Popos Heights - Freya
“I think we are in trouble,” Freya said slowly.
A gut wound bled profusely from where she clutched her belly. She was sprawled against the wall of a small cave, their temporary hiding place, as the tail of a thunder dragon lashed back and forth against the entrance, dislodging stone and dirt. Zidane’s arm lay limp at his side as he crouched in front of an unconscious Vivi. Quina, delirious with blood loss, dozed in the corner crevice.
“He’s out,” Zidane, wincing, set their last potion on the ground. The cork was caked with blood. “No use using this on him now. Unless we want to fatten him for the Dragon.”
“Leave him,” Freya shrugged and nearly toppled on her side. She began dazedly drawing designs in the dirt with her free hand. Despite the hazy fog in her head, she was able to add quite clearly, “Better if he doesn’t watch.”
The lashing of the Thunder Dragon’s tail stopped and there was a low croon. Freya blinked and watched as the large shadow at the entrance to the cave disappeared. Despite the good sign, both Freya and Zidane knew better than to believe it had retreated. This type of Dragons was notorious for out waiting its prey.
“How long do you think we’ll last?” Freya asked. If she had been in a state to feel how bleak and unhelpful her statement was, she might have felt a bit apologetic. As it was, Freya only felt pain and that at a long distance. It was perhaps the only beneficial side affect that occurred after a trance. Fortunately, if the situation was anything to judge by, she wouldn’t be alive long enough to feel the rest of the symptoms.
Zidane crawled to the spot next to her and rested his back against the stone. He looked at her profile in the dim light. His eyes drifted down, searching the darkness for her wound.
“Take the potion,” he said at last.
“No thanks,” she said, shifting her weight and watching the blood begin to stain the tops of her pants. It was hard to tell, considering she was wearing all red.
Zidane clenched his fist. “It’s my fault you got injured.” He reached out with his working arm, fingers grasping at the potion bottle. “Take the potion.”
“Maybe later.”
“Damn it, Freya!” he cried, frustrated. There was a sound of scraping. Out of the corner of her eye, Freya watched him crouch in front of her. The potion bottle smacked against her knee, then rested there.
“Freya,” he said. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she did. His face was a mess. Mud was smeared like finger paint across his cheeks, caking in the swollen crevice of his black eye. At some point, he had bitten through his lip; probably when the Thunder dragon had settled its weight on his arm.
Freya felt something at last, something small shuddering at the memory. Seeing her expression, Zidane gave a slight smirk.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered. “Or rather, what you’re not thinking about. I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t tranced. I know you are probably not feeling much right now, but you should know that at this point, if we don’t do something soon, we are all going to die.”
Die. Freya looked over his shoulder at the wall and stared. The word felt foreign in her mind. Perhaps because it was only a word and had far less importance than Zidane was trying to give it.
She felt fingers on her jaw, directing her forward. When her eyes focused again, she was staring at a grim-faced Zidane.
Which was all wrong, Freya thought. Zidane did not have a face that was made for grimness.
He was speaking. “-this to you now, all right? Do you understand?”
She found herself nodding.
“Good.” That little smirk appeared on his lips again. “I’m counting on you, Ms. Dragon Slayer.”
Not even trance could dull her emotional response to that name. His last words had barely left his mouth when a veil seemed to lift and the pain that had been circling like a hunting dog turned abrupt and made a lunge for her throat. Even as she felt Zidane apply the potion, felt a soft coolness began to slowly coil in her belly and ease the shriek of her gaping wounds, the pressure in her chest mockingly squeezed.
She had let them down. She had let them all down. Without thinking, Freya grasped Zidane’s shirt and blew air sharply between her teeth, fighting the sudden tightness of her throat. But when she looked up to apologize, Zidane’s smirk had changed to a confident grin. One that said he had absolute faith that she was going to go out there and fry some Dragon tail and that she had better shut up and get to it.
“We’re counting on you,” he corrected softly.
A single white wisp of power curled from her skin then, circling up like a lazy smoke ring. For a moment, Freya though she had imagined it, but then Zidane was staring too, slack jawed. Both watched it in shock as it was soon followed by a glowing coil. The moment was broken when a piercing roar ricocheted through the crevice and the ground shook.
Suddenly, Zidane began to laugh. Freya, feeling a familiar trickle of energy down her arms, turned to see her companion slump against the wall with a silly grin.
“See? I had it all worked out,” he chuckled. At her blank look, Zidane lifted his working arm and made a shooing motion with his fingers. “Quina will be hungry,” he added.
The delirium was obviously getting to him, Freya thought dispassionately. He would need medical attention soon. They all would.
Freya gingerly got to her feet, patting the dust from her pants and feeling around for her lance. Another white trance wisp floated off her skin, then another. They curled around her and each other like ribbons.
“I’m going to be utterly useless after this trance wears off,” she warned. Her stomach lurched slightly at the thought of what awaited her.
Zidane shrugged, still grinning. “I’ll take care of you.”
She might have argued, but somehow it felt distasteful to do so. Certainly between them, he was putting more trust on the line than she would be. Freya drew a deep breath and reached up to settle the mask of her helmet over her face, even as a dozen pale ribbons shot from her body to waver in the air.
“Be right back,” she muttered.
There was a Dragon waiting to die and it had waited long enough.o
A gut wound bled profusely from where she clutched her belly. She was sprawled against the wall of a small cave, their temporary hiding place, as the tail of a thunder dragon lashed back and forth against the entrance, dislodging stone and dirt. Zidane’s arm lay limp at his side as he crouched in front of an unconscious Vivi. Quina, delirious with blood loss, dozed in the corner crevice.
“He’s out,” Zidane, wincing, set their last potion on the ground. The cork was caked with blood. “No use using this on him now. Unless we want to fatten him for the Dragon.”
“Leave him,” Freya shrugged and nearly toppled on her side. She began dazedly drawing designs in the dirt with her free hand. Despite the hazy fog in her head, she was able to add quite clearly, “Better if he doesn’t watch.”
The lashing of the Thunder Dragon’s tail stopped and there was a low croon. Freya blinked and watched as the large shadow at the entrance to the cave disappeared. Despite the good sign, both Freya and Zidane knew better than to believe it had retreated. This type of Dragons was notorious for out waiting its prey.
“How long do you think we’ll last?” Freya asked. If she had been in a state to feel how bleak and unhelpful her statement was, she might have felt a bit apologetic. As it was, Freya only felt pain and that at a long distance. It was perhaps the only beneficial side affect that occurred after a trance. Fortunately, if the situation was anything to judge by, she wouldn’t be alive long enough to feel the rest of the symptoms.
Zidane crawled to the spot next to her and rested his back against the stone. He looked at her profile in the dim light. His eyes drifted down, searching the darkness for her wound.
“Take the potion,” he said at last.
“No thanks,” she said, shifting her weight and watching the blood begin to stain the tops of her pants. It was hard to tell, considering she was wearing all red.
Zidane clenched his fist. “It’s my fault you got injured.” He reached out with his working arm, fingers grasping at the potion bottle. “Take the potion.”
“Maybe later.”
“Damn it, Freya!” he cried, frustrated. There was a sound of scraping. Out of the corner of her eye, Freya watched him crouch in front of her. The potion bottle smacked against her knee, then rested there.
“Freya,” he said. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, she did. His face was a mess. Mud was smeared like finger paint across his cheeks, caking in the swollen crevice of his black eye. At some point, he had bitten through his lip; probably when the Thunder dragon had settled its weight on his arm.
Freya felt something at last, something small shuddering at the memory. Seeing her expression, Zidane gave a slight smirk.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered. “Or rather, what you’re not thinking about. I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t tranced. I know you are probably not feeling much right now, but you should know that at this point, if we don’t do something soon, we are all going to die.”
Die. Freya looked over his shoulder at the wall and stared. The word felt foreign in her mind. Perhaps because it was only a word and had far less importance than Zidane was trying to give it.
She felt fingers on her jaw, directing her forward. When her eyes focused again, she was staring at a grim-faced Zidane.
Which was all wrong, Freya thought. Zidane did not have a face that was made for grimness.
He was speaking. “-this to you now, all right? Do you understand?”
She found herself nodding.
“Good.” That little smirk appeared on his lips again. “I’m counting on you, Ms. Dragon Slayer.”
Not even trance could dull her emotional response to that name. His last words had barely left his mouth when a veil seemed to lift and the pain that had been circling like a hunting dog turned abrupt and made a lunge for her throat. Even as she felt Zidane apply the potion, felt a soft coolness began to slowly coil in her belly and ease the shriek of her gaping wounds, the pressure in her chest mockingly squeezed.
She had let them down. She had let them all down. Without thinking, Freya grasped Zidane’s shirt and blew air sharply between her teeth, fighting the sudden tightness of her throat. But when she looked up to apologize, Zidane’s smirk had changed to a confident grin. One that said he had absolute faith that she was going to go out there and fry some Dragon tail and that she had better shut up and get to it.
“We’re counting on you,” he corrected softly.
A single white wisp of power curled from her skin then, circling up like a lazy smoke ring. For a moment, Freya though she had imagined it, but then Zidane was staring too, slack jawed. Both watched it in shock as it was soon followed by a glowing coil. The moment was broken when a piercing roar ricocheted through the crevice and the ground shook.
Suddenly, Zidane began to laugh. Freya, feeling a familiar trickle of energy down her arms, turned to see her companion slump against the wall with a silly grin.
“See? I had it all worked out,” he chuckled. At her blank look, Zidane lifted his working arm and made a shooing motion with his fingers. “Quina will be hungry,” he added.
The delirium was obviously getting to him, Freya thought dispassionately. He would need medical attention soon. They all would.
Freya gingerly got to her feet, patting the dust from her pants and feeling around for her lance. Another white trance wisp floated off her skin, then another. They curled around her and each other like ribbons.
“I’m going to be utterly useless after this trance wears off,” she warned. Her stomach lurched slightly at the thought of what awaited her.
Zidane shrugged, still grinning. “I’ll take care of you.”
She might have argued, but somehow it felt distasteful to do so. Certainly between them, he was putting more trust on the line than she would be. Freya drew a deep breath and reached up to settle the mask of her helmet over her face, even as a dozen pale ribbons shot from her body to waver in the air.
“Be right back,” she muttered.
There was a Dragon waiting to die and it had waited long enough.o