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Prince of Slaves - The_Fifth Master & Rawr Kitten

Black Arvir stared opened mouth at the naked fleeing stallion. Sark stepped close to the side of the cart. He watching as two tight melon cheeks and a small sack of family jewels disappeared into the fog of the swamp like pool.

Oather stepped near Gyth for a better view. [Hanging upside down tends to swell the wrists. So what with the shoulder brand when you went to put the salve on you loosened the manacles.]

Gyth stared out in the general direction of those fleeing cheeks and sighed [Yes]

Oather nodded [Course he wasn't upside down anymore so his blood started to rush normally. No restriction no swelling.]

Oather pressed the manacles into Gyth's palm. [You'll need these. Don't forget to take rope.]

There were crashing tree limbs and a splash in a parallel direction away from the cart. Oather shoulders jerked but he didn't turn. He didn't have to look to know the other two were gone now also.

Gyth stared at the path of the fleeing stallion knowing all his dreams were running headlong into the Bog. [I didn't expect him to take off now. He was suppose to wait until he was fed and tuck in proper]

Black Arvir turned to the sound of footsteps running away in the under brush [I suppose that's why their called wild stallions. Not civilized thinkers at all]

Oather turned back to the empty cart. [I'll take the Xul to the Sour Tree Grove and have tea ready when you lads arrive]

Oather took the Xul's lead rope and started back along the trail. [Best for the three of you to stay in the tree tops]

Black Arvir glanced over at Oather [Three? It was Gyth's Quest]

Oather kept moving without looking back [Keep high on their backs when you drop on them, they're still wild]

Rope and manacles in hand, Sark glared at Gyth. Black Arvir shook his head and started climbing up the vine tangled Sweet Gum.

Sark shook his head annoyed at Gyth [ Which way fearless leader?]

The sound of splintered wood came from up ahead and to the left.

Gyth pointed [There!]

Shinning up the Gum Tree quickly Gyth soon caught up with Black Arvir. Sark brought up the rear. From the vantage point even in the grey of dawn as the fog moved in the bog the destructive path of three stallions crisscrossing across the landscape was easily visible from above.

Sark pointed [At least one of them has dropped in to every muck pond and quick sand pit from here to sticker berry hill.]

Black Arvir pointed to the zig zag pattern [I think we should stay in the trees and give chase. If we cut thru in a straight line we can catch them before they reach the cliffs.]

Gyth saw a movement in the fog like the boiling of piranha in shallow water. At the edge of hearing came the lightest chittering. [Carbics!]

Sark pointed [A troop of hunting carbics. Three maybe five.]

Black Arvir settled back against the Gum tree and sighed. [That's definitely a bad sign]

Gyth frowned watching the movement like wind over a wheat field [What do you mean?]

Black Arvir pointed to the flowing fog that looked like a dust devil [ If Carbics are hunting there won't be anything left]

Gyth frowned. He gathers his feet under him and aimed for a vine before leaping. The vine moved like a pendulum then stop abruptly almost jarring Gyth from his hand hold.

Sark watched the attempt then offered some advice [That's good... but I think the trick is to make sure the end below you isn't connect to anything]

Black Arvir nodded [Let's you swing to the next tree, you see?]

One the third try Gyth Rune Rider was on the move thru the tree tops on a not so precise course to intercept and mount the back of his stallion. Hopefully before the Cabric spooked them towards The Cliffs or One Way Ccanyon.
 
Kalfor didn't look back, ran like hell and felt the ground giving and taking as he pounded his way to the pond. His eyes were focused on the goal. At least the first one.

His lungs brought in air, pushed out heated breath, and his legs pumped, eating up ground like a ravenous beast. And now he heard the panting around him, not just his. Close, but not too close. But the panting wasn't human-like. It was something that made him run faster, in no set pattern but in one direction...

It was closer, getting closer...

His heart leapt with the hope, his eyes actually lit with it from inside, and he ran like the devil himself was giving chase.

Because in his head, it felt like He was...
 
Fear. It had its own smell. Salt and musk. Large ears twitching, noses raised against the breeze that blew gentle from upwind. It carried Salt and musk in the color of three. The trampling of foliage gave a general location between the pond and swamp bogs on the right and the forest on the left.

The hunting party moved. Two forward, wide apart. Two back and slow moving together almost side by side. It was a frame work that was an advantage when using nets. They had come prepared to chase the game in that direction.

First, they had to give chase. The prey had to know they were hunted swiftly. The prey had to run wildly, blindly forward along the bogs. The prey had to be fooled into turning from the sticker berry hill.

Charging madly toward the cliffs only to discover too late it could not be leaped over. With the pack at their heels it would be easy to keep them running towards the canyon and the nets waiting.

Another sniffed the air and it growled at the remembered scent.

"The musk of men!" It hissed as it jogged along picking up the pace for the others to follow.

"I think they are bait!" Said another with only one ear.

Nose to the air and skeptical, "I do not smell the blood drinkers."

"It might be a trap. We must take these quickly," Said one who might know.

"Their skins will wear well!" said the one eared as it picked up the pace.

"I think it's a trap. Hurry!" the last of the four remarked.

The pack broke into a run. Distance and pace as they hunted. Baying in the night as the fog rolled in. Baying to frighten and startle the prey.

The baying trembled the foliage around them. Startled birds in trees. A small hunter fled behind a fresh trampled sapling and watched the Hunting pack of four gallop past.

The baying reached the upper canopy of the trees. The forest alive with those that considered the tops of it safer than the forest floor. Among those tops came strangers. Visiting from tree to tree long enough to grasp another vine and swing along. Desperate to catch up. Desperate to over take.

It wasn't necessary but Gyth glanced back as Sark and Black Arvir swing close behind him and thought [It begins. Hurry!]
 
Kalfor's head twisted with the noise but his legs kept going. There was no way he would allow himself to stop, not even in the face of howling or baying creatures. Didn't they know he was ALREADY being hunted? ALREADY slated for food?

Where they were nipping at heels or trying to rattle those made prey by the fact that they were running... Kalfor kept his focus. Dagger. Then freedom. He couldn't fight any of them off with his fists and armed with his dick. He would feel a little more confident, a little more capable with carrying that weapon, that knife, that... lifeline...

It would work against the VuNish who were probably not the ones howling... and it would work against the wolves or OTHER predators chasing him. So, he blocked out all else, rolled to avoid perceived threats, dodging and weaving, and closed the distance between he and the pool. Breath seemed to be dogging him, but he ran like the wind... ran like hell...

That was up until something heavy crashed into him, almost bearing him to the ground...
 
Gyth saw the moment the carbics had turned them. He found himself somehow ahead, as the pack closed in for the final run to the canyon and the slaughter nets.

He cursed wondering where that big dumb stallion was. His eyes searching below as he heard the baying and scanned in the foliage just ahead of it.

A movement to the left. The crashing of the under brush. Gyth smiled as he saw that unruly black mane. He bent his knees and gathered for the leap. The equipment at hand. Bareback. He hated bareback but there was little choice. He set the spurs at an angle in case the big stallion bucked instead of ran for his life.

Then he watched carefully for the pace of the run that would bring the wild mount under his tree limb. Seconds passed. Finally. He stepped off the tree limb.

Gyth hit and slipped off the back as the wild stallion fumbled. He hung on to the mane to pull himself up and slipped the reigns on the bridle. He scooted higher. A better position to see over that shoulder, a much better view.

He hadn’t realized how much bigger this one was than any he had ridden. Gyth was sure he could touch the clouds from this black devil. One hand on the reigns the other patting it’s shoulder.

“HHEEEYYYYAAAAHHH!” Gyth cried out and dug spur to ass flesh as a carbic leaped for them.
 
Kalfor reared, felt the body landing hard on his back. Calmed for a moment when he didn't feel claws or teeth... He tried to shrug off whatever was there, and he had awful mental images of that VuNish finally roping him, ready to feed upon his flesh...

And there it was. That telltale tug at his jaw, the throbbing reminder of his missing teeth and the bitter taste of metal. Tugging everywhere, on his hair, someone... someTHING... was on his back. He tried to run like hell, but the bite in his asscheeks made him grunt in pain.

The sound was like one he might make at his own horse when they were bearing down on a rider, or avoiding something particularly nasty. So, he planted both feet into the soft earth and felt something brush by him. His eyes flashed at it briefly; he swallowed and his legs moved, uncaring now as to what was on his back.

He was singular of purpose and had a means to that end.

Pool.

Dagger.

And the chase resumed...
 
Moving was the priority. Gyth pulled his knees against the break neck galloping of that black maned stallion just stay bare back. But the wild mount under him ran. And fast. Unfortunately it was in a straight line for the pool.
Or maybe not, Gyth thought.

He looked behind to see how much distance was between them and the pack. It was a quick over the shoulder glance. Enough to know it was going to be tight.

The pool. The beast under him was still headed in that direction. A movement slightly behind on the right told him one of the carbics was moving to leap again. He cursed. They weren't going to wait to turn him. They were going to try and drag him down. Catch a calf and hamstring him.

Gyth jerked the reigns hard to the right. Forcing that big head in that direction. Spur digging into the left side encouraging the whole body to make one quick directional change to the right. The direction of the carbic that was ready to leap.

It was their only chance to keep out of that hunting teams daggers. The pool with it's alkaline base could wait until they'd avoided this one certain obstacle. Dodge the lead carbic and then they had a chance to fight.

If this big stallion would just turn like he was suppose to!
 
Kalfor's head moved with that painful tug, right. Spurred to move in that direction by the new biting feeling in his left ass cheek.

His shoulder throbbed, his jaw throbbed, his ass throbbed, and his muscles began to burn. But he did something he was taught to do and swallowed that pain, used that to keep him going. Wearing a creature on his back like a cape who was bound and determined to... do something he had no idea what... and he really didn't want to ask either.

He didn't have enough breath anymore to keep up the momentum AND speak. So he made a choice.

He did what he could not see to do, or understand to do. He moved right; fully expecting to be a meal, already tenderizing him with their strange manner...
 
[Yes!!] Gyth thought and leaned out to the right. His skeggor axe with the lower edge of the blade projected downward in a "beard" shape. The effect was greatly exaggerated, extending the lower cutting curve of the blade.

He swung with the violence of the leap that came in their direction. The connection deep sure and hard enough to almost unseat him. He yanked the reigns to the right so that his black devil would come around to face the leaper again, or be ready to take any carbic wanting a piece of this team.

The carbic leaper limping now. The hit strong. Gyth glanced over his mount, patting him on his shoulder and cooed to him. In effect good boy. But the tension in his body was there as he watched the injured carbic. They were most dangerous then. The leaper circling. Gyth keeping his mount facing that dirt colored long snouted rodent. To turn and run now was suicide.

It was waiting for something before striking. Something or help. Gyth spurred that stallion and bellowed a charge. The Skeggor at the ready.

"AYYYEEOEOEOEO!!" he bellowed wanting the stallion to charge it with everything that powerful animal had before the carbic had help.
 
Was the guy on his back totally insane? He was unarmed. HELLO? UNARMED!!!! That weapon getting farther away as the fucker yanked his chain.

Literally.

Heading FOR the wounded creature. What was he going to do? Gnaw it to death with the remainder of his teeth? He might be able to kick it... crush its snout... But either way, the bastard atop him wasn't going to relent any time soon.

Made noises like he was an animal. And Kalfor realized in that instant that he was.

He had a rider. Metallic taste in his mouth, and something to direct him. He was a fucking horse.

Didn't the bogey men eat horses? Maybe once they were done kicking this big rat's ass, they were going to feast on human horse flesh.

His mind was spinning with the possibilities, certainly unsure of what was to come and where it was to go. After all, he hadn't eaten, drunk or really slept all that well. And he hadn't wenched for at least a day and a half. That spelled a bit of discomfort ALL around.

As he felt bites in his backside again, he reared and moved forward, bearing down on the bleeding creature. Thinking on his ass, he had felt the phrase ring true.

Yep. Discomfort.

ALL around.
 
The fog was heavy where the carbic chose to fight. Thick enough to hide the carbic. Thick enough to see only the shoulders and head of the mount. But the carbic knew VuNish were right handed. So it planned to attack the unprotected left side of the mount.

Claws and dagger poised to strike full force against the big mount. The injured carbic gathered to launch. Bypassing the rider's right side and circling. Bypassing the weapon side.

The fog was heavy. No matter, the carbic planned to leap on the mount from the left. The side that was weaponless. The side that had always been weaponless.

A hesitation as the carbic caught the reflection of something on the left side of the mount. The side that had always been weaponless.

That hesitation delayed in the leap. A few seconds late. Then the leap. To the left side of the mount away from the rider's right hand. Away from the weapon hand.

A few seconds shy of the mark. A grazing blow at worst. A blow along the unarmed side of the rider where the mount would be taken down easily. The side that was always weaponless.

Gyth suddenly saw the leap of the carbic as it aimed for the stallion. He measured the distance and leaned forward as he waited.

At the last minute, Gyth pulled the reigns to the right, forcing the mount right and causing the carbic to leap past the rider before reaching the left side of the mount.

Gyth aiming for the carbic. The axe was in Gyth's left hand. The side the carbic always chose to attack because VuNish were right handed.

The axe was on it's way just as the carbic leaped.

The carbic's eyes widened as the truth pierced the fog from the left side, the side that at the last moment was suddenly not weaponless.

The bearded blade swung wildly in a killing arc of the sharpest kind. The blade seemed to sing as it cut into the heavy fog toward the carbic. It found a home in the chest as one of the carbic’s claws reach out to the big stallion.

The fog may have been why the carbic did not see the bearded axe before it struck the killing blow, or anything else after.

Gyth would have roared. He would have shouted. But there were more of them hunting and it was time to move. Gyth began to look the stallion over until he heard something to his left.

Noises in the brush moving their way. He listened for a moment. Crashing sounds. A flip of a half gomlet and four spars change to call friend or foe. The fog was not helping.

Gyth chose the safe approach. He kicked the stallion as he turned his head with a pull of the reigns to the right. Once past the vine trees there was sticker berry hill. It was the last cover to the uphill dog leg and the only way out. It was no place to be caught out in the open.

He clicked his tongue and urged the hearty mount onward. The blade of the axe dark with the blood of the carbic. No time for trophy ears. The goal was to ride this wild mount out of here.
 
The creature fell backward, disappearing through the heavy mist and he shivered slightly. He had lost his loin cloth somewhere. Kalfor wasn't usually shy about his body; hell half the wenches of the kingdom had seen his family jewels; he just hadn't been ridden... into battle.

Spoken to like an animal. Clicked at like a good horse. He shied away at the direction and bucked under the rider, trying to dislodge him. He didn't like his position... now with the initial rush of that threat avoided, he felt a little more confident. He was running. And there wasn't a damn thing that could stop him from bolting.

Especially beneath a bogey man and chased by devilish rats.

Well, he was either dreaming, having a nightmare or completely fucked.

As his jaw throbbed and his ass was pricked and probably bleeding nastily, he realized that there were subtle nuances to the level of actually being fucked.

With a sharp tug, he grunted with the pain. And realized that it wasn't so subtle either. He didn't say anything; talking was impossible with his face full of metal and bridle. He wasn't... going to go...

Clicking and tugging. Tugging and clicking.

He had not personally trained horses but knew what was needed. And didn't know how much punishment he might take before they set him on a spit. He was almost free... almost.

Could he toss off the rider and steal his axe? Could he escape?

Hm... he considered... perhaps he could also die a horrible death by being swarmed by gnashing rodents in the middle of a misty swamp.

Choices, choices, choices...
 
Gyth frowned as someone big and stupid was about to make another bad decision. He hated to do it. Had always hated to do it. This was definitely not the time for someone being chase to make those kinds of decisions.

However, get going needed to happen. Even if this black devil could not hear what was moving in the fog Gyth could. He took out the hood from his kit with one hand and tried one more time to encourage forward movement the pleasant way.

The hood in his hand. The crop and reigns in the other. Gyth had no intentions of being carbic dinner with a health beast between his legs.

He clicked again and leaned forward indicating it was time to go. As if to say this is the last time I'm going to ask nicely.
 
He set his jaw and swallowed the bile and the emptiness down. There were creatures still in that mist and it seemed that, for now, it might be in his best interest to comply. Was he losing a battle, or the war?

He could make a break for it, but he really didn't have any place to go. He could have easily gotten turned around in the haze and, although tall, could not see through it, more than a few feet in front of his face.

He followed the tug, huffing slightly to indicate his rebellion. But he moved. And the way he was directed.

Unimpressed, but he realized his strengths and weaknesses. And right now, he was heavy on the weaknesses.

But when his strength might tip the scales...?

That would be an interesting day... even for the bogey men...
 
The rumblings thru the foliage moving closer. Gyth was adjusting to drop the hood when the big stallion moved. Huffed. Snorted. Carried on but moved.

Gyth sighed heavily and leaned forward patting that shoulder in thanks. Gave a nudge with his knees for pick up the pace and put the hood away quickly.

There was still enough night and fog to kill them both quickly. Gyth sat taller and listened as he moved the stallion around places he knew were traps.

Gyth did not try to cover distance. He tried to move away from the natural and known killing grounds. The carbic were tireless hunters and whatever their plans it relied heavily on the chasing into the trap or the killing places which there were many.

The rustling behind and to the right had him on edge. He turned the big mount to the left and circled a tree before coming to a stop. There they would wait quietly to see what came thru.

Before them was an open area surrounded on the right by those nasty sticker brush and on the left a narrowing for several hundred yard before it opened up. Gyth hadn't see it. And if it hadn't been for his mount's willfulness he would have sent them to their death.

The sound was almost like the rumbling of a storm caught between mountains. It was heavy and lacked any kind of pace. But it was the chittering that Gyth's heart racing.

Something to the one side burst from the brush and a head emerged just above the fog. It twisted as though trying to see itself by turning around. Gyth recognized the smaller VuNish instantly. It was Black Arvir reign in hand and the smaller mount under him was bobbing and weaving as it fought.

The chittering seemed to be moving quickly from that same direction. Arvir was too far away for anything but calling out. Gyth did not want to give away his position. It was risky. Something unavoidable from an unproven out of control mount.

Gyth brought the axe handle into his palm again as he tensed. He leaned in preparation for a charge. Arvir would need help.

If he took off into that narrow he would only get caught in a net and die a piece at a time. Gyth waited and kept his mount still behind the trees watching the swirl of the fog as the chittering stopped.

His eyes narrowed trying to see the carbic but all he could see was Arvir fighting that lousy mount while death circled them.

Arvir jerked as the mount screamed in pain. Arvir’s sword hand slashing down across his own body. Gyth saw the attack come to Arvir’s left side. Two carbics slashing and clawing on the left while the other stood off to the right waiting for a run.


Gyth’s battle cry echoing in the fog. The reigns guiding in one hand and the axe in the other. He kicked his mount wanting that big demon to charge the two carbics on the left from behind.
 
Kalfor felt that comforting tap on the shoulder and he almost reached up to it. Like he had done well. Like camaraderie. Like a friend. But that... was ridiculous. He worked his jaw as well as he could and winced at the pain. He tasted his own blood.

As he let his Rider guide him, knowing that His survival meant his own, he even hid quietly and carefully in the brush. For survival. Even for one more minute...

Because what he was watching was a fine and horrifically choreographed death scene; someone he rode in the back of the cart with was in trouble...

The bogey man came down a notch in his eyes; only a notch, mind. Even deadly predators and monsters could have family, or friends, he supposed.

Perhaps it was the proximity of death, or even the fact that they barely maneuvered out of the way of it, but he almost ran at the creatures without urging; they were harming someone else...

Maybe he was simply influenced by the eerieness of the darkness woven with the thinning mist... Or perhaps the need to feel alive, even if only for a few more moments.

There was a sound, like a high-pitched haunting screech; it almost made him jump. It was fortunate that he already had been moving, his feet seeking out to help, even as his own life might be forfeit or he might have shied away.

Kalfor had resolved himself to die, but he would be damned if it was going to be on a spit for rodents or bogey men...

The heels against his ass, now spurring him forward faster, the adrenaline racing, burning through the rest of his stores of energy. He would need sustenance soon, but that wasn't forefront in his mind. It was death.

And life.

He charged...
 
Gyth felt the power under him as that stallion launched. It took little to guide his mount towards the fighting. He gave the reigns a light pull to the right.

The stallion was big framed enough. The two carbics were side by side attacking Arvir and his mount. The carbic at Arvir had a weapon and appeared more dangerous. The one to the right was weaponless, using claws on the mount.

Arvir's mount cried out in pain again. Even weaponless carbics were dangerous. The carbics will separate once attacked. It is hard to fight two in different directions. Arvir is the example of that two carbic attack.

Gyth aimed his stallion at the weaponless carbic attacking the mount. His own axe at the ready but low, hidden in the fog. A surprise for the carbic attacking Arvic. Gyth tucked his boot toes against his mounts back.

The rider and mount were plunging into the chaos of the fighting. The howl had the carbics turning. Gyth braced, ready for the collision that will come. Braced to leap at the other carbic knowing his mount was wild and caught in the heat of the fighting.

Gyth decided quickly it is better to attack the one carbic on his own while his stallion brings down twelve types of hell on the other. He would ride the stallion again once the fight is over. For now Gyth can see the look of surprise in the carbic's wide eyed stare. Feel the stallion under gather for the chest shot.

Then it is like the explosion of two mountains colliding into each other as they hit. The fight is on.
 
Weaponless, but suddenly not feeling defenseless, Kalfor took his foot and kicked the creature hard. Somewhere in the charge, he was only slightly aware of a lighter feeling and responded in kind, using that newly discovered energy to launch it at the rat-like thing.

He avoided the claws and teeth as best as he could, plowing headlong and trying to dislodge it from his friend beneath the other bogey man. His bridle was loose, almost enough for him to speak, so instead, he grunted at the other and charged hard.

Hopefully they could... but there were long gashes along the other's side, and he could see the bogey man on his back. Yes. Horses. Easier to see what was going on from the other side of things. But it was all being processed sub-consciously, because at the moment, he was in the thick of things.

Using the balls and heels of his feet, he aimed to connect to soft tissue of the monstrous rats. Trying to dance and avoid attacks as he shifted his arms, painful pull of skin against his shoulder, he reached down and over to help his comrade. They might not be friends, but his life would be forfeit without his help.

Suddenly, living seemed so much more important than anything else in that breath. And when the long slicing scratch traced down his side, instead of making him shy away, he got angry. He used his limbs to pummel whatever was in front of him. Hard...

In that moment he wasn't just a prince; he felt he was a champion. That moment might pass, but he had that brief joy to buoy his spirit...

Until the other blow fell.
 
Gyth Launched. The leap short. The axe bit deep into a shoulder. The carbic screaked and slashed out. The dangerous tips of the claws struck the handle of the axe as Gyth tried to turn for a swing. He missed the head shot but another hateful sour note to his right said that Black Devil had laid a mighty blow.

It spurred him on. As the clawed finger gripped the axe handle Gyth reached to his belt for the cruelly curved dirk. He pressed his weight against the off centered carbic, pulled the axe to him and thrust the dirk past the handle trying for any shot that sank and damaged.

Arvir thoughts exploded into his concentration, [It's coming around Gyth!]

[Where?] Gyth dug his feet into the soft ground pumping for all he was worth to get some leverage on the carbic still very much alive.

[Bring your dance partner closer!] Arvir leaned down to the left awkwardly his short sword moving for a stabbing thrust.

The smaller mount protected a raking wound down his forearm. Another wound down his rib cage. He was staggering and cried in pain. He was sagging under Arvic on that side as he favoring it. He was trying to turn and fight something that hid and attacked then hid back in the fog.

Suddenly that big fellow was there. Held up right. He gave the blacked hair man a nod of thanks and watched him turn on the carbic. The blow reigned heavily. He could hear the crack of many a bone that broke with hammering of large feet and fist. A demon was fighting on his side and for that he was grateful.

Injured, Gyth thought. Healable he hoped. That would be later but for now he found a solid spot of ground and heaved the carbic forward in the direction Arvir indicated. Pushing the carbic off balance against Arvir's mount to give Arvir a chance to slice thru.

Two mounts. It licked the saliva from it's lip. The smell of copper. The first blooding. Eyes narrowed and it used the nose to move around the fighters seeking the exposed back, a side unguarded or weaponless or both. Hunched in the fog for cover. The tail for balance. It moved in for the kill while the prey were distracted by the fighting.

Mad with the scent of blood. Hungry and ready to eat. It came where it might have been more cautious expecting the fighting to hide the sound of it's movement until it could strike.

A large head peered up briefly from the fog and the carbic moved in. Closer. Moving quickly. Dagger in clawed fingers ready for a strike. A little close as it was distracted elsewhere. Quicker before the fighting ended. Before the next breath. Past the fallen limb. It moved again.

Arvir brought the sword to drill into the carbic between them and heard a limb snap loudly nearby.

Gyth hearing it too. Turned his head but did not shout knowing the carbic would leap for the kill. Leap to the closest back or unprotected side.

The carbic moved thru the fog cursing the limb. It came swiftly no longer willing to waste time with fruitless stealth. It took one look at the VuNish on foot. Gyth's head turned in the other direction. Gyth's weapon hands tangled in the fight. His arm raised at the closed side.

It gathered to leap and hoped the large black head stayed down long enough for a clean leap.
 
Pain.

It ripped through his other shoulder like slicing hot knives and he bucked beneath it. Kalfor was attacked, and not even very nicely. The damned things had weapons.

Fuck.

If he'd have known THAT, he would have worried about disarming first and THEN attacking. Was that stabbing pain in his shoulder blade? Did it sit in a good position, or did it slide into that softness that would be his lung?

He could still breathe, for now. Which meant that whatever had landed was an enemy. And was free to attack. VERY free.

Reaching up and over onto his shoulder, he yanked the fucker off. He felt something take another swipe and he tossed it to the ground, stomping as he went. The damn thing left its dagger. And suddenly... painfully, but almost victoriously... he was armed.

But still with a bit and bridle. That took a back role to the one he was dancing with now.

Living long enough to rebel.
 
The carbic wheeled. It growled and chittered. The dagger gone. Claws out. The taste of blood licked from it's long fingers. It gathered for another leap.

Gyth saw the battle. He finally jerked the axe from the dead carbics claws. The dead tree limb large enough and near enough to that reckless stallion. So was the carbic and ready for another attack.

[Cover me, Arvic!] Gyth jumped up on the limb and vaulted into the air. He crashed into his black devil's back and clung on. The blood making it harder.

His stallion was giving an open on the right side, the wrong side. His hand on the reigns and he turned that large head and kicked him.

"HEEEAAAYYY!!" trying to get him to show his injured left in the fight. Open left so that Gyth's axe could weigh in and together they could kill this carbic quickly.

It might be their only chance.
 
Something else on his back now, glad the blood was not running down into his eyes, but instead running in a slow, steady stream from his shoulder.

Grasping the reins, moving his head. Showing the bloodied side to the creature. And he knew that it was dinner he was, and it didn't rightly matter whose. Looking up, Kalfor tried to find the man he had helped, but lost the visual on him. There were sounds in the mist, but they were more disturbing because the imagination played the tricks. And the eyes filled in the details that could not be seen.

Tired, bloody and sore, he decided that he had done his best and turned as he was directed. Life had run out.

Kalfor had imagined his own death. It might have been valiant; songs sung about his heroic deeds in battle. It might have been at the end of a full, rich life; surrounded by wife and children, mourned by many and remembered by all.

Nowhere in his fantasy had he conjured the idea that he would die at the hands of some unknown rat-like creatures that were armed and lived in a swamp in the middle of nowhere. Ridden like an animal by a bogey man and then devoured like horse flesh. Nope. Not on his agenda.

His only consolation was that they didn't think of him as a Prince. They might never sing those songs of the minor battle against the vermin. But his father would never know. He would never wish to shame his father.

That, too, was a consolation as he stumbled forward, blood loss affecting his thoughts and movements.

And pain. In that moment, it was a welcome reminder that Kalfor was still, thankfully for him, alive.

One last push. He had that in him.

Yes.
 
A little slower response than Gyth had wanted but it was a response and the right one by some lucky star.

Opening the left like bait. Gyth heard the movement ahead and from left to further left. The sound of Arvir and his mount circling behind to rush the strike.

[Will keep it from turning Gyth] The mount under Arvir sluggish but came.

The lunge from the fog. The lunge in his face instantly. There was no sign. It was suddenly there and on that left shoulder of his Big Devil. But Gyth had been ready.

Gyth roared to turn that head and give his mount the killing blow. The axe hammered down in an explosion of power imbedding in the carbics back.

The carbic hanging on the big mount with claws. Surprised as the glint of steel bearing down from the mounts riderless back. Riderless no more as the steel bit.

It shrieked in pain and turned for the rider. Blood rage. VuNish or mount flesh was flesh.

Arvir’s own mount sore wounded a charge was not possible. The three so entangled that Arvir could only stand by and watch for an opening. He hoped the big mount would strike at the carbic and kill it.
 
That swinging arc of the dagger, moving before even thought had fully kicked in. The pain that dripped like water from him as he moved through pure need. Through pure instinct. Through pure survival.

There were too many things on his back; almost too much for him to bear. Brands, and rats and bogey men and that single swing became mutiplied frantically. Too much. Too much of everything.

He had been subjected to a loss of teeth, a metallic bit, a bridle... starved, beaten, ridden...

Kalfor's voice broke, moaning a scream of fury, of anger and frustration. He was almost helpless, but latched onto the weapon in his hand like it was a lifeline.

Desperation.

He swung again, hoping to connect with something, hoping to hit whatever was on him.

He was hoping to live... wasn't he?
 
The force of the blow to the carbic sent it flying off the shoulder. The axe pulled from its back as Gyth held on with the strength he had in him.

The roar of his mount echoed in the fog. Multiplied. Sounded of thunder. The unwelcomed sound of death. The mortally wounded carbic screeched in a high pitched raking that would certainly bring more to the buffet.

[Gyth!]

Gyth turned almost around where he sat on his great devil. Axe in hand ready for another fight only to see Sark moving slowly on the right thru the tree line. His wheat hair mount showing signs of an encounter with a team. The limp pronounced.

Arvir turned as well and grinned. Good to see everyone alive. [thru the stick berries then it’s all down hill]

Sark kept his mount moving. Slowly but still moving. [Agreed, Gyth can you lead?]

Gyth’s axe hand slipped to his back where he sheathed his weapon. A strong pat on his mounts shoulder in thanks. He tore his own jerkin and wrapped the worst of the wound at the shoulder. A gentle nudge with his knees and a clicking of his tongue to signal moving again.

Not a run. Not a leap from or a charge into a fight. A walk. It was into the stick berries. Some scraping for a moment but once past the hedge row it was a decent walk. A natural defense against carbics. A scratch from the thorns would poison them and do no harm to VuNish and just scratch the mounts.

What was a few scratches compared to getting grilled over a fire slowly.

Gyth had not forgotten the dagger. It was something he would worry about later when it was safe to worry about a mount with a dagger. For now it was better to have this big fellow armed.

Gyth lean and encourage his big Black Devil into the stick berries where it would be safer for everyone.
 
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