sirglompsalot speaking- er, writing. This is not my first work, but it is my first work on Fanfiction and my first writing for this fandom. I hope it will live up to the expectations of those who read this, my own, and The Wife's.
Enjoy.
Where You Go, I'll Go
Where You Stay, I'll Stay
Where You Move, I'll Move
I Will follow
The flame-haired huntress bent over to get a better look at the tracks left behind in the soft dirt. From what she could make of the tracks, her quarry was human. The indents were that you'd get from a sandal- and a fair sized one at that. It was bigger than her own foot when she compared her tacks and that of her prey side-by-side. She sniffed the footprints- they smelled of cologne and sweat: definitely male. Whoever he was, judging by the depth of the prints, he was in a hurry. The huntress smiled coldly. These tracks were fresh- her prey wasn't far. She picked up her bow from the soft forest floor. The chase was on.
The huntress walked slowly through the forest, careful to not step on any twigs or dead leaves that would give her away. She was getting closer- she could feel it. There was another set of tracks now; these bigger than the first. Shrubbery ahead had been trampled over recently. "Within the past ten minutes, at most," the huntress mused in her head. "I'm closer than I thought. I have more than one prey, too." She picked up her pace, not wanting to lose any time or ground. Every step brought her closer to her goal- she could practically smell her prize.
Smell…? If she was a dog, her ears would've perked up and tail start to wag. She could smell them; smell a mixture of sweat, cologne, yesterday's pizza, and their fear. The fear of being caught; the fear of being hunted; the fear a mouse feels when cornered in by a large, wild cat knowing there's no escape; the foreboding feeling that says "it's over and there's nothing you can do about it"; the fear of being captured. She could smell all these things and more. She was like a wild fox and her prey a rabbit. A rabbit may be fast, but not fast enough to out run a fox or cunning enough to outsmart him at his own game. She was a fox and they were her rabbits. She was ready to feast.
Snap! The breaking twig sounded like a cannon going off. It shattered the thick blanket of silence that covered the forest. The huntress scampered up a tree to hide; her preys were acting like fat, heavy rabbits.
"Herry!" a voice hissed. "Be more careful! She'll hear us!"
"Sorry," came the gruff reply. Several more twigs cracked as one of her rabbits shifted around.
"Are you ready?" the first voice asked. "She should be here soon."
"Yeah, I am."
"Good, now, I'll give the signal when I see her." The voices were getting closer. The huntress shifted her weight onto her toes, getting ready to jump. Her quarries were beneath her. A tall, slightly muscled teen with bright purple hair crept from the undergrowth. The first tracks belonged to him; the cologne scent was unmistakable. Now, where was the second? If she attacked one while the other was in hiding, then everything was done for. She'd just have to wait.
But, if she waited too long, she could lose both of her preys. What should she do?
"Psst, Archie! Is the coast clear?" the second voice called out.
"Yeah, she's not here," called the purple-haired teen. "We should move spots, Herry, before she catches up." A giant-like man dropped from a tree with a loud thud.
Perfect. The huntress grinned. The gods were most definitely smiling down on her. She took out two arrows and notched one onto her bow. Instead of an arrowhead, there were thick, soft pieces of colored cloth filled with powder. She carefully and quietly pulled the bow back until the twinge let her know she had pulled far enough. She breathed out and – whoosh! Whoosh! Both arrows hit their targets with a puff of colored smoke. The huntress grinned and jumped from the tree.
"Yes, I win! I win!" she shouted. "I am the fox! I am the hunter and you are the hunted! I am Atlanta the Huntress!"
"I vote that Atlanta and Theresa are not allowed to choose the next game we play," declared the purple-haired youth as he flopped onto the couch in a small brownstone dorm. "No more Truth-or-Dare and no more Hide-and-Be-Shot-at-By-Atlanta-and-Her-Pouch-of-Co lored-Powder-Arrows."
"I second that," the brown-haired giant agreed, joining his buddy on the couch. "I've lost three of my shirts to Atlanta's game."
A ginger-haired girl entered the room with a bottle of pop in hand, followed by the flame-headed female known as the "Huntress".
"It's not my fault I can read minds," the ginger said with a laugh.
"Y'all are just sore losers," said the Huntress as she sat next to the purple-haired youth. "Especially you, Archie." She nudged him playfully in the hip.
"Am not," he grumbled. "Weren't you the one who called herself 'Atlanta the Huntress'?" Atlanta rolled her eyes.
"So? You're still a sore loser, Archie. Admit it."
"I am not. You're just proud and boastful." He got off the couch. "I'm going to go take a nap."
"Okay, Mr. Sore-Loser," Atlanta called. Archie scowled at her and left the room.
"If he's a sore loser," the giant-teen began. "then what am I?"
Atlanta and Theresa exchanged looks.
"Um," Theresa began. "a giant loser?" Atlanta doubled over laughing, slapping her knee.
"Theresa, that is so mean!" she choked out, wiping the tears out of her eyes. Herry frowned at the two girls.
"Haha, very funny," he growled and got off the couch. "I think I'm going to follow Archie's example and go take a nap." Theresa slumped down next to Atlanta after Herry left.
"Do you think I was too harsh?" she asked. Atlanta shook her head, still wiping tears out of her eyes.
"Naw, don't worry. Herry will have forgotten about by dinnertime. It'll be water under the bridge."
"What about Archie? He seemed pretty upset." Theresa swished the pop around in it's can, watching bubbles form and pop.
"Like I said," the flame-haired girl replied, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table in front of her. "It'll all be water under the bridge."
Unfortunately, when dinnertime rolled around, it was not 'water under the bridge'. Yes, Herry had forgotten it by the time Athena rang for dinner, but Archie had not. In fact, things had gotten a lot worse. Archie had declared war with Atlanta; not just any war, a war of tricks and traps. A war wherein their knowledge of tomfoolery is stretched and their skill of trapping, seeking, and hiding are put to a test. Who will win?
Thank you for reading the prologue of "I Will Follow". I hope to continue this story with the support of y'all who read this and The Wife.
Please review with your criticisms and advice.