What has come before...
Stumbling, I leaped across the outcropping and spied a deep fissure in the rock ahead. I knew I could squeeze myself in easily, and from there either hide from his piercing gaze or else render myself invulnerable to sword thrust or dart blast, for no sunlight broke that gloom. There would surely be some means of egress, would there not? I tried hard to reason, but my mind was foggy with fatigue, and I knew it would be fate that would decide in the end.
Slipping through the opening, I made my way towards the back. Overhead, the walls were as smooth as the sides of a polished horn cup. I wished I had not been born with the Were-curse, for it had been my bane from start to finish, and though I would much miss the luxury of cat-senses, I would most gladly forswear all to be able to live without the constant persuit.
There was no exit other than the way I had come, and the jingling of harness and mail made certain my hiding place had been discovered. I was trapped. With bone-chilling certainty I knew that this was the final confrontation that I so dreaded. I would have no chance unless I was able to slay this man. Now I feared that it would be I who was slain.
Dimness within became utter dark as the man's body cut off what feeble light reached hither. I backed until the wall was against my hindquarters ready to spring, but what I saw made me stop. The outlines of a strong hand held a dart-gun pointed straight at me!
~Were Flight~
And so it was to end. Here, far from home in both distance and years now, in a damp cave beyond the wastes. I could pray it were not so, but finality was almost a relief. An end to running. To fleeing. For such as I, raised in the abbey, the point of adventure had passed long since. A whimpering growl poured from my throat, making me blink, surprised at my own weakness. I was to die, such should be faced properly.
And so I decided to let that furred form drop, my powerful claws and teeth melting back into the form I knew better. Yes, I'd die a woman. I do not mean to say that my fear was any less, no, I stood pressing bare flesh as far back against that smooth stone as tightly as I could...and discovered, to my surprise, that the walls were not as smoothed as I had believed.
Words and shapes, were they runes? Etchings my fingers found in their frantic search, old and worn, but clear under my human fingertips. They did not raise hope in my breast, but they did offer a form of distraction, as watching death was more unsettling than I had believed. Distraction...and perhaps strange salvation as the stone grew warm, and then hot within a heartbeat. Burning with a radiance that left my eyes tearing and then I was falling.
Falling backwards.
And there was no stone.
Slipping through the opening, I made my way towards the back. Overhead, the walls were as smooth as the sides of a polished horn cup. I wished I had not been born with the Were-curse, for it had been my bane from start to finish, and though I would much miss the luxury of cat-senses, I would most gladly forswear all to be able to live without the constant persuit.
There was no exit other than the way I had come, and the jingling of harness and mail made certain my hiding place had been discovered. I was trapped. With bone-chilling certainty I knew that this was the final confrontation that I so dreaded. I would have no chance unless I was able to slay this man. Now I feared that it would be I who was slain.
Dimness within became utter dark as the man's body cut off what feeble light reached hither. I backed until the wall was against my hindquarters ready to spring, but what I saw made me stop. The outlines of a strong hand held a dart-gun pointed straight at me!
~Were Flight~
And so it was to end. Here, far from home in both distance and years now, in a damp cave beyond the wastes. I could pray it were not so, but finality was almost a relief. An end to running. To fleeing. For such as I, raised in the abbey, the point of adventure had passed long since. A whimpering growl poured from my throat, making me blink, surprised at my own weakness. I was to die, such should be faced properly.
And so I decided to let that furred form drop, my powerful claws and teeth melting back into the form I knew better. Yes, I'd die a woman. I do not mean to say that my fear was any less, no, I stood pressing bare flesh as far back against that smooth stone as tightly as I could...and discovered, to my surprise, that the walls were not as smoothed as I had believed.
Words and shapes, were they runes? Etchings my fingers found in their frantic search, old and worn, but clear under my human fingertips. They did not raise hope in my breast, but they did offer a form of distraction, as watching death was more unsettling than I had believed. Distraction...and perhaps strange salvation as the stone grew warm, and then hot within a heartbeat. Burning with a radiance that left my eyes tearing and then I was falling.
Falling backwards.
And there was no stone.