(no subject)
If you were to ask, "Why won't you write that stupid story?" I'd have to say - Good Question.
Blah, blah, Original Characters and Fighting - my two worst enemies. It's far too intense. Basically every thing in the story comes from dreams - and not just one dream but pieces of hundreds of dreams all smashed together and taken apart. So I don't think I could ever hope to follow it all.
It is fun to daydream on it though, when I can remember the pieces.
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His feet started to slip in the mud, and he felt his body sliding backwards. She panicked and lunged forward at him, still gripping onto his arms with an almost impossible sort of strength. Her dress caught in the broken glass of the window and tore, but still she fought to escape to him, to freedom. And if there ever was a more precious thing she had not known it. Her mouth hungered for this..
He tugged and pulled the harder, his body sliding at an odd position that left his back straight as a board but lying in a 45 degree angle as he threw all his weight into the pulling..
She could feel herself moving through the window - the force keeping her locked inside pushing at her but being refused as together the thing inside of them pushed it aside.
In fury, the force slammed against her one last time in such a solid effort that it ripped her very ankle off. She fell against him as the force dropped back into place around the window, being unable to reach out and drag her back.
He stared at the bloody apendage laying on the sill, and stole it away in a flury of movement that was only possible because of the large alarms screeching through the darkness. The force had been weakened, but it pulsed in anger, striking at him.
He held onto the stump off a foot - could it be reattached? - and she dragged herself by his shoulder, as they darted into the surrounding thickness of wood.
They were anything but alone.
.
"Dig in the back..!" Her voice broke over the din of too many people in too small of a wooden room.
They cheered, raising their glasses at such odd moments that many were knocked aside. The throng was covered in dust and mud - dirt etching their forms from head to toes. Many were old and many were fat, and they all pushed out the doors..
.
It was still partly covered in mud as the miner placed it in her hands, speaking to what she would not hear.
Gold..
A gold hitai-ate. Nearly worn away.
She rubbed the mud away, her mind wandering.
.
He nearly fell again as they slipped - more butter falling from unexperienced hands than stealth - from the trees into the shore of the river.
It was a pitiful escape, but hope couldn't be denied.
He could see the edge of the rapids, turmoil on turmoil as the water choked itself in an upheavel of rage and movement - as if a being was lying beneath the very waters and trashing against it in anger.
He didn't look behind before jumping in, her dragged along-side with, and they nearly drowned.
The water was choking him and she was pulling on him and he couldn't swim with just his legs - the swills kept dragging him under again and again and again until all his eyes could see was water.
Calls started off from behind him and a spear nearly lanced his shoulder. Another did not miss and cut through the side of his leg, leaving a jagged wound that bleed and stung.
He grabbed at the air when he surfaced again, as if he had never drunk of it before, and let himself be pulled under.
.
The candles on the wall shook. Even the walls themselves vibrated, and the cloth of the heavily decorated table got caught in an invisible breeze, slapping and uprooting dishes laden with food.
In a breeze that didn't exist. The matron stood in a harsh movement that made the table leap away from her. The two remaining girls tried to flee from the room, but the heavy doors were slammed shut when they became thrown against it.
The force pushing them kept them imbedded on the wall high above the floor.
But still the third girl stood, and the prince just watched in a silent sort of fasination.
.
His fingertips nearly slipped off the edge of the river, but he grabbed again and they took hold.
His body was thrust forward with the current and he didn't fight the movement, clinging onto the surface of the water with one hand, and the other holding tight to the foot and being weighed down by the girl clinging to him, unable to swim on her own.
His shoulder stretched in pain as he pulled himself up, being only able to use the momentum of one arm. His elbow and shoulder protested the weight but still he pulled, his face clear..
His chest over the edge, the weight pressing against it made it hard to breathe, but he reached out and pulled..
And fell over the tops of the waves, rapid in their fury. She was forced to follow and they became a much easier target for the rapidly approaching boats. But the other side of the river was close, and he began to run.
Here, they were not followed. The boats idling through the heaving currents as they watched the two run into what was no haven.
.
He was thrown through the window, glassing flying before him as he passed over yard after yard after yard of trees. The greenery beneath him was a living and moving sort of thing, stretching towards him as he passed over it.
His body twisted in mid-air and had he been human, he would have been killed. Eatten.
The landing was not the painful part.
.