Thoughts on a Deserted Coast Pt. 01

And speaking of Ashkhet, where was she? Why hadn't she been sent along? Marishe could see that sooner or later, she was going to need a little help.

Miyarra-Loukh was sort of the leader of the colony. Ashkhet was often placed in the role of a scout, ranging far to gain information.

Marishe was a member of the guard.

How. Exciting.

About the most fun that she had was whenever Ashkhet needed help and invited Marishe along. Marishe was getting tired of a lot of things in her life and being a guard was right up there at the top of her list.

She saw that he stumbled and regained his footing to keep running.

She also saw that it couldn't go on for much longer. Even injured as he was, he was fast, though they were gaining on him slowly. She ran in his direction.

She ran out to him, reaching back and pulling her bow forward, waiting as she ran a few steps more before reaching for and nocking an arrow as her mind began the chant, her lips following, before her voice hissed it with every outward breath as she went, running as fast as she could.

He hadn't seen her, though she wasn't so far from him when he stumbled a second time and got up to begin running again without wasting time that he knew that he didn't have by looking back. She just wasn't close enough to see his face clearly. She remembered wondering why it was that he was so dark. She'd never seen a Bishran that dark in her life before. He wasn't black, but he was a dark, smoky grey.

She crested a small rise and stopped, dropping to one knee and drawing her bow fully.

One of hunters leaped and would have been successful in bringing him down, but her arrow found it's mark, flying in through the thing's open mouth and stopping halfway out the back of it's neck. The spine was severed with a loud crack according to the old chant.

It shrieked and squealed, flipping over into a ball of limp and flying limbs before it crashed rolling over and over in the grass.

The rest looked in surprise as they ran, but it didn't change a thing for the one that her second arrow came for. That one crashed to a stop in mid-stride at a dead run, as though it had run into a rock wall coming the other way. The arrow fell to the ground undamaged.

The beast was another story.

But really, Marishe wondered how to remove so many before they got to him.

The dark one kept running, but it was a little clear that he knew that he wasn't alone anymore. She knew that she needed to do more if they were going to change the ending that she foresaw.

As he began to run up the rise where she stood, she called out to him and he found just a little more strength in him yet and he gained what had to be the last of his slightly wobbling speed. By now, it was clear to her that his right rear leg was the one being favoured. He looked weary as he leaned back and moved his hand in a pattern. There was a blue glow over his haunch for a moment and then she could see that he felt a little better.

So he had some power too, she thought.

Marishe noticed the large satchel around his neck as Miyarra-Loukh had seen in her mind.

With a cry, she drew one of her long blades and tossed it to him - and he caught it by the haft, slamming his front hooves to the ground to come to almost a dead stop as he nodded to her once and ...

To her utter shock, he DIDN'T come the rest of the way to stand with her, not completely.

He only came near to her, pulling the strap of the satchel over his head to bring it to her. He handed it over and she saw a great deal of anguish and torment in his face at that instant.

"Chira," he said, adding another word as a question that she didn't comprehend. She guessed that he was asking if she understood.

"Chira," he said again in more of a hoarse croak and then he looked to be ready to weep.

He turned away to face what hunted him, looking back only once as he went, shaking his head violently and she saw his tears fly from him.

She couldn't believe it.

She pulled the strap over her head and drew her second sword as she ran toward him, holding it in her right hand with her bow in her left. She didn't understand why he'd turn back. She was more than prepared to stand with him, or better yet - provide a bit of a rearguard as he made his way to the gates.

She wasn't certain, not having the time for anything, but she was a little sure that the satchel was moving a little against her.

He was so tired and weak. She could see it in him but his knowing that she was there seemed to have helped him as had his handing over his burden. She saw his grim expression as he turned to face them with a short, low growl, his ribs heaving while he flicked the blade around overhand completely twice to get the weight and the balance of it.

She also saw the four long rips in his flank and the dried blood which told her that he hadn't been able to stop and do anything about it before now.

She ran on, but thought that she heard something - a ... tiny voice, tremulous with uncertainty and fear.

"A-Adat?"

He didn't look back, though she guessed that he heard it and he said only one word in reply.

Marishe heard that voice again as it made a little sound, "Ooo!", and then she felt the bag move and looking down quickly, she saw the flap fall closed. The bag itself trembled against her then.

She slowed as she ran nearer to him, stopping as her mouth fell open to see him like this.

She knew the Bishran and just about everything that there was to know of them.

She stared because she had to. The Bishran might be a lot of things, but the ones that she knew weren't known to be overly brave.

This one was that and more. She wondered what this was about and why the sorceress had said that it was so important. She looked at him again.

She'd never seen one like this - not one like him. There wasn't a single Bishran in the colony who would have done what he was doing now for anything.

The dark one stood his ground with his back to her, cantering sideways a little and lifting his front hooves a bit before he reared up a little more and bellowed at his pursuers as they came over the rise in front of him. She didn't understand his words, but she knew that it was a war cry.

One of the ones who ranged before him tried to slink over to the side to try to get in that way, but he charged over quickly, only for long enough to force that one back and then he was in front of the group again.

To see the rest of them all come over the rise made her heart almost fall through her chest, but as insane as it was, she kept looking at him as well.

Bishran weren't animals. There was said to be a commonality between them and her own kind. It was known that they could interbreed for example. They just didn't do it very much. So it wasn't like looking at the ass end of a horse to her.

What Bishran males had was much the same as what Sangans would have, a little bigger in some cases perhaps. As he'd gone back and forth, prancing around in his wrath, she'd watched what he had jiggle with his steps. What held her eye was the way that he was a little different; Bishran have tails like goats but if you look, you can see what's there. That was what kept catching her eye.

It looked like two large half-plums in a furry bag.

He lunged forward quickly and bellowed his words again. They almost broke and fell back then. He moved back to take his original place again in his anger. She didn't get what he'd said to them that time either.

She just knew that it was scorn - taunting scorn. He said it again as he beckoned to them, invited them to try and take him.

She knew enough of the Bishran to be able to read their body language quite accurately. This was to show the ones that he faced that he had no fear of them. The Bishrans that she knew, they didn't do that, none of them, unless the foe was another male and it was breeding season.

There was nothing like that bullshit here. This wasn't about testosterone.

This was about blood; theirs or his - it didn't matter to him anymore.

He looked very cold in his hatred of them. As he pranced back and forth opposite to their rough line, she saw his eyes almost glowing with his seething defiance. She watched as he clenched his jaw and there was nothing but murder in everything about him.

And there was absolutely no fear at all.

Like this - with a weapon in his hand once again, he was the master of his fate and he was encouraging them try to come for their piece. He was done with running.

He was telling them to bring it.

They were alone here, she and him, and she was at least a little sure that if he'd had a good sword to begin with, they wouldn't be here like this. Those things would already be dead.

He taunted them again and then he took his place, waiting while they came for him, watching them as they stalked him slowly.

All of them against only him.

But he'd played it well in choosing this slope as the killing ground - forcing them to come to him uphill. She held her breath, feeling it as the tension in the air broke and seeing it as he waded in.

She saw flashes and flickers from her blade in his hand as it whistled and sang, arcing and racing through the late day sunlight. She saw blood flying from it next as he swung it easily and they fell before him, some of the foul things which had hounded and chased him. She saw it as he used his hooves as well, kicking out and stomping them down.

One of them turned and ran but Marishe remembered that his enemies were the agents of her enemies. She shoved her blade point-first into the ground to hold it and she lifted her bow once more.

As she drew back, the one which was running crossed over from the grasslands into the dusty wastes beyond and he gained a little more speed, running full-tilt over the flats. She lifted up a little to add some loft to her shot.

As the bowstring met her lips at full draw, she changed her incantation and drew back a tiny bit more.

The arrow was on it's way then, the tip bursting into a ball of sticky flame as it went.

It caught the predator in the haunch, but the flame slammed forward until what ran was completely aflame and screaming just before the legs folded and it crashed to the ground to struggle weakly in agony for a moment.

Then it was still, the fire burning quickly until there was little left but a thin column of black smoke to mark the pyre.

Her attention was drawn by the contents of the satchel as whatever was in there began to quake. Marishe looked around and she saw them then, three that she hadn't noticed before. She could tell that she was only an obstacle to them by what they were looking at fixedly.

They were hunting for whatever was in the satchel.

Marishe was stuck. They were too close to use her bow, other than as a club, and when she reached for her sword where it was right there in front of her, they grew visibly more agitated, the pitch of their snarls rising. They'd be on their way if she touched it.

There was less than the length of her sword's blade between her and them. Not enough time to grab it and swing even one time.

She remembered what she'd been told - to protect the satchel. She slowly sank almost to her knees clutching it protectively while trying to think of something. She reached back along her side slowly.

A thin fur covered arm came out of the bag and the little hand at the end of it opened toward the nearest beast and even though it was trembling, she heard some sounds like words in a tiny voice. For a long moment, it held the beast immobile as though under a spell. Then suddenly -

The hand moved, the grass around that one beast was disturbed as though by a gust of sudden wind and the hand was withdrawn.

Marishe stared.

The creature was gone.

Just ... gone.

The one next to it almost jumped straight up in shock but as the tiny hand emerged from the bag once more, he turned his head slowly and he snarled straight at the satchel.

The little hand fell and hung limp.

The animal looked pleased and drew back to spring, the pitch of it's growl rising.

Marishe lunged then, driving the arrow in her hand deep into one eye socket. She uttered a short phrase as the beast screamed and the arrowhead exploded inside the skull.

She jumped to her feet to grab for her sword as the last of the three prepared to spring.

The dark Bishran came out of nowhere to take the thing's head and then he was back into his own fight.

Marishe hadn't even seen him come.

She looked around quickly to make sure that there were no more four-legged surprises creeping about and then looked down at the little arm hanging out of the satchel.

It had taken her a little time to process things with so many slavering shit hogs growling and slinking around looking for their prey. But it hit her now as she was trying to put the hand and arm back inside of the satchel as gently as she could, asking in a soft tone if everything was alright.

There was no sound from the bag.

She'd thought at first that it might be some creature which was wanted or needed by Miyarra-Loukh, but she knew what this was now.

Adat.

She knew that word.

Standing guard at the colony gates meant that you got to hear bits of conversation all day long. There were many dialects and with the world falling apart, they saw new refugees coming every day from everywhere. A lot of them were Bishrans.

Though they all spoke it a little differently, there were still common words in use from the old Bishran speech by all of them.

She'd heard that word spoken by Bishran children many times before.

Adat.

Father.

This was a child.

She opened the bag a little and looked inside. The little one lay there as though asleep. Marishe hoped fervently that it was the case, though she doubted it. She was just putting her arm through the strap to carry it once more when another thought hit her even harder.

The very same smoky dark fur.

He'd been telling her the little one's name when he gave her the bag.

He'd told her the name so that she'd know what to call the child after ...

She looked up. He'd caught his breath but that was all. He was still the same injured and weary male she'd seen stumble twice.

And he expected to die here.

She looked over and saw him shimmer a little in her sight. He was flickering, all of him. He was moving through the ones who were trying to pull him down. She watched him disappear and reappear in another spot incredibly quickly. Whatever ability that he had, he'd recovered a little of it.

He was fighting here and there and somehow, he was keeping the whole bunch of them engaged. They were confused and often snapped at each other, doing a little of his work for him. She wondered how long he could go on. Not much longer to be sure.

She knew enough about what he faced. As long as there were two or more, they could pull anybody down if they timed it right and worked together. And they worked together very well, most often.

Where had the Bishran and his girl come from? Aside from the coast, a little woodland and grassland, there was little but wastes for many leagues in almost any direction other than the sea and they'd obviously not come that way.

A lone male running from who knew where to save his little child. But this was as far as he was prepared to run. He didn't intend to walk away from this at all.

Marishe watched as he snarled right back in their faces. Whenever he angered one of them enough to make a move, he cut then down and tried to coax another one.

He was some kind of fearsome, but this would be his end.

That was why he'd said the name, so that his child might still have that.

She reached back to feel for her quiver. She still had something to offer. She hurried to sheath her blade and pick up her bow, headed toward her own fury now.

She chose her targets as best she could, hoping that he didn't materialize in a spot just as one of her arrows arrived. She tried her best to shoot the slavering cretins in places that he'd just left. Her lips moved continuously picking and choosing the words for what she wanted.

Some were hit with an arrow which had grown an acidic covering as it flew. A few fell when a highly charged arrow landed beside them and a small patch of lightning came to them through their feet and legs.

And four of them found themselves on fire as the flames licked and leapt from one to the next.

When she was out of arrows, she drew her sword and ran so that they weren't so far from the dark male because you only needed eyes and a brain to figure out that while he'd laid out many of the things which had hunted them, he was nearing the end. The bottom of the slope was a sea of bodies.

From what she saw, there were now only four left, but they were the largest of the bunch and they seemed to know him somehow. Also, they weren't just barking.

They were coordinating how this would go.

She looked closer and stared as the newcomer found that he'd regained enough wind to laugh softly. They crept up slowly, weaving a little, looking for an opening - still wondering why they saw none now as the blade in his hand flickered in a silvery butterfly pattern which left them nothing.

She didn't know the technique, but she knew what it was for. It took little to maintain and one could apply effort whenever it was required. But really, it was a way to turn a moving sword into a shield - a thin metal wall to catch your breath behind, being exactly the thickness of one blade wide.

Marishe watched and saw it when they noticed her and she could see them thinking of trying to get past her in order to flank him.

She gently moved the satchel so that it was more to her back and she renewed her grip on the haft of her blade.

She didn't know him from anybody, but she thought that she could see something in the way that he did this; the way that he'd been literally on his last legs not long ago, and desperate.

She didn't see any desperation in him. Everything made sense now.

Somehow, she knew that this was it for him, the way that he saw it. He'd survive it if he could, but it was a little plain that he didn't expect to. What she saw in his face, the little that she got a look at said something else to her. He hadn't been running for his life.

He'd been running to save his child as she was now aware. As well, he'd been looking for a respite and a way to strike back. She'd given him those things - all that he needed for this.

He was standing his ground now and really, he was making his last stand right here if that was the way that it had to be. He'd keep them off the one in the satchel and trade his life happily if it meant that he was successful.

She pulled her backup blade out of it's scabbard, holding one sword in each hand. She saw that his ear flicked when she did it, so he knew that she was there to stand with him.

And the last of the shit-hogs arrayed before them knew then that there would be no flanking him.

Two of them leapt and she heard his grunt of exertion when he saw it begin.

Twice the blade flashed out suddenly from the middle of his pattern and one of them fell to the ground in two pieces, shrieking and yowling for a moment.

In two pieces.

Right in the fucking air, two pieces.

With daylight visible in between them.

As the front half slid over the grass to stop almost at her feet, she saw the little head poking out of the bag and heard more little sounds.

"Bee-ka-pikka - ooOOoo."

Marishe extended two fingers from her left hand's grip on her sword to touch the back of a very small head, "Uh-huh. Ewww."

She glanced down, "Now hide."

Feeling her touch, the head was withdrawn. She pushed the bag back.

The second one was down to only three legs and she caught it easily before it could run. She made a statement as she took it's spine with a heavy cross-stroke and then gutted it lengthwise so the rest could listen while it lasted.