A hawk screeched overhead, and a bush rustled. An arrow cut through the air, then the bush was still. A shape stirred in the shadow of a nearby tree, it was a small figure. It moved- though you wouldn't see any steps, it just swayed forward, into the fading daylight. Even with the hood concealing its face, two pale yellow rings shone through, two eyes fixed on the bush, and it crept towards its prey. It shot a hand from its cloak into the bush, snatching the arrow-skewered rabbit. It paused for a moment, it must have heard something as its eyes darted back and forth, following the movements and sounds of the forest. The cloaked figure climbed up another nearby tree, and was gone.
"Where is that godsforsaken girl. If I had known it would have taken this long, I would have gone and done it my damned self." The old man complained, as he was one to do.
The armoured warrior that sat next to him gave a thumbs up in agreement, metal clanking and scratching as she did so. Her armour was shining in the firelight. This was apparently not the response the old man had hoped for, as he furrowed his brows and grumbled something unintelligible, poking the fire with his already charred staff.
The last remnants of day had just faded from the world, and the night was quiet, but for the crackling of the campfire. A cloaked figure watched the camp, perched on a branch at the edge of the clearing, a bird perched on its shoulder. The woods were thick around the clearing, so you could barely see a few feet beyond boundary. Thorn, bramble and all manner of weeds tangled and knotted across the forest floor, locked in an eternal struggle. They crawled tirelessly up the trees, strangling them in a painful, spiked grip; someday hoping to engulf the entire forest in their writhing struggle. But these were just the wild dreams of young na?ve weeds, surely to fade into the bitter lost dreams of weed adulthood. It dropped down to the ground, its steps muffled and slow on the various grasses that carpeted the clearing. It was stalking towards the old man, that sat next to a suit of armour; never taking its eyes from their backs.
"Fine, hunt your own food then, I'd love to see that." The two turned from the fire to see a girl in brown woollen cloak, with a large rabbit slung over one shoulder and a hawk perched on the other. "Hopefully you'll trip on a root and break your neck." She added. The girl walked past the old man, pulling down her hood, revealing a large feather tucked behind her ear, which presumably belonged to the hawk that had just hopped from her shoulder to the moss-covered rock beside her. She placed the rabbit in the outstretched gauntlets of the armoured warrior, who began preparing it right away. The old man huffed; his bushy brows furrowing even more than usual, which was honestly impressive. From under those absurdlyl bushy eyebrows, he glared at the girl.
"Hoping for an old man to trip and die in the dark. A very humorous joke indeed." The man scowled, so the girl grinned. Bothering Roldryn was her favourite way to pass the time on these long journeys.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"Calm down, you're super old, so your about to die anyway. It doesn't even matter." She laid back on a moss-covered rock, grinning to herself.
"I have a few good years left in me; I'll have you know. I'm virtually in my prime," he said, standing up and rotating his arm to thoroughly prove his point (though he elected to ignore the crackling noise emanating from his shoulder).
"And I shan't listen to you any longer, I know how you enjoy upsetting me for your own amusement." One of his eyebrows raised from out his scowl to form an accusatory expression. His grumbling tone had faded back into his usually, albeit gravelly, voice.
"I have no idea what you're talking about" she said, lying. Harrow rolled onto her side to watch the fire, a smile still tugging the corner of her mouth.
Five more pieces of firewood had been added to the fire to keep it from dying. The moon had climbed higher. Harrow watched the firelight reflected in the old man's eyes. His eyes were blue, though not the blue of flowers, or summer skies, but of bruises and churning seas. But still, the dark blue eyes shone in the firelight, and she thought the reflection seemed brighter than it should've been, brighter than the firelight it was supposably reflecting. Though she could tell Roldryn could see her staring, as he was beginning to scowl, she looked away.
"That was pretty hard considering the how much we're getting paid, don't you think?" Harrow asked.
Roldryn paused for a long moment, watching the fire. "Indeed, hardly a fitting prize for felling such a beast." He mumbled, after much consideration. He continued to stare at the fire, the flames crackling intensely as he poked it with his staff; a gnarled and twisted branch, the end curled into a mangled knot of knobbled roots.
"Too bad we can't afford to turn down any jobs" Harrow responded, after little consideration. She was looking at the sky.
"I'm afraid there's scarce we can do. This recent poverty buckles even the great kingdoms of men; I haven't much hope we can crawl out from under such a burden." He spoke slowly as he watched the fire still.
"Yeah, being poor sucks," she too watched the fire.
A clattering of metal broke the silence, the armoured warrior handed them their bowls of rabbit stew and threw the remaining scraps of rabbit to the Fiona, the hawk, which chirped in anticipation. She sat down, facing the fire, and began on her own meal. Only one of her eyes reflected in the firelight, it appeared black but was just barely brown if you looked for long enough, though no one ever had. The other eye was dull and clouded, surrounded by extensive and gruesome scars. Both her eyes stared into the fire. It was good stew, though Harrow barely remembered eating it, as she awoke to the brisk morning air of the next day, with her arms curled around the empty bowl.
The old man and the armoured warrior had already packed up the camp and had attempted to rouse Harrow from her sleep three times. But after being met with increasing hostility each time, had given up. Stretching out from her foetal position, she yawned herself to life. She had slept on her side, so her neck felt stiff and her short, haphazardly cut hair was sticking up on one side. She didn't want to get up.
