Golden thorns chapter 43
He quickly jumped to a less exposed branch and fearfully scanned the sky, listening for the percussive whump whump of the great beast's wings. Nothing. Where was it? Had it landed? If so, why? Had it already found one of his team? No. he couldn't think about that. He had to keep moving. If he stopped for too long then he would definitely be found and killed. He hurriedly climbed down the remainder of the trees height and scanned the surrounding forest. Not a single twitch amongst the shadows. He closed his eyes and listened for the tell-tale crack of a twig, or the rustle of leaves, anything that might indicate the presence of a predator. The forest was quiet. All was still.
He broke into a run, using the shadows on the ground to navigate. It was still morning so he kept his shadow behind him and forged through the trees, trying not to cause any disturbance that could disturb the unsettling silence that had descended around him. The ground was covered in a thick layer of dead leaves and moss, muffling his footsteps as the vegetation sped past him.
Five minutes of hard sprint later and the forest grew denser, forcing him to slow. He crept between the trees, watching the sun through the canopy. This was certainly very different from the emerald forest back at beacon. The greens were darker. Large vines and moss growths hung limply off of branches. Many of the trunks had ladders of enormous, flat fungi protruding from cracks in the gnarled, knotted bark. He got the impression that this oppressive forest was sick, like some sort of malevolence hung over it, twisting all forms of life to something different, more sinister. He fancied that it was the presence of the creatures of Grimm that poisoned the land. If we don't stop them, he mused, then this is what will happen to the rest of the world. Everything will be consumed by this darkness. That is why we fight.
He heard an inhuman screech from above him. He jumped back as the forest exploded around him in a torrent of splinters, bark and ruined vegetation. He felt something collide with his left thigh. Dropping into a crouch and bringing his weapon up, he turned to face this new terror. As the dust settled, he saw the gigantic, feathered body of the Nevermore that had pursued their ship. Atop its crested head stood Azura, repeatedly plunging her sword into the beast. Eventually she stopped, shoulders rising and falling as she gasped for breath.
"Got you, you feathered freak." She said as she pulled the elegant blade from the corpse and used the creatures own feathers to wipe off the slick, dark blood. She stood and looked around at the devastation caused by her exploits and Coran noticed a long, thin gash above her right eyebrow. She saw him, kneeling at the edge of the fresh clearing, and waved him over. He grinned and stood, taking a step further towards the towering body of the creature- then stumbled and fell, a lance of searing pain stabbing up the length of his leg. He let out a yelp as he landed heavily on his shoulder. Looking down at his thigh, he saw a thin splinter of wood protruding almost a foot from the muscle. He groaned as he saw his blood-soaked limb, gasping as fresh waves of agony almost made him black out. He was vaguely aware of Azura crouching next to him, tearing a strip from his shirt and tying it, tightly, above the wound. A slap in the face brought him back to full wakefulness and he heard her voice, talking quickly. "Coran. Stay with me." She spoke with a stern authority that made him want to obey. "Listen to me. I'm gonna need you to drink this." She held up a silver hipflask to his lips. He took it from her and took three long gulps, coughing as the liquid seared his throat.
"Is that… whiskey!?" he gasped through the agony.
"Finest single malt scotch that Vacuo has to offer. It'll calm your nerves. Now listen to me." Her face was hard, her eyes full of concern. "I'm going to have to take this thing out. This is going to hurt. A lot." Coran gritted his teeth.
"Help me get this off." he gestured to his dark brown leather jacket. The faithful had served him well through thick and thin, scratched, creased and stained with three years' worth of grime. He folded the sleeve and shoved it into his mouth.
"Ready?"
"No." he bit down on the leather.
"Good." She said. He felt a tugging sensation in his leg, then consciousness slipped away.