In hindsight, it was foolish of her to think such a disturbance would go unnoticed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge as the distinctive sound of footsteps drew closer. It was a slow advance, one marked with apprehension. Branches bent and snapped as the figure left the grove, and Edda knew she was as good as caught.
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When the footsteps ground to an abrupt halt Edda dared to move, looking up from her ankle to the direction the sound had come. She had not expected the sight before her. Less alerted by the unsheathed weapon, her eyes focused on the dark figure that bore it. He was no Elezen, that much was certain. Dark scales speckled about his skin, heavy horns protruding from his head – he was every bit more fearsome than she could have imagined. It was not the first time she had seen one of these creatures. There had been the airy, dainty woman with horns of gold and a voice like bells, but the man standing before her was the perfect contrast. His height and expression alone were enough to send chills down Edda’s spine. Panic was apparent on her face – eyes wide and focused, the color drained from her face. Perhaps this man was used to such a reaction, but the thought did little to allay her. Fear would afford her little.
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Edda lowered her gaze from his face, fixating instead on the claymore he wielded. It was clear from the size of it, and the stains on his garb, that he had been responsible for the deaths of the three Wood Wailers. Though the sword was clean, the size of the gashes on the bodies determined it the likely culprit. What little information on his race she gleaned from the library at home managed her no guess to his motivations. Whether he acted in self-defense or killed in cold blood, the man was dangerous. She could offer no explanation for her presence here, nor did she have anything substantial to give him in exchange for her safe release.
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Edda felt very much trapped. Still, she felt little need to await her death at the hands of an unknown barbarian.
The damp soil of the forest began to seep through her clothes as she sat at the base of the tree. Her ankle still pained her, but Edda reached out to the trunk to steady herself as she pushed off the ground. She moved slowly as to not alert the man, though she could not move any faster if she tried. She grimaced as she stood. Her body ached from her short tumble down, and she shifted her weight to her good leg and leaned her back against the tree. Edda glanced away for a moment to look further down the slope. The road was not far. She would not be able to run, but perhaps if she managed to hurl herself down to the road, it would deter him from following. His weapon was a heavy one, and he had little room for a quick swing. There was still a chance.
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Yet the man had made no move to harm her yet, and had said nothing. His expression was focused and cold. Her breath came out in shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. She was afraid. Edda reached up to wipe off a smear of dirt on her cheek. This was not the first time she had been in such a quandary, and she had survived this far. Edda met the man’s stare and took a deep breath, relaxing her face. Though fright still shone through in her eyes, she forced a sharp glare at the man. It was an even look of both impatience and disdain. There was practice in her bearing, one that gave the impression that she was far more resourceful than she seemed. She braced herself against the tree and spoke in a low voice.
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“Well? Are you going to kill me or not?â€
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When the footsteps ground to an abrupt halt Edda dared to move, looking up from her ankle to the direction the sound had come. She had not expected the sight before her. Less alerted by the unsheathed weapon, her eyes focused on the dark figure that bore it. He was no Elezen, that much was certain. Dark scales speckled about his skin, heavy horns protruding from his head – he was every bit more fearsome than she could have imagined. It was not the first time she had seen one of these creatures. There had been the airy, dainty woman with horns of gold and a voice like bells, but the man standing before her was the perfect contrast. His height and expression alone were enough to send chills down Edda’s spine. Panic was apparent on her face – eyes wide and focused, the color drained from her face. Perhaps this man was used to such a reaction, but the thought did little to allay her. Fear would afford her little.
Â
Edda lowered her gaze from his face, fixating instead on the claymore he wielded. It was clear from the size of it, and the stains on his garb, that he had been responsible for the deaths of the three Wood Wailers. Though the sword was clean, the size of the gashes on the bodies determined it the likely culprit. What little information on his race she gleaned from the library at home managed her no guess to his motivations. Whether he acted in self-defense or killed in cold blood, the man was dangerous. She could offer no explanation for her presence here, nor did she have anything substantial to give him in exchange for her safe release.
Â
Edda felt very much trapped. Still, she felt little need to await her death at the hands of an unknown barbarian.
The damp soil of the forest began to seep through her clothes as she sat at the base of the tree. Her ankle still pained her, but Edda reached out to the trunk to steady herself as she pushed off the ground. She moved slowly as to not alert the man, though she could not move any faster if she tried. She grimaced as she stood. Her body ached from her short tumble down, and she shifted her weight to her good leg and leaned her back against the tree. Edda glanced away for a moment to look further down the slope. The road was not far. She would not be able to run, but perhaps if she managed to hurl herself down to the road, it would deter him from following. His weapon was a heavy one, and he had little room for a quick swing. There was still a chance.
Â
Yet the man had made no move to harm her yet, and had said nothing. His expression was focused and cold. Her breath came out in shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. She was afraid. Edda reached up to wipe off a smear of dirt on her cheek. This was not the first time she had been in such a quandary, and she had survived this far. Edda met the man’s stare and took a deep breath, relaxing her face. Though fright still shone through in her eyes, she forced a sharp glare at the man. It was an even look of both impatience and disdain. There was practice in her bearing, one that gave the impression that she was far more resourceful than she seemed. She braced herself against the tree and spoke in a low voice.
Â
“Well? Are you going to kill me or not?â€
