«The World as She Knows It»
—Chapter 1: Manslaughter—
As the morning light seeped through the leaves and filtered through her eyelashes, the girl awoke, still pressing her body against the branch. Sitting up and leaning against the trunk, she stared at her hands and shirt, splintered and covered in specks of dried blood. At least the cut on her leg had closed up, though her body was still sore from the numerous tumbles and tackles she received. Looking past her hands, she saw the beast that attacked her, its red eyes and white tusks shone through brown bristled fur. It was watching from about ten meters away ready to charge her as soon as she came down.
The girl shivered at the touch of the light morning breeze against her grime covered skin, her limbs trembled violently at its warm touch. The gust came without rustling the leaves; without breaking the smog of suffocating silence that was shoving her voice back into her throat. As her eyes scanned about looking for a way out, the image of her brother, strong, fit and tall, flitted into her mind, but she didn't cry out for him — didn't even consider it. Left, right, left, then her gaze landed on a man with a sword lashing back at the beasts which charged him, each trade of blows nearly sending him off his feet. One by one the beasts around him fell, till the pack of four was reduced to a lone survivor.
Now.
Off the branch and into a dead run. Her feet pounded the ground harder than the hooves behind her. The last beast was slain and the man raised a red vial to his lips, about to bring it bottom-up, but she charged into his spine, gripping his trunk and spinning herself to the other side of his body. The impact sent the vial high into the air and the beast on her tail charged square into his gut. With a blood curdling cry he slammed the sword through the boar and into the ground. Crimson! Violent bursts of light let loose, and all that was left were the sword and the vial which landed in her hands.
The leg she shielded herself with had vanished, leaving her fingers wrapped around the blood red vial. She fell to her knees, rolling the vial onto the grass as she collapsed onto all fours, her arms wilting and her body sagged over the vial. Coarse gasps for air broke the morning stillness. Dry rasps broke into droughty coughs and finally she uncorked the vial, which was a simple sphere the size of her palm and glugged down the viscous red liquid. She let out an unrushed sigh and pocketed the vial. In her prostrated position, she lifted her gaze toward the sword embedded in front of her, it looked heavy and hefty, but it whispered sweet nothings of safety. She crawled over, pulled herself onto her feet by its pommel and wrenched it out of the ground. Her fingers wrapped around its earthy brown grip and she gave it a few swings. It was disproportionately light and she looked like toon link waving a sword his height.
She slowly brought her hand to the blade and gave it a gentle test poke with her finger, repeating until she sucked in a deep breath and ran the digit slowly against it to find that it was not so sharp as to cut without the application of significant force. After a bit more feeling she nodded and settled on carrying it diagonally across her body, with her right hand on its hilt and the left on its blade which pointed upward. So she prepared to set off.
Even though the rays of the late morning sun did a better job at penetrating the low forest canopy, the biome she found herself in was still scarcely lit, interspersed with patches of gentle light and sharp shadows. Forced to wade through the few softly lit spots, the darkness seemed to press in on her like a haemorrhagic haze. All around, the end of the forest was not in sight, yet every rustle, every creak and every crack sent tremors through her body and each gust sent her on a short sprint. By the time she had found a dirt path, the sun was already past its peak though she could not see it. She was still trapped.
Hunger had hit her again. She couldn't see any readily available food and the thought of hunting was shot down before it even entered her mind, so she walked along the path, using the sword to beat and poke at the odd shrub or low branch in hopes that something seemingly edible would present itself. After numerous baleful bushwhacks, something black with a distinctive sheen had caught her eye high up in a nearby tree. She walked towards the tree and hid the sword behind it, out of sight from the road, to free up her hands for climbing the tree.
Her fingers stabbed into the bark like talons, her light body scaled up like a limber leopard. Each strike against the bark sent wood chips flying as her primal hunger shut out the splinters' sting in her fingers. She crawled up onto the branch, proceeding on all fours with her torso low and her eyes set on her prize. Each step reverberated silently as the world around her stood still. One misstep, one simple slip, and suddenly she was barely hanging by a knee and a hand. The rest of her body hung freely like a piñata hit off-centre, swaying precariously left and right as if her limbs would give way and she would drop at any moment. Mustering all her upper body strength she managed another hand on to the branch, then her torso, then finally she was resting on the branch, limp limbs draping down on either side of it. Her breath was quick, ragged, high-pitched, and on every inhale she bit into her dried lower lip. The look in her eye as she panted on the branch was a frantic daze.
After she caught her breath, she reached forward and grabbed onto the branch with both hands like a lifeline, her legs still straddling the branch. She inched forwards toward the round fruit, pulling hard with her arms, and dragging the rest of her body against the rough bark of the branch. Inch by abrasive inch, her body scraped towards the fruit, until finally her hands grabbed the branch right in front of it and she made one final pull to bring her head towards it.
With closed eyes, she took three swift sniffs of the fruit and a senile smile crept onto her face. The faint sweet smell flooded through her nostrils, infiltrating her brain and firing off every receptor in it. Cupping it gently with both hands, she pulled gently till the stem of the fruit snapped and the apple-like fruit was right in front of her face. She took in another whiff of the berry-like scent and rubbed a palm over the fruits shining black skin. The surface was so smooth that it was practically squeaking under the touch of her palm. It shone so brightly under the streaks of light breaking through the leaves that it was like a black pearl. Sharp teeth dug deep into the flesh of the fruit which shattered in her mouth like thin glass. Three swift chomps was all it took and the fruit was gone, core and all.
With her legs still straddling the branch, the girl leaned back, hands on her satisfied belly, head on the bark and shoulder length brown hair dangling off the branch. The rays peeking through the forest canopy provided a slight warmth. Exhausted but satiated, the warmth caressed her skin, blanketing her as she drifted off to sleep.
—
Striding through the forest was a young man whose mid-length chocolate locks trailed behind him in the gentle breeze. The man cut a sharp figure and his chiselled face might turn some heads if he were walking down a street, but here in the silent forest he was very much alone. As he quick-paced between the trees of the forest, his keen eyes scanned every branch efficiently, his gaze never lingering at a point for more than a second. He searched and searched, but could not seem to find what he was looking for, and the longer he searched, the more furrowed his brows became and the greater the scowl on his face. Nevertheless, his eyes continued their calm scanning, until something shining was caught in the corner of his vision.
He halted immediately, shifting his feet shoulder width apart as he crouched low to the ground. His eyes stayed nailed to an orange prism floating in the tree as his left hand found a rock and his right drew the dagger on his hip. He shot a quick glance to the side and flung the pebble into some shrub nearby, making a loud rustle. From the moment the stone left his hand to the moment it landed, his eyes never left the tree once, and yet he saw no movement whatsoever. With his free hand he felt the ground, searching around for a larger pebble, but to no avail.
Tsk.
Bringing both his hands to eye level, he entered his en garde position, left hand relaxed by his jaw and dagger held ala ice pick further ahead with both elbows bent and tucked close to his body. He raised his body a bit, just enough so that he wasn't fully crouched but low enough to maintain stealth and stability. He crept towards the tree and with every step he landed gently on his heel and rolled the contact point till he lightly pushed off his toe again. All the while his right foot was always ahead of the left and pointing forward, while the left foot was always at somewhat of a tangent to the right's axis. As he crept towards the focus of his gaze, he drew a slight with his path, approaching ever so slightly from the right so that the trunk was always somewhat between his point of vision and himself. The obstruction was not so much that he could not keep his eye on the orange prism, but always just enough that an assailant would have trouble leaping directly at him from said branch.
Once he reached the tree, he moved to the other side so that the trunk was now on his left side. With a swift hop he coiled his left arm around a low branch, crunching his abs to bring his legs up and around the trunk. He reached up for the next branch and continued this deft climb, never once chipping or breaking into the bark of the tree, maintaining silence as far as possible.
By now his entire upper body was above the height of the prism and his dagger was raised, like a poised viper ready to strike at its target. He assessed the sight before him, his eyes looking up and down the entire short length of the specimen. The furrow in his brows returned with renewed intensity and his grip around the dagger tightened. He raised his dagger, then lowered it again, raised it, then lowered yet again. This continued for some time until eventually he put it back in its sheath.
He found his footing on the beginnings of a branch, where it was thickest, and finally moved his gaze away from the thing, towards a branch hanging over it. He pulled his arms back behind him, bent his knees like a coiled spring and let loose, swiftly grabbing the branch and muscling up over it in a fluid motion. Before you knew it he was perched above the thing, dagger back in hand, this time loosely hanging by his fingers as his elbows rested on his knees. He put his left hand firmly on the branch and draped his left foot over its side. Right knee bent fully and dagger at the ready, he gave the thing a swift, firm prod with his left foot. He recoiled and was perched as before once again.