Mythology AU: Part 1.12
She curses out loud, curses everything: her incapability, her weakness, her folly.
Leaving Nise abruptly was possibly one of the worst choices she has made these days. Khonts looks back, but the tent is already out of sight in the maze of leather shelters. At least the excuse for her departure can be considered more or less acceptable… Going to check on Enni… Surely Nise saw through it, no one can be fooled by something like that. The duende shakes her head: this was not how she planned it to happen. Pulling the cloak around her shoulders closer, she curses one last time. This time: the impending failure she knew was there, somewhere, in some form, yet failed to second-guess again.
Wiping away the remnants of a few stray tears, Khonts walks forward slowly. Nightfall has reached the Grounds, shrouding the tents in an eerie darkness. Torches lit the little paths between the tents, forming something like a road to follow. By the look of it, the majority of the tents are still unoccupied, the centaurs still prowling in the fields where their young are buried. The duende walks onwards, head bent low. Too preoccupied by her thoughts and too busy dwelling on her mistake, she fails to notice a certain sound in the middle of the night - a sound that didn’t belong to a deserted village of tents.
Someone has been trailing her since she left the tent Nise occupied: a grown-up centaur, tall and menacing in his own way. His four hooves are bound with several pieces of cloth to muffle his movement, yet still he failed to completely conceal his presence. Luckily for him, the duende, an almost mythical elusive creature that usually would have spotted him from miles away, seems to have made a dire mistake. Such a mistake can cost her life, if she weren’t careful. Smirking to himself, he moves swiftly to the other side of the tents, reaching another path that ran parallel to the one the duende chose. Within seconds, he manages to catch up, glimpsing sight of Khonts between the tents. Just a little bit more timing and he would have her in his clutches without any effort. Moving forward a little, he positions himself between the two tents.
He bends his legs, ready to pounce as soon as the duende reaches the opening. Any second now. Any moment now…
The shadow of the duende appears on the other side and the centaur springs forward, landing right next to the little creature. With the same momentum, he clutches the small body to hoist it up, barring her from any chances of using her swift little legs.
He holds her tightly and almost gallops away before he realizes something is amiss, for in his hands is a small bundle of rags, bound together by a small cloak. The momentary confusion soon fades as he sees from the corner of his eyes that something very small is scurrying away. Dropping the rags and mumbling something under his breath, he pursues his victim.
Khonts runs as quickly as her little legs allowed, making as many abrupt turns between tents as possible and skittering through the passages that seemed too small for her chaser to pass through. Her ears pick up the muffled sound of the hooves easily, but to her dismay, it becomes louder and louder with every turn. Outrunning a centaur is out of the question, she knows, but the village of tents, unlike a forest, denies her of any familiar means to hide. Breathing heavily, the duende considers any other possibilities to win some time, her eyes scanning the places she passes. Her gaze falls upon something that catches her attention.
Without breaking a sweat, the centaur finally approaches the corner he just saw the duende disappear into. Such hunts are familiar to him, like to any other male centaur in the village. Glancing around for any signs of the duende’s track, he smiles to himself. The trail leads to a clad-together bunch of sacks and boxes. Supplies from one of the sacks have been thrown out in a hasty manner, as if someone tried to make enough space to hide in it. Trotting forward, the centaur fakes ignorance and continues onward, but as soon as he reaches the sack, he swoops down on it, triumphantly holding the cloth container firmly.
The sack collapsed under his strong hands. Empty. Cursing out loud, the centaur throws away the sack and goes through all the supply boxes, throwing everything out in frustration. Nothing. Yet the tracks end there. Where did the duende go? He lost too much time on this folly already - the duende surely managed to escape out of his earshot, and without another second lost, he straightens up and tries to read the tracks again before disappearing somewhere between the tents.
Khonts quietly watches the scene unfold, trying hard not to laugh or even smirk, lest the centaur hears it. Setting up the sack was a marvellous idea. Meanwhile, she had scurried atop the boxes and hoisted herself up onto the top of the tent, and hid herself within the folds. Fortunately, few look above their eyesight. Waiting till the centaur surely left the vicinity, the duende slowly gets back onto solid ground. Something is amiss, and surely she already has a few ideas what it might be. With a determined look in her eyes, Khonts moves swiftly forward, backtracking to the tent where Nise is in. The young centaur must be informed as soon as possible.
For truly, there are more things unfolding within the village. Grief destroys reason too quickly, and no matter how many atonements and sacrifices shall be made, nothing will ever fill the pain of losing one’s child. The centaurs are no different.
Khonts doesn’t get to the dozen torches lit main road before a pair of hands grab her from within a tent. With her screams muffled and her struggles subdued, she slowly sinks into the darkness of the tent.
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