The tiny man was already on the march, climbing back up the hillside above the cottage. He levered the arrow loose from the tree. It was too much effort to not trust, for the moment he no longer had the strength to stay on guard-a part of him wanted only to lie down and quietly die. Mistrustful and wary, Simon nevertheless found himself rising to his feet. You're going to but you can't He's he's a He tried to marshal his straggling thoughts. Kill him? Simon, ill and weak as he was, still felt a cold wash of shock. The Sitha hissed, but it was an impotent sound. He reached out a hand and pushed the prisoner's shoulder, swinging him helplessly back and forth in a slow arc. I promised I'd stop their sneakinand spyin' and sourin' the milk, that I did. Turning his back on Simon the man looked the dangling Sitha over coolly. I'm I'm just a traveler I heard a noise here in the trees He waved his hand toward the odd tableau. Simon looked down at the pitted axe-blade. It signifies a debt, and the Sithi are conscientious folk. It is a Sithi White Arrow, and it is very precious. Please excuse my suggestions, but you should be taking this arrow. I am very shocked He turned and continued into the close-knit trees. The small man turned on the hillcrest to stare down at the struggling youth. He pressed his dizzy head against the damp ground and felt the forest sway and rock about him. Staring down at the bloody wreckage, Simon felt his insides heave he fell to his knees retching, bringing up nothing but a sour strand of spittle. He pitched heavily forward onto his knees and then his face, a surge of red welling up through his matted hair. A dull smack reverberated through the trees the man seemed to go boneless in an instant. Setting free the howl that had been coiling itself within him through all the interminable, terrifying days of his exile, he sprang forward, crossing the tiny clearing in a bound to bring the rock down on the back of the cotsman's head. Simon could not stand the cruel spectacle any longer. The Sitha's thin chest was heaving like a bellows he was weakening quickly. The woodsman now stood at arm's length, swiping at his swirling target, landing only glancing blows but continuing to draw blood. Stop Neither combatant gave him even a flicker of notice. A large skin bag hung bulging from a shoulder strap, and he held a walking stick that looked to be carved from some long, slender bone. His clothes looked much like a Rimmersman's jacket and leggings of some thick animal hide stitched with sinew, a fur collar turned up below his round face. He was not a dwarf, like the fools and tumblers Simon had seen at court and in the Main Row of Erchester-although big-chested, he seemed otherwise well-proportioned.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
December 2022
Categories |