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Prince of Slaves - The_Fifth Master & Rawr Kitten

And just like that... it was over. His chest heaving and he almost buckled to one knee. Kalfor should have been celebrating the victory over those rat things, but at the moment, he only felt a distinct loss of energy as his reserves were almost tapped dry.

His hand was still curled around that dagger, but he lacked the strength to use it. Not the conviction, because as surely as he was still drawing breath, he would fight them. Just... not today. He would have to pick his battles to ultimately win the war.

It was a stumbling motion and an unwillingness to drop that kept him going. Like inertia had picked itself up and gotten out of the way for momentum to take over. The trick was to keep walking. Keep... walking...

Brambles. The very things he might avoid had he cared a lick about where he was going. His legs scratched to shit and his feet were trodding on some sharp object or other. Softened pads of feet that were pampered and massaged, washed carefully and with pumice and rose oil... now they were blistering and bloody and might cause him pain if he actually cared about that either.

He was worn, wounded and sore; champion only temporarily and apparently now a 'good boy'. He had nothing more inside of him this day to be anything else. He just wanted some food, some water, some rest...

But tomorrow? Tomorrow was another day. It was the hope of that that kept him going.

Today would be over.

And this, too, should pass. Like a kidney stone. Or unwanted shit.
 
They rode side by side. Gyth on the left and Arvic on the right. Sandwiching Sark in between them for protection.

Sark's mount wore an open gash down the thigh. A mean rake needing cauterized to prevent infection. It should not be permanently lame but certainly will limp for a while. Sark himself wore his own blood on his thigh. It mingled with his mounts and ran a steady drip marking their trail.

Sark pointed up ahead [Down hill now!]

Arvir stretched over his smaller mount's shoulder to see the way better. The mount sore hurt and bleeding from several places down the left side of his body. No leg injury but the rake and bite marks looked deep and unhealthy.

Arvir nodded. [Walk them in the middle of the trail single file. Gyth bring up the rear. I'll move ahead of you Sark]

Sark gave them both a grateful look but nothing more. He had to keep balanced with the lop sided walk.

Gyth drew back on the reigns slight. He gave a sound meant to slow the stallion down a little allowing the other to go ahead of him on the right.

It took a few minutes as he watched for Arvir to pull ahead. Sark kept an irregular but steady pace. It would not take long to move out of the bog. Gyth could see the thin wisp of smoke and smell the fire. Oather would have made camp in a defendable place out of the bog where carbics would not venture.

It was toward the smoke he guided his stallion. The smoke where he could tend the big mount's wounds and feed him before hobbling him. Then it would be Gyth's turn to feed and finally relax for the evening.

He gave the black devil under him another encouraging pat on his shoulder. Tomorrow he'd be saddled properly and ridden with less urgency Gyth hoped.
 
Slow. Fast. Stop. Go.

Kalfor ceased to care and really almost ceased to see. He let the others go ahead, larger steps were slower but his legs still managed to cover the ground.

That hand tightly grasped around his dagger. HIS.

And then the smell wafted in a breeze that perhaps was their making. Or his. What mattered was that it smelled like smoke, like promise, like FOOD.

His stomach growled and clenched. Long time without sustenance. For a Prince. For a would-be King. For ANYONE.

That touch. That supposed 'good boy'. He was getting tired of it. Or perhaps he was just too tired to get tired.

Either way, when they got there, they'd get there. And tomorrow? There'd be discussion.

He was still a Prince. At least in his own mind.

Tired as all get out. Fucking exhausted. What he wouldn't give for a wench. Or a glass of wine. No, not wine, that last batch tasted strange. Maybe ale. Yes... ale. And a sumptuous banquet... in his honour...

He was daydreaming as he moved and stumbled along, hoping against all hope that they would just... get wherever they were going so he could fall down.

And they could eat him.

Literally AND figuratively.
 
Gyth was sore all over but it had been well worth it. The big mount was everything in a stallion. Big. Strong. Trainable. Looking him over and the molars this fellow had just started his last growth spurt. He was already a 17 saddle size and would probably top out at 23 maybe 24 that was draft mount size.

It just meant the stallion could pack more on a long trip then most. Double back for sure once he had gotten conditioned to riders. Even still wild he was calm with a comfortable gate.

The path ahead wound around a curve. Black Arvir went right when the path went left, heading for the smoke of the camp. The smoke a beacon for them to follow. Oather would never allow a fire with such smoke unless he meant to be seen.

He was seen alright. Gyth turned his big devil to the right behind the others. In a few minutes they spilled into the camp. Fire off to one side. The Xul cart to the right of the fire minus the Xul who at the moment was grazing of thistle at the edge of the rocky outcropping that lent protection to the camp.

Arvir called his name. "Oather!"

Gyth's hand on his stallions shoulder so the sounds did not started a weary injured fellow. There was plenty of room to spread out. Something needed for wild mounts at first. Close enough so they could see each other but far enough away not to have problems double.

Oather peeked around the outcropping wearing a scowl. [Can't pee in peace!]

By the time Oather had come to the cart for the mats Gyth had brought his big stallion to a large log and pulled gently on the reigns for him to stop.

[Stay put Gyth] Oather dragging the mats behind him went straight to Arvir first.

The mat placed in front of the smaller mount. Arvir was dismounted in an instant. His hands on the lead signally for the mount with the hip and side injuries to the mat on his knees. It seemed to melt down and lay panting with it's forehead to the mat. Flawless.

Gyth frowned as Oather seemed to take his time with Sark's mat. All the while Gyth was reassuring his own with a gentle brush of his hand along a shoulder and cooing.

A movement in the outcropping caught Gyth attention. He tensed and his hand went to his back. Leaning forward to warn his stallion and turned him slightly in the direction of the movement. A branch moved slightly. A pair of soft amber eyes were visible from between the leaves. As Gyth looked harder the pretty bridled head and blonde mane of a mare peeking out.

He leaned back and relaxed. Oather's mare getting a first look at the stallions. Gyth chuckled and moved his hand from the axe to rest it lightly on his stallion's shoulders. The plop of the mat and as Gyth looked down Oather was moving away from the mat he had laid before the stallion.

[You'll have to buy a bigger one when we get back but this will do for now] Oather snapped his fingers and the bridled head disappeared once more.

Gyth did not tell Oather that he had a large one waiting already. Instead he dismounted and took the lead in one hand. He eyed the dagger for a moment before putting his own hand under the stallions until they touched.

Hoping to the Gates of Orcum that this would not be a fight.

"Release" Gyth said quietly to keep the mount in that confused daze.
 
Kalfor felt that stroke, felt that reassurance and didn’t buy it for a moment. He was plodding along until he was turned to some other movement. Something else entirely.

He was exhausted, but not so much so as to miss something or someone watching from the darkness. A small glint of colour, a flash of something and then it was gone with the snap. He thought he might have seen a female. But he wasn’t sure.

And then… that lightness. No one on him and he was almost there… almost ready to lie down… almost…

The bogey man reached for his lifeline and his fingers tightened. He swung his head back. And then forth. Slow. Steady. And that look could not be confused for anything else. ‘No, you freaking asshole who rode me into the jaws of rat creatures who could have killed us all,’ it said. ‘I ain’t handing over the only weapon I own just ‘cause you want it. I’m a PRINCE.’

Part bluster. And all rebellion. What use would he be without that dagger? What use indeed?

So he held on to it. As he tried to hold onto himself.
 
Sark turned his head to the direction of the growling [Take the dagger, Gyth]

Arvir was standing beside his kneeling mount looking over the injuries trying to decide where to start first.

[He cannot have a dagger, Gyth]

Oather glanced over listening. He remained silent as the others thought among themselves.

Advice given too soon was wasted. He tended the meat searing on the fire.

Several small animals for the mounts. Fresh meat to celebrate their survival. Oather thought he might have gotten too many. One of the mounts might be killed soon.

Gyth looked into the wild eyes of the big demon. Fear, yes. Anger, yes. Certainly, hate and loath as well but there was something else Gyth saw. Something that was underneath it all.

Gyth had spent a life time on this wild stallions back fighting to survive. Then the black devil did as asked. Then the stallion trusted. Then when he needed it to do as told his mount did all and more than expected. Not once threaten to attack him. Even now, not threatening to attack just refusing to let go.

Gyth looked full face into the eyes of that stallion. Beyond the stumbling exhaustion. The dazed confusion. He saw other things. Defense. Protection. Survival.

[Oather, cut a big juicy piece of meat and bring it to me from this black devil's blind side]

Oather smiled and sliced near a quarter end with bone. Mounts loved bones although they never ate any. He came round the blind side with that meat while Gyth held still and kept a piercing gaze on that stallion. The heat and smell permeating the air enough for the other two mounts to lift their heads in Oather's direction.

Gyth dropped the lead and took the shank in his hand. The other still waiting below the stallions for the dagger to drop in. He gave the stallion a few minutes to start looking for that smell before holding it up for him to see. His tongue twisted trying to get around the unfamiliar sounds as he spoke.

"Weapon, or eat?"
 
Watching and wary, his nostrils moved as he smelled the approaching food. Because it was food. And although he had not had much to drink, his salivary glands had kicked in, that tongue tentatively touching his lips, dry and cracked.

He looked full into the face of his rider, the bogey man who could have killed him where he stood, knelt or even lay. His large axe was there. Why the hell didn't he use it? And then... THEN... he spoke.

As near to his language as possible, but still... he spoke. Holding up the meat that certainly was not him. And smelling... like it needed to be eaten.

He looked at the shank, the fat at the point of melting, and the juices almost running down the bogey man's arm. His gut clenched and he felt himself almost double over. Pain. Hunger. Need...

He stand like hell, was hungry as well, and he blinked, wondering what the hell to make of it all. All he knew was he had a choice to make. And as his attention wavered, and focused on the meat, he closed his eyes for a moment.

Like he was considering.

He was just trying to stop himself from passing out before he had reached out for the food.

Unpeeling his clenched fingers from the dagger, he dropped it, and took the meat... snatched it, really...

And had already begun gnawing as though they might reconsider and take it back. His eyes glowered at the bogey man, and realized that if he had to, he might be able to get something better.

But after food. And drink. And rest.

He watched and curled in on himself, pain now rippling through his body in regular waves.
 
Gyth watched the eyes. The eyes telegraphed the moves of mounts. But that was always at the last possible second. The last second after a stallion like this one had already made up his mind.

Sark watched but it was too far from his mount to lend a hand. [Here use my whip]
Gyth ignored Sark. For all his good intentions the VuNish was wrong. Gyth was sure of it. Sure enough to bet his life of it. His hands remained in place and without trembling. He let himself be open and vulnerable to the first strike if it came to that.

Arvir had his hands full. His mount was thrashing and fighting the bridle.

[Steady Gyth. His right leg is tensing]

Gyth heard Arvir but did not move his head to acknowledge it. Would not think to him. His connection with the great devil was tentative. He was unwilling to add on a distraction.

Gyth's eyes spoke quietly. Come on you big devil, food and rest, no more fighting today. Take the meat. I know you want it. Here it is just take it.

Sudden as snake bite. The eyes dart. The dagger fell into his hand as the meat was snatched from the other.

Gyth slipped the dagger into his boot leg carefully as he picked up the lead.

He moved slow. His hand on the stallion's hip to let him know where he was. Letting the stallion know that the meat was not going away.

A quick glance to a motion on the stallion's blind side said that Oather had brought over Gyth's xul skin full of mare's milk and the one with water.

[Thanks Oather]

A constant gentle touch to a starving mount that had gone his last mile today. Gyth motioned for the Stallion to drop to the mat. Easy for him to eat. The trunk of the fallen tree would make him feel like he was hidden. Something a young stallion needed, eating or anything else.

Gyth motioned him down with a pat on the thigh and a touch of the mat with his boot to show how soft and cushioned it was. An offer that was better than standing right now.

It was the stallion's turn now. If Gyth could get him to sit there would be more and he'd remove the bit so the black devil could chew better.
Then see to that shoulder.
 
Lost. That fucking dagger lost.

With the first gnawing and tearing bites from the shank, he cursed himself, and then doubly so. Eating, although a necessity, hurt like a son of a bitch. His back teeth rubbed, his abused gums raw and he moaned a little, eyes squinting against it. He HAD to eat. His stomach demanded it. His whole being demanded it.

He watched, still wary, as the hand never moved, shuddering slightly with the unfamiliar and untrusted touch. It was as though his skin was retracting from it and he moved, following the bogey man's eyes. Kicking some sort of place... hidden, soft...

Would it be so considerate with his wounded, sore and tired body? Did he have any choice?

He was damned weary. But with the taste, he came a little closer to feeling himself. It might not have been seasoned as he liked, but really, it was cooked. And dead. And not anyone he knew.

Nodding once, and now holding onto the bone, he moved to sit on the mat, sucking in air with the pain, and squinting slightly. Keeping his eyes open despite everything, and watchful.

Waiting for death.

Or worse.
 
Sark glanced over and warned. [Slow Gyth]

[Yes] thought Gyth as he saw the big stallion sink to his knees on the mat.

The eyes were wild and the bone was clutched. Gyth made sure his big devil was looking into his eyes as he moved his hand slowly up the shoulder, the base of the neck then to the large head. He nodded in reassurance. His fingers at the bit cinch to release the strap that held the bit in the stallion's mouth.

Gyth made a noise he had been learning. It was meant to encourage cooperation. He opened his own mouth at the same time to show this fellow what he wanted. His eyes said, make it easier for you to chew, but he was thinking not me, the meat.

His other hand held the short quarter of the seared meat. It was just out or the stallions reach unless he opened his mouth and allowed Gyth to remove the bit. Gyth worked the vowels around in his mouth and spat out the last letter. Probably garbled but he understood it the first time.

"Eat"
 
Pain was written in Kalfor's eyes. Pain and anger. With some frustration, hunger and a whole load of other necessities for human life that were being totally fucked over in this little part of the woods. Or swamp... wilderness. In this little part of the wilderness.

He stared at the bogey man, wondering what other shit this fucker wanted from him. Dagger. Kneel. Now he wanted something else, something... He watched, partially confused, and then it dawned on him.

That chewing that hurt like a son of a bitch might be a little less so. If he opened his mouth. Eat? Damn right, fucker. I'd love to eat. Not with you and your psychedelic circus. But at home.

That word conjured a whole myriad of emotions as he thought back on the place. It brought up thoughts and feelings and not all bad. But he wasn't going to get there with this fucking bit in his mouth... he would never hear the end of it.

He opened his mouth as indicated and waited for the bogey man. Anything to eat better, faster, more efficiently...
 
Then like a stiff breeze the mouth opened. Gyth moved the bit aside. Clipped it again the bridle and at the same time put meat in that stallions from paws. He waited for two bites more.

Two would be enough for this fellow to be ready for something to drink. Mare's milk first. He needed it. Help with energy and give him other things water would not.

He watched until his big Devil looked at him again. His arm out holding the xul skin for him to drink. He wondered if he knew to hold it high and tip it upside down to get anything out. Probably not, they were wild after all.

Gyth waited to make eye contact. The xul skin of Mare's milk ready as he spoke.

"eat?"
 
Out. He could eat, CHEW. That fucking rubbing in his mouth had stopped and that's when the pain really started. Meat juice and saliva hit the open wounds and he almost whimpered. But he tipped his head back and swallowed. He had no other way of getting that food into him, and a tear cornered itself in his eye.

The wetness he felt was a surprise. So his inner voice started talking. It was the pain. It had nothing to do with the hopelessness of his situation or the fact that no one cared enough to let him out of a cart to take a piss. It wasn't that his father sent no word, and that, even on the evening of the second day, no horses could be heard, and they were leisurely sitting together, not rushed nor pursued. Well, not by anything except for those rat things.

Blinking, he ate carefully until he became aware of that weighted stare. That bogey man was still there. And with liquid. Kalfor didn't know what kind, just knew that a skin usually meant that. Turning sideways so that tearing eye was positioned away from him, he glanced up, hanging onto the food as though it was threatened.

Until that point, he hadn't thought of what they might have done to the meat. Or even, what they might have done to the liquid. Not until right then. But his stomach could care less... damn it. Somehow his parts were thinking all together separately from each other.

That same word. With the skin. He licked the juice from his hand, tongue gently pushed forward and took great care around that throbbing. Holding out his hand, he waited. Whatever it was would either kill him or make him stronger.

Or make his mouth throb enough to almost have him want to spontaneously empty his guts...
 
More cooperation. Not a relationship just cooperation between owner and mount. A beginning that would evolve once things became clear. The stallion was wild but not stupid nor suicidal.

Important things to keep in mind when dealing with desperate raging fear. Gyth saw the paw and placed the mare's milk skin in it. He held out the other one and lifted it over his mouth to pantomime instruction. It would keep the stallion from wearing more than he got or getting nothing.

He squeezed the skin to show that the container must be milked like an animal's udder. His hand with the skin come down as he watched. It would be important to stay close, the keep his stallion at the end of his finger tips to keep the fear down.

Gyth eyed the wound again. It looked ugly but it would heal quickly after tonight. Part of the benefit of their new relationship. There would be other benefits for them both as well, one they got sorted out.

For now Gyth watched. Food and drink handled without any fighting. Give the stallion time to get that nourishment into his system before Gyth would feed and see to the other needs of them both.

Gyth nodded his head in encouragement and make a noise that mounts generally understood for very good. But then the others had not be fresh caught. He hoped he got it right and curled the ends of his lips up to show a friendly gesture. It was suppose to be a smile but he did not have much practice and watched to see if he got it right.
 
Kalfor watched the bogey man, felt that in his hand, heavy and sloshing. He was right, it WAS liquid. And honestly? He needed to know what it was before...

What the hell?

His eyes narrowed as he chewed, and watched the instruction with curiosity. Instead of doing it like an idiot, and also to test if it was safe, he handed it back, and mimed that the bogey man should show him how.

Because, quite frankly, that devil was too close. It gave him the willies, truly, if he knew what willies might be and how that might be given.

And that... creepy thing he did with his face... looked more like he was the next thing on the menu, or that he was going to take someone out back to kill them. More likely, him...

He waited for that demonstration and ate the rest of his meat.

He'd rather go on a full stomach anyway.
 
There was a snort from across the way. Gyth glance over to see Sark's eyes merry as the other VuNish turned back to tend to his own mount.

Arvir was looking at Gyth curiously. [What was on your face?]

[A smile. Said to be a facial expression formed by flexing the muscles near both ends of the mouth.] Gyth took the skin from his big Devil.

Arvir nodded. [It was hideous.]

Sark glanced over in Gyth's direction. [Did you mean him to attack you to test his trust in you?]

Gyth held up the mare's skin and showed the stallion how to drink from it. Then he swallowed his mouthful and he held it out to the fellow. It was delicious.

Gyth glanced over in Sark's direction. [No, I will not flex my mouth in that way again.]

Gyth turned his attention back to his stallion. Soon the Black Devil would need to be hobbled before Gyth could feed. After that they could both get to know each other a little better.
 
Kalfor watched and nodded, holding out his hand for the skin. It worked as he expected. Safe liquid. He swallowed that last bite of meat, holding the rest in his hand and used his other to help himself to... what the hell was that?

He smacked his lips... and it wasn't water. It was... something sweeter. Familiar... but nothing he could tell right off. He drank some. A couple of swallows. Then he handed it back to the bogey man.

What the hell was it?

It didn't sting his mouth, good thing, and he chewed a bit more, finally finishing his meal. He felt better... a little more human... not that would help there...
 
Gyth was getting cooperation. He glanced over to the others and noticed their mounts were hunched over and eating. It probably would have not happened exactly that way had his big fellow been combative. The other two seemed to tolerate more but took their cues from his.

A test to see. Gyth held out the water skin. Avoiding the facial expression complete he went with what he knew.

"Eat." in a question although he wasn't sure what a question sounded like.

So he opened his hand palm out to hint it was a question. The big mount needed to get use to how his master spoke, it might as well begin with the question about consuming more nourishment.

The lead hung down the stallions front. Gyth felt the capture ties on his belt along with the other equipment to secure his mount so that he could feed.
He could feel the urge stirring as he watched the Black Devil lick his lips. Soon, once he had the fellow hobble to prevent thrashing and escape.
 
Another skin. Still wary. Feeling a little stronger, a little more capable...

That face was open, and seemed a little less threatening, but Kalfor wasn't a stupid boy. Naive? Yes. Ignorant? A given.

That looseness dangling and he went to move, shift himself... test the waters, and see what they might do. If he didn't move fast enough, he might lose himself a Prince.

And if he did move fast enough... Kalfor would just resettle. Either way, he would learn something.
 
It was too quiet in a camp full of wild mounts. Oather poured a small bowl of tea for himself and canvassed about him for the cause of the sudden silence that was the last leaf on the tree to fall before the cold of winter.

Arvir's eyes strayed briefly to Gyth but then turned back to his own troubles. His mount curled quietly on the mat breathing in shallow breaths but not panting.

Sark's back was to the camp. His mount crouched and ate quietly. It was the docile one but Sark remembered it too had dashed at the first chance.

Oather's gaze fell to the last pair. Gyth offering the water skin to the wild mount. The VuNish stood feet apart and open with an edge of gathering. The black maned beast that bolted and cause the others to run prematurely shifted once. His heels almost imperceptivity off the ground and calves taunt as if waiting at a ready line for the start of a race.

Gyth held out the Xul skin of water. The slight shift did not bother him. It seemed natural for a mount to shift while squatting.

[I do not think he is terrified any longer, Oather]

The tips of Oather's ears bent slightly in amusement. He looked to the fire and took a sip of tea.

[I think it will run soon]

Gyth had been schooled to let the beast make the lunge. Complete an escape attempt. Let him break into a run and get a short distance away before Gyth brought out his bolaro.

It was a matter of waiting. Gyth did not tense. [Yes, he no longer is chained.]

Oather looked to the outcropping where his mare lay hidden sleeping. [Do you think it will get far?]

Gyth stretched lazily as he watched the big fellow. [Not far enough]
 
No reaction. None. Not even the flutter of an eyelash in his direction.

It was youth, wasn't it?

Exuberant. Impetuous. Impulsive.

And running like a son of a bitch. He didn't stop running... in fact, he high-tailed it out there as fast as his big, loping legs could carry him.

He knew what was there... and he decided that no matter how sore his whole body was, he was going to use that prickly shit to his best advantage...

IF he got there...
 
One minute the stallion was the surface calm of Piranha Lake then next he was gone. Sprang from the mat in a mighty ground eating leap and only back and the pads of his rear paws could be seen going in the direction of the Sticker Berries.

Arvir was growling across the camp. The sounds of a struggle came from his direction.

Sark shouted things Gyth did not think were anatomically possible as the man was dragged toward the same direction as his own stallion by the lead of the wheat maned mount.

Gyth was thankful he had not chosen to grab the lead even if he could have reached it. Sticker Berry Hill was not a place any VuNish would wish to be dragged thru.

Oather glanced around. His ears bent in humor as he watched the eruption of chaos around him. He took a sip of tea as Gyth turned to chase after that black maned stallion.

[Gyth, short cut!] and Oather pointed to the right.

Gyth glanced back and then changed direction as he accelerated. It was unlikely he could catch the stallion. They were fast ground eating beasts. The short cut shortened the path by three fourths the time and with any luck Gyth would over take him just over the rise. If the stallion had gone the way it knew. He expected that since it was running head long in a place full of traps.

Gyth pumped his arms and legs furiously as he ran thru the brush no caring if he made noise. No need for stealth. His mount knew he would give chase. Gyth only hoped he could get a clear shot.

His hand to his weapon pouch as he ran. One of the 3 hardrock leather balls was now in his hand. He held it and twirled the rope the other two rocks swung connect by their ropes to the one in his hand swung in a circle.

His bolera, the weapon of choice for VuNish. A 3 rock trinity connect together at the end of each rope. Swing and released so that the three rocks swirled in the air and wrapped around whatever one of the rocks caught around. To catch legs up in the rope and wind around ankles stopping a runner quickly without damage.

Gyth was coming down over the rise and heard crushing brush to his left. He looked in that directions hoping to see his stallion running along the path. He heard Sark's bellowing in that direction also and smiled hoping his black devil would think all the chasers were behind him as Gyth ran down the hill to get close enough for a throw.
 
WIND wasn't even this fast, the cocky Kalfor thought as his legs, so sore, so completely scratched but exhilirated with the hope of freedom and the openness of the path before him.

Long, loping steps that were somehow hampered with the unknown, ridden by an unknown quantiy, and even more likely, ending up somewhere unknown, now sought the open spaces, the running places, the pathway...

He almost whooped with the taste of freedom, only a few scant paces away, from HIS perspective...
 
The thunder of galloping paws pounding along the trail below caught Gyth attention. He looked over in time to see the black mane breaking above the ridge on his left in plain view. The mount was farther away, and striding in a ground eating pace that put more distance between them with each step.

Gyth measured the distance with a critical eye. Should he miss it would mean chasing the mount down in the bog. Should he delay he might lose the fellow completely and then have to track him while trying to avoid the carbic still on the hunt.

Gyth made the decision. He went for the throw rather than the cut off angle knowing there would be no second chance.

Closer Gyth came. His own speed picking up as he whirled the bolera at his side. Closer still knowing each moment he waited would open the possibility that the Black Devil would see him and turn aside avoiding the tangle.

Gyth raced on with all he had. Measured. Power pouring into the whirl of the hard rocks spinning blindingly fast. Closer.

Those that had heard it before might race on. Those who had not might turn their eyes toward the sound which slowed their pace enough. Gyth did not know what his mount might do. He only knew he had one good shot.

Suddenly, the arm raised. The Bolera over head cutting air into the sound of a sharp whistle. A few strides closer with everything he had. Waiting for that moment when he saw clearly his stallion 100 yards away.

It shot from his hand like the launch of the savage zert.

It tore the air as the three rocks spiraled toward that great beast. Gyth ran hard chasing after the bolera hoping for a breaking snag that would bring his mount to the ground caught in the ropes and stones of his tangle.
 
Kalfor heard the sound even before he had acknowledged it. It rose in his senses and spurred him forward, trying to avoid, trying to dodge, trying to...

His legs swung one way, his body the other as a strange sensation wrapped itself around first one leg, and then the other. They were slammed together and then, to add insult to injury, it slammed some heavy objects just below his ball sack.

It was close enough to give him a sensation that he didn't often experience. And the air he had been easily pumping in and out of his lungs a few moments before were driven from them in a rather harsh manner. And, with the strange feeling, it didn't prefer to return very quickly either.

A twisted pile on the ground and at his face, a steaming pile of something vile, nasty and curled into a similar ball...
 
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