Chapter 3
Buffy stumbled to a halt as she reached a river, bending to place her hands on her knees, breathing hard for the first time in quite a while. She hadn't sprinted in quite a while, not usually having to go much past her easy run speed of about twenty-five miles per hour, even when chasing vampires.
As soon as her breathing slowed a bit, she straightened and turned to walk alongside the river, idly debating whether or not to jump it where it narrowed up ahead. The jump would be a long one, even for her, but with Slayer abilities, it wasn't beyond her.
And she felt the very faintest tingle warning of something bad in that direction—either something really bad a few miles off or a little baddie closer in. Hard to tell.
Decision made, she broke into a jog, then a light run before leaping the river gracefully and landing on one of the boulders on the far side. She paused for a moment, getting a directional fix on the baddie, then bounded down from the stone and headed out at a steady jog, conserving her energy for a fight.
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Glorfindel frowned as his sharp eyes picked out the tracks leading into the wood beyond Imladris—the spacing indicated that the child had been moving at impossible speed. He knew now that Erestor had not been exaggerating when he had said the girl had been running near as swift as Asfaloth.
He gently pressed the white stallion into a canter, following Buffy's trail into the forest and praying the child had stopped ere she reached the river. If she had passed into the Wilds at such speed, it could be days before he found her.
And she had left unarmed.
There were things in the Wild that no one could face unarmed—Wargs and worse roamed those hills.
He urged Asfaloth to a gallop.
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When Buffy sighted the things that had set off her 'spider-sense', she was reminded of demon hyenas and the debacle with Xander and the pack of hyena-people and the whole 'eating of Principal Flutie' thing.
Only these were a lot bigger than the hyenas at the zoo. Not to mention there were seven of them.
Time to test out her skills with the Scythe—for once, she was glad of Whistler as she summoned the mystical weapon to herself and went on the offensive.
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Glorfindel slowed Asfaloth as they reached the river, following footprints where Buffy had walked before speeding up again—not as fast as before, but at least as swiftly as an Elf could run if in haste.
His brow furrowed in worry and confusion as the trail veered suddenly towards the river at a narrower point—had she jumped into the water?
But no—there, on the far bank, beside a boulder, her footprints again.
That leap should have been impossible—from bank to boulder, clearly, then off and into the Wilds.
Asfaloth could not make that jump, for the boulder was too slick for even the best horse's hooves to find purchase.
At the lightest touch, the great stallion wheeled about and set off at a dead gallop for the ford. The child had to be located—past the river, there was no telling what dangers might find her.
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Buffy quickly lost herself in the fight in a way that only a Slayer could. Though there were seven of them, they couldn't come at her all at once—they were too big for that. She would only have to face three or four at a time and they didn't exactly strategize.
The first fell quickly, its spine severed, and the second followed with a quick beheading.
Evil they might be, but they were still only animals.
Sensing one behind her, she reversed her grip on the shaft of the Scythe and thrust backwards, stabbing the creature with the stake on the end and listening to the pained snarl in satisfaction before spinning and slashing out with the blade, opening the beast's throat.
Four left.
These four were more cautious, after seeing their pack-mates slain, and circled warily before one broke formation and rushed her.
Buffy flipped up over its back, lashing out with the Scythe, scoring a deep hit along the creature's flank.
It howled in rage and pain, spinning to face her—and, as though that were some kind of signal, the other three sprang forward.
The fight became a blur, two of the beasts falling under the Scythe before the wounded one ended up catching an overhanded chop with its skull.
It fell, but the last attacked, forcing her to let go of the embedded Scythe and face it unarmed.
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Glorfindel's sharp ears caught the howl, not far off, and he immediately aimed Asfaloth in the direction of the sound, "Noro lim," he commanded.
The horse sprang forward.
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The hyena-thing lunged, and Buffy did the only thing she could think of—she jumped straight up, twisting midair to land on the creature's back, and reached forward to grab its head. And twisted with all her Slayer-strength, snapping its neck.
The beast collapsed beneath her and Buffy climbed off its back, glancing down at her now-bloodstained shirt, somewhere between grateful that they'd left her clothes in her room so she'd been able to wear something familiar to fight in and annoyed that she'd ruined her only set of clothes.
Shrugging off the irritation, she headed over to pull the Scythe out of the downed whatever-it-was' skull and stabbed the stake-end down in the dirt to get the worst of the blood off. That part of it was really built for vampires, not things that bled.
She'd dunk the whole thing in the river later—fortunately, the magical weapon couldn't be water-damaged.
Shrugging, she pulled the weapon out of the dirt as she heard hooves approaching at a rapid pace from the direction of the river, half-turning to face the sound.
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Glorfindel gasped at the scene he came upon.
Buffy stood, back half to him, her head turned so that she could see him out of one eye, blood liberally splattered across her face and clothes, a weapon unlike any he had ever seen held in an easy one-handed grip, seven dead Wargs scattered around her.
He dismounted to approach her quickly, shocked and concerned, "Tithen pen?"
It was as though a spell had been broken. The girl turned to face him fully, showing it was only one streak of blood on the side of her face that he had been able to see, though her shirt certainly had seen cleaner days. "Glori," she greeted.
He overlooked the form of address, "Are you injured, L—Buffy?" he caught the 'Lady' at remembering her request.
She shook her head, "I'm fine."
He searched her eyes for a moment, but she was telling the truth. Physically, she was unharmed, but there was something in the way she held herself…
"How did you do this?" he couldn't help but ask, gesturing to the dead Wargs. Seven of them. Seven! Even he would be hard-pressed against so many at once alone.
Buffy glanced around, seemingly puzzled. "Oh, the hyena-things?" For a brief moment, the strange weapon sang as she spun it almost absently, "It's just what I do."
Glorfindel frowned—he was not going to let this go so easily. She could have been killed!
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Here you few readers go. Maybe I'll get more as time goes on?