/=|= The Lost Raven =|=\

04

"Playing Possum Part II"

"I'm sorry, deary, I should 'ave told you." The father began, "this was just the toll for using our road."

"You see, this 'ere is our road," the son continued, "and you've travelled on it for a ways now and owe us a toll. You wouldn't want to steal from us, now?"

"But—"

"Would you?"

"No! But—"

"Would you?"

Tira bowed her head and whimpered, "But you promised."

"We made a mistake."

"And we're sorry."

"You paid us for the road."

"But you owe us for the apple."

"Bu-but," now her stutter was genuine, " I don't have anything left!"

"Oh, that's right."

"That is a problem."

"I guess, she don't get the apple after all. Sorry love. Be on your way now."

"But—"

"Son, don't be so cruel," the father smacked the younger man upside the head, "have some manners. This 'ere's a lady. She may not have anything to give, but we're some generous gentlemen. And we can give her the apple for a small service."

"Oh! Right you are pops! Right you are! A small service! What say you?"

She didn't have to ask, but she did anyway. "What kind of service?"

They looked at one another, then reached down, each one taking an arm, and helped Tira to her feet. With the full length of her exposed (much to their pleasure and delight and her dismay), Tira gulped as they escorted her off the road and into the woods.

She didn't resist. She couldn't. She let them take her deep into the woods, out of the moonlight, and into the dark shadows of moonlit trees. Over a small hill, and down a narrow pathway. She felt the leaves beneath her bare feet, and her escort's wandering fingertips against her breasts as they adjusted their grip. Finally into a small clearing where hot embers of a dying fire glow. Two hammocks were stretched out between the trees, and backpacks safely tucked away out of reach of animal raiders.

"'ere you go," said the father, dropping the apple in front of Tira. Well, the core. She wanted it anyway. It was something. "Build up the fire, son. Let's 'ave a good look at 'er."

They let her go, and she crumbled to the ground not really paying attention to them. No reason to. She couldn't outrun then. She couldn't overpower them. They were going to rape her, no doubt, but there was no stopping that. Not in her condition. Not yet anyway. Her friends would help her if they could, but they'd only get hurt themselves or worse. Killed. And she'd rather the worst happen to her than anything bad happen to her friends. She didn't know what she'd do if something happened to them.

No, she was alone here. She'd have to deal with them by herself … or not deal with them and let them do whatever. No sense thinking about it. At least she had her apple core with a few sliver of edible apple still on it. She picked it up, didn't bother dusting it off, and sank her teeth into it, and sucked whatever juice out she could. Rotated the apple, and did the same until it was completely dry.

After awhile, the father and son converged on her again. They took her by the arms, and helped her stand up, and viewed her naked body in the golden flickering firelight. She didn't care … until the father took her apple away and tossed it into the fire. Then she felt small, powerless, and scared. Even worse, they vocally critiqued her physique. She didn't understand why. She had a nice figure from dancing, didn't she? Besides, what was the big deal about a jumbo bosom, anyway? She'd had to deal with this sort of thing before as a Goddess, but back then the words worshipped her. Now as a mortal, they degraded her, embarrassed and humiliated her and she didn't seem to be good enough. Now it wasn't flattering. Now it hurt her feelings.

Tira bowed her head in shame, and a tear streaked down her cheek. "Be gentle with me."

"Of course, love." Said the father, as the two men lowered her to the ground. Laying Tira on her back. "You 'old her arms."

"Yes, pop."

The son pinned her wrists to the ground right next to her head. The father loosened his belt.

"Will you do me one favor? Please?"

The father laughed, and started for his breaches.

"Please … just one thing."

The father ignored her, letting his pants drop around his ankles. But the son humored her, "What's that, love?"

"Kiss me first. I beg you. Do wh-whatever y-you want with me, but just … k-kiss me before you do it."

The two men had a good laugh. She couldn't imagine why. Then again, she shouldn't have expected any better. They always laugh at her. They didn't use to. But now they do. Bastards.

"All right," said the father, straddling the naked assassin. He put his hands on her breasts, squeezing and groping her as he slowly lowered his face to her's until their noses about touched. "But this kiss'll cost you—"

It'll cost you first! Tira's head jerked forward, her mouth opened, and her teeth clamped down on the man's nose. Then summoning as much strength as she could, she gambled everything on this maneuver and jerked her head back, twisting violently, and ripping daddy's nose clean off.

"Pop—"

And the gamble paid off. In that moment of shock, as blood sprayed both her and the son, her captor's grip faltered and Tira snapped her wrists free then thrust them finger-nails first into the son's eyes. She felt the moisture of his eyes upon her fingertips as they slid into the eye socket, and his inhuman shriek confirmed that they hit their mark.

"You bitch!" The father and son both screamed.

Tira then swept both arms across the ground to either side of her, searching for something. Anything! Aha! A rock! Snatching it up and, with all her might, she smashed the father's skull with it. And then the dizziness struck her.

Oh no! The world spun, and fatigue slammed her starved and dehydrated body, threatening to drag her to full blown unconsciousness. If I pass out, I'm done for! Stay awake, Tira! She shut her eyes tightly as the spinning accelerated. If she had anything (significant) in her stomach she no doubt would've thrown up. She heard a loud ringing in her ears. Now she felt light headed. She stayed frozen in place, daring not to move. Unconsciousness was banging on the door to her mind. It wanted to slip in through the cracks and grab her then drag her away to oblivion.

"I can't pass out! I have to stay awake! I can't pass out…" she chanted.

Her head throbbed, she felt her own pulse. Any second now, the son is going to take my rock away from me! Then he's going to hit me with it! Then they're gonna do bad things to me! Please let me just die! Right now! Fall over dead, Tira!

But then her friends chirped from high above. Cheering her on. Hearing their tiny voices brought comfort. She sighed and whispered, "I can do this. I can!" Straightening up, she tried to find a calm within her. A peace. Strength.

Slowly. Ever so slowly the lightheadedness passed. The world slowed and then stopped spinning. But she knew as things wound down, that if she tried anything it would just spin out of control again. She'd pass out, and they would have her. They wouldn't screw up again. They'd have her for good. Any second, the son should smash her head in with his own rock. Or steal hers and hit her with it. Or tie her up. Or something. Anything. She was vulnerable right now. He could do whatever he wanted to with her. She was vulnerable.

But it never came. The world returned to normal, and Tira opened her eyes. The son lay on his side, crying like a baby, "my eyes! Pop! The bitch cut my eyes! Pop! Pop! I'm blind!" His father lay behind her in a pool of blood. His chest very faintly rising and falling. The dizziness passed, the lightheadedness faded. The tables had turned. The men were vulnerable and at her mercy.

Tira crawled over to the weeping son, raised the rock over her head, and brought it down upon his skull.

High above her friends sang the song of Tira's victory.

Writer's Note:

For this story, I imagine Tira looking like my version of her from SCIV's editor. Link to My Tira pictures located in my profile. (I would link here, but won't let me for some reason.)