The Other Side of Fear - Prompt # 23 Winifred
Title: The Other Side of Fear
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse and pre-canon)
Characters: Winifred
Prompt: 23. Fight
Word Count: 787
Rating: PG, for violence and subject matter
Summary: Winifred's first battle.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files don't belong to me.
Notes: I've fudged the Norse raids on Wales timeline a bit, btw. And thank-you to cyloran for the beta.
***
Winifred bent to her task; the gathering of herbs and bulbs an easy retreat from loneliness.
The waking wood, filled with rustling sounds and bird calls and pierced here and there with golden shafts of early morning sunlight, stretched out in front of her--gnarled oak and stands of tall, grey-barked ash marching away into the lifting pre-dawn gloom. She settled the herb basket against her skinny hip, brushing a stray lock of deep black hair from her eyes and back under the hood of the rough, woolen cloak.
Let the Wizard complain today!
Her particular task, in the adopted guise (borrowed cloak and boots) of a lowly apprentice, was to collect a large quantity of ash berry--quite unmagically for the brewing of ale. Whatever else she could find along the way, however, would be only to her advantage. Medrod would be grateful for the opportunity to visit his Eleyn and Winifred would get the experience she desired in hunting for potions ingredients--as well as a chance to get outdoors and away from the household.
And she intended to stay away as long as was possible.
No one would likely notice the absence of a fourteen year old girl. Certainly not the Wizard.
A snapping sound in the underbrush from behind caused her to pause before rising completely. She all at once felt very alone... and uncomfortably vulnerable.
Had she strayed too far from the boundaries of the shire?
Then the sudden stillness of the wood was broken by a rushing, crackling sound and, with a grunt at the impact, she was bourne to the ground face first under the weight of a heavier body. The force of it knocked her gathering basket out of her grasp--cuttings, berries and bulbs crusted with earth, rolling away.
No!
Panic seized her and she struggled, reaching around for something to grab hold of.
"Ah, a feisty one, you are," a rough and heavily accented voice exulted. "Here, let's see you better."
Low murmurs, cursing and rustling in the underbrush announced the presence of still more men.
Daenysseit! A Norse raiding party so far inland? Menevia and the Church of St. David! She must get away and warn of the attack!
The weight shifted and she was rolled to her back.
"As I thought. A girl, young and fresh," the man breathed through a grimace of discolored teeth and dirty beard. "You cannot hide behind cloak and boots from me, girl." He leered at her, drunk on lust, before turning to look over his shoulder. "She will be mine first!" he called hoarsely, to the sound of laughter and crude encouragement in the Norse tongue.
Oh, no, she would NOT! Her green eyes flashed with fury and she bared her teeth.
With a gathering of power--that rushed into her outstretched fingers through the very fabric of the air--Winifred gave a mighty heave as her captor traded jibes with his comrades.
He bucked up, caught completely off-guard, briefly lifting his weight from her.
She used the moment of surprise to push off the ground enough to close her fingers around a fallen branch and crack it with all of her borrowed strength against the side of his head.
His eyes rolled up and he slumped over.
Quickly scrambling to her feet, she faced the others, knowing their stunned looks would soon give over and she would be in grave danger.
Terror and rage coursed through her hot and bright and, as the first man recovered his wits and made to rush her, she slammed the long branch of wood into the ground at her feet. A crash of thunderous sound, as in the moment after a close lightening strike, came a split second before the ground opened up into a ragged tear, snaking toward the Norsemen. Out of the ground, roots slithered up and wrapped around the ankles of the man closest, trapping him and pulling him down.
The others looked on in horror. Then, with cries of "Demon" and "Witch" echoing through the forest, they turned and fled back the way they'd come.
Winifred stood, transfixed, listening as they ran away. She must go.
Warn the shire and the household. The Wizard.
As if to punctuate the urgency, the man she'd struck moaned, stirring fitfully. She trembled and stared over at the only other man left. He sat at the far edge of the rift of earth, watching her with wide, frightened eyes even as he frantically tried to use his knife to free himself from the entangling roots.
Go. She must go.
Before she collapsed with the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her, she had to go. Run.
Warn everyone.
And so she did, without a backward glance.
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse and pre-canon)
Characters: Winifred
Prompt: 23. Fight
Word Count: 787
Rating: PG, for violence and subject matter
Summary: Winifred's first battle.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files don't belong to me.
Notes: I've fudged the Norse raids on Wales timeline a bit, btw. And thank-you to cyloran for the beta.
***
Winifred bent to her task; the gathering of herbs and bulbs an easy retreat from loneliness.
The waking wood, filled with rustling sounds and bird calls and pierced here and there with golden shafts of early morning sunlight, stretched out in front of her--gnarled oak and stands of tall, grey-barked ash marching away into the lifting pre-dawn gloom. She settled the herb basket against her skinny hip, brushing a stray lock of deep black hair from her eyes and back under the hood of the rough, woolen cloak.
Let the Wizard complain today!
Her particular task, in the adopted guise (borrowed cloak and boots) of a lowly apprentice, was to collect a large quantity of ash berry--quite unmagically for the brewing of ale. Whatever else she could find along the way, however, would be only to her advantage. Medrod would be grateful for the opportunity to visit his Eleyn and Winifred would get the experience she desired in hunting for potions ingredients--as well as a chance to get outdoors and away from the household.
And she intended to stay away as long as was possible.
No one would likely notice the absence of a fourteen year old girl. Certainly not the Wizard.
A snapping sound in the underbrush from behind caused her to pause before rising completely. She all at once felt very alone... and uncomfortably vulnerable.
Had she strayed too far from the boundaries of the shire?
Then the sudden stillness of the wood was broken by a rushing, crackling sound and, with a grunt at the impact, she was bourne to the ground face first under the weight of a heavier body. The force of it knocked her gathering basket out of her grasp--cuttings, berries and bulbs crusted with earth, rolling away.
No!
Panic seized her and she struggled, reaching around for something to grab hold of.
"Ah, a feisty one, you are," a rough and heavily accented voice exulted. "Here, let's see you better."
Low murmurs, cursing and rustling in the underbrush announced the presence of still more men.
Daenysseit! A Norse raiding party so far inland? Menevia and the Church of St. David! She must get away and warn of the attack!
The weight shifted and she was rolled to her back.
"As I thought. A girl, young and fresh," the man breathed through a grimace of discolored teeth and dirty beard. "You cannot hide behind cloak and boots from me, girl." He leered at her, drunk on lust, before turning to look over his shoulder. "She will be mine first!" he called hoarsely, to the sound of laughter and crude encouragement in the Norse tongue.
Oh, no, she would NOT! Her green eyes flashed with fury and she bared her teeth.
With a gathering of power--that rushed into her outstretched fingers through the very fabric of the air--Winifred gave a mighty heave as her captor traded jibes with his comrades.
He bucked up, caught completely off-guard, briefly lifting his weight from her.
She used the moment of surprise to push off the ground enough to close her fingers around a fallen branch and crack it with all of her borrowed strength against the side of his head.
His eyes rolled up and he slumped over.
Quickly scrambling to her feet, she faced the others, knowing their stunned looks would soon give over and she would be in grave danger.
Terror and rage coursed through her hot and bright and, as the first man recovered his wits and made to rush her, she slammed the long branch of wood into the ground at her feet. A crash of thunderous sound, as in the moment after a close lightening strike, came a split second before the ground opened up into a ragged tear, snaking toward the Norsemen. Out of the ground, roots slithered up and wrapped around the ankles of the man closest, trapping him and pulling him down.
The others looked on in horror. Then, with cries of "Demon" and "Witch" echoing through the forest, they turned and fled back the way they'd come.
Winifred stood, transfixed, listening as they ran away. She must go.
Warn the shire and the household. The Wizard.
As if to punctuate the urgency, the man she'd struck moaned, stirring fitfully. She trembled and stared over at the only other man left. He sat at the far edge of the rift of earth, watching her with wide, frightened eyes even as he frantically tried to use his knife to free himself from the entangling roots.
Go. She must go.
Before she collapsed with the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her, she had to go. Run.
Warn everyone.
And so she did, without a backward glance.