin. And she did.
They walked to the grass where the acorn lay, pulling it from the nest of dried twigs. It resisted their strength with a tight grasp. Tugging harder, it finally loosened as some twigs snapped, wrestled from its former owner. Picking it up together, they put it into Anita's sack, and made for the rest of the band.
Such is the way of life, here in the deep woods. You have to forage to survive amidst the harshness of mother nature, who could be far from kind. Even if it means fighting for what is scarce. Every chance wasted could cost you your own, and those of your bandmates. You have to keep fighting.
Such was the life Anita had grown to learn since birth, pounded into her with every dry spell, forest fire, and cruel winter. In fact, it was the only way of life she had ever known.
Limping away, Anita turned to look back at the slain creature. A part of her wished to spread her arms over it, and bury it in the roots of the oak tree. A twinge gnawed at her heart as she imagined how it once had been a scavenger just like her; starving, seeking only to survive, relying on the warmth of others, or perhaps itself, alone.
She wished for it to stir. But nothing moved.
~❋❋❋~
To be continued
*I am working on some illustrations for this book - will post updates soon! ^^