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Wings and Talons Chapter 1
Quinn glances up at the thick canopies high above her. The autumn leaves faintly crackle beneath her feet despite her efforts. The shadows cast a dye over her clothes, smothering the deep blue into a murky grey. She'd traveled a bit too deep into the forest for her taste. The warnings her supervisor had given her before she left still ring in her head.
"It's not just the monsters out there anymore. There are Mages hiding in those woods." She hadn't the heart to inform him that there are always mages hiding in these woods. They'd just increased in number fleeing from the increased raids by the Freljordian tribes of the north.
To make matters worse, the forest had begun to look familiar a couple miles back. Normally this was a welcome sign, but these were her childhood woods. She was getting closer to the grave with every step. And getting closer to the grave meant getting closer to the tuskvore's den. She couldn't lose another to those beasts.
Her training partner had run off following the trail of a spy. Quinn had raised suspicions to their supervisor about the existence of someone following them on their final days of training, but he had scoffed at her minimal proof as paranoia. Christin had taken offense to this and had rushed off to prove Quinn's suspicions correct.
Quinn begged to be allowed to follow him and bring him back, conceding to take twice the punishment dished out to him in return. They gave permission after a couple hours had passed and he still hadn't returned. Christin was a good recruit, just brash and stubborn at the wrong times. They couldn't afford to lose him in these woods.
The man Christin was tracking was crafty. He had left a false trail that had lured Christin far into the woods. The spy was probably still near the campground, staying undetected. Quinn could only see Christin's trail now. He had apparently chosen to push onwards, even as the false trail had run cold.
A soft screech grabs Quinn's attention. She glances up at the blue feathers that pass above the trees. It's a warning. Christin is ahead, but so is something else.
Quinn pulls herself up into the lowest parts of the canopy, ignoring the unnatural texture of the petricite on her hands. She carefully jumps from tree branch to tree branch, keeping a tuned ear on the sounds below her.
Her eye catches an unusual patch of shadow a few trees away before it disappears. She slows, quickly noting how close she is to the edge of trees. She tightens her grip on her crossbow. It appears again, this time a few trees back from her current position. Almost as if it had noticed her observation. She prepares to turn when she hears him.
"... not here to hurt you guys. I'm just trying to find the person following our company." Christin's voice is calm, calculated. He's outnumbered.
A woman's voice rings a response, "Sounds like a load of hogwash to me. We just came to this area. We have no desire to be anywhere near you, much less follow you. If we had known, we'd already be gone." Her voice wavered a bit beneath a layer of bravado.
Afraid of military and lead by an outspoken woman - Christin and most likely run in mages. Desperate ones at that. They had run to the most dangerous part of these woods to hide.
"You would not leave. I saw the grave near your tents and it looks like it has been there a long time. There's no way you would just leave." Christin sounds adamant about his deduction.
Quinn froze. That is Caleb's grave, meaning that the tuskvore's cave is closer than she thought. This is not good.
The voices are getting louder and louder, as the mages attempt to defend themselves. Some of them try to convince Christin that they just want to leave the area. Other's simply yell profanities in his direction. Quinn gets antsier with each rise in volume. Then an man's voice stops them.
"Why do we sit here and take these accusations from this stranger. He cannot fight all of us. We can simply kill him and be on with our lives."
A sizzling noise starts up as the petricite Quinn is sitting on begins to hum. Magic. Everyone is going to die here unless she does something. She crouches forward, the tips of her toes the only anchor to the tree she has left.
The adjacent branch shakes, causing Quinn to stop her forward momentum. Instinct takes over and her crossbow aims. A chill rides up her spine as she glances to the left. Her crossbow is now aimed squarely between a hooded man's eyes. He seems just as surprised as she at her quickness. His hand is placed securely around her wrist, putting pressure in such a way she can't pull the trigger.
Quinn keeps her breath even, her other hand already touching her combat knife. A sharp twinge on her ankle keeps her from acting. His second hand was ready to cut her tendons at a moment's notice. Quinn's thoughts raced as she went through her options, but her eyes remained calculated, never moving an inch from her attacker's gaze.
Her thoughts drifted to Valor. Was the situation below escalating so badly that he could not spare her a second? No. Valor always had her back, unless he was ordered elsewise. That could only mean that he had gone for reinforcements. Quinn had told him to do that if the truskvore was coming.
The ground began to shake as if right on cue. A huge mammoth lumbers around the corner, clearly upset and ready to gouge anything within it's sight. It's razorhorns gleam menacingly in the air and it swings them wildly.
A shiver runs down Quinns back as the screaming begins to ring in her ears. She closes her eyes, picturing Valor as she grips her crossbow firmer. He'll be back. She just has to hold them off here.
Realizing what she had done, Quinn glances back at the man beside her. He had relieved his death grip on her wrist as some point and had simply pointed the crossbow away from his forehead. The feeling of the knife on her ankle was also gone, instead replaced by a hand which seemed to be attempting to stabilize her as she had slowly inched forward. His eyes stare apprehensively at her reactions, as if attempting to understand what she was thinking.
She could tell he couldn't understand why she had turned away from him, why she had given her life forfeit even for a second. He continues to hold her firmly, not letting her move an inch, but not making a move to end her either. He holds a silence prevailed even with the thundering tuskvore in the background. His silent question just repeated over and over again.
"I'd rather die to you than that thing." Quinn grumbles, the silence finally pulling the answer from her. He huffs. She knows it means "whatever you say".
Quinn chuckles. It had been awhile since she had last had to interpret someone's non verbal responses. He just looks at her like she's grown two heads before turning his eyes to the scene below.
Quinn mirrors the movement, mind now steady. The tuskvore hadn't actually charged yet, probably intimidated by the fire slowly growing around a middle aged man. This gave them a chance. She quickly thought of her options. There had been a mudslide a couple floods back that had made a good cliff nearby a while back. If this tuskvore had taken over the area after the last one died, then he may not know of the dangers there. They could lure him into charging on the loose ground.
The only other option was to fight it, but the frightened mages would probably cause more harm than good. They could also accidentally scare the tuskvore towards Uwendale, which she had to avoid at all costs. That combined with the fact Valor meant their chances for winning were slim to none.
Quinn pulls her wrist, causing the man to look at her. "Look, I don't know who you are or why you are even here, but I have a mission to fulfill and a partner to save. Valor isn't back so I need a new wing man, you in or you out?"
He blinks slowly, weighing his options. He holds her gaze, eyes searching for something within her own. He apparently sees what he wants as his eyes light up and he nods.
Quinn lets out the breath she didn't remember holding. "Ok, here's the plan. South east of here is a cliff where a mudslide happened a few years back. Ground should still be good and soft, perfect for a rampaging tuskvore to fall off of. We just have to lure it over there⦠without getting impaled. If it doesn't work, we'll have to fight. However, Val should be back by then, so it'll be fine."
The man only nods, not questioning her plan or even asking who Val was. Instead he motions for her to get the beast's attention. Then he releases her, breaking back into the forest a bit to flank it on the other side.
He is the herder. She is the bait.
