Page 23 of Warrior of the Wild
So I do nothing but walk.
I carry my ax in my hands, ready to use it at the first hint of danger. My mind is wide awake but scratchy from the pain of two nearly sleepless nights.
It’s harder to keep the dangerous thoughts away now.
I see their faces—Havard’s, Torrin’s, Siegert’s, Kol’s. I can imagine them snug in their beds, content and proud of themselves.
And I entertain the notion of sneaking back into the village, knocking them unconscious one by one and dragging them from their beds to tie them to trees in the wild, leaving them for the ziken.
Perhaps it would be worth getting caught and exiled from Paradise forever.
When my legs finally tire, I find the largest tree lining the road and sit with my back pressed firmly against it, my ax balanced across my knees.
Tonight the moon is mostly full. Silhouettes fly across the sky, some small, some the length of my arm. I watch them chase oneanother through the open air. Listen to the chattering. Now that I am still, cold seeps in through my hides. I pull the spares from my pack and don those, too.
Then I wait to see if I will survive the night.
IMUST HAVE DOZEDat some point, because consciousness suddenly jolts through me. My eyes are still closed, but heat pelts into my face from the sun.
No, not the sun.
The sun doesn’t smell of blood and rot.
I hold perfectly still except for my hands, which search my lap for my ax. Bless the goddess, it’s still here.
I crack open one eye.
An unhinged ziken mouth is inches from my face, tasting my breath. A tongue lolls out and touches my chin. A cackle, so loud it hurts my ears, unleashes from its mouth.
Fear floods through all my limbs.
I realize then that even if I don’t have any answers, even if I don’t know where to go or what to do, I now know one thing.
I don’t want to die.
My instincts kick in, and quick as I can, I raise my ax and press the shaft between those gaping jaws.
Red-orange eyes flash, and the muscles beneath the beast’s natural armor bunch. It presses against my ax, trying to reach my neck in earnest now that it knows I’m awake, alive.
I’m alive, and I’m going to stay that way.
My muscles strain, weaker than usual because I just woke up. Slowly, the beast gains inch by inch on me. One prick from either ofthose canines and I’ll be helpless while the beast takes its time consuming my flesh.
Promise me you’ll try. You have to come home to me.Those were Irrenia’s last words to me.
I intend to keep them.
I let out a battle cry and shove the creature away long enough to find my feet. It charges, but I leap aside, and it crashes face-first into the tree. I bring my ax down on its neck with all my might, severing the head with one blow.
It picked the wrong girl. I killed a dozen of its brethren yesterday. I took on three ziken at once at the trial. One beast is nothing, so long as I’m not asleep.
I breathe deeply, trying to shake off the fear in my chest, the pounding in my head from the lack of sleep.
How long was I out?The wild is lit with a predawn glow. Likely four hours at the most.
My pack of supplies is still strapped to my back. I shrug it off my shoulders to grab some breakfast: a small loaf of bread. Holding my meal between my teeth, I return the pack to my shoulders and sling my ax onto my back. I leave the ziken carcass for scavengers to feed on. Ziken meat is bitter, completely inedible for humans. Useless.
I take back to the road, this time at a quicker pace. My body courses with extra energy from the ziken encounter. My head pounds, and everything crowds in at once. I’m too tired to put up a shield against it all.
