Kantya didn't like the market, well, the butchers' or hunters' stalls particularly. She could smell the death, taste the blood, of the poor animals that were on display. It sickened her. It reminded her of the first time she ate meat.
She was laying on her side, trembling weakly beneath a tree at the base of a tall hill in the Trollshaws. Her babe Alaya was cradled in her arms, a small, frail thing. Brynna, her lynx, dropped a dead grouse before her. Katnya weakly shook her head. Brynna pawed the corpse, nudging it at her but still she refused. Brynna gave her a dirty look and began to pluck the bird of it's feathers, licking them off with her rough tongue. It was done quickly, and Kat was left with a steaming, pale, body. She had to. If not she'd starve and Alaya would die as well. Without even meeting her father.
She pulled herself into a sitting position to lean against the tree, gasping as the rough bark of the pine tree scraped the wounds across her back. She reached down, and gently picked up the limp carcass. She wanted to vomit, her whole body tensing as her empty stomach convulsed. She braced herself, and bit into the cadaver. Why did it have to be warm? She asked herself as the raw flesh sat on her tongue. blood followed it, filling her mouth and oozing down her cheeks. She could feel herself about to retch, so dropped the mouthful into her palm as she painfully dry heaved till her eyes were watering. There was nothing in her stomach, making it all the more agonising.
She focussed on the pain to swallow the meat, and then quickly made her was through the rest of the raw bird, trying to take as few bites as possible, telling it she was sorry over and over. When it was over, she was crying, and she took the last sip from her water skin to wash away the taste as best she could. It wasn't enough. It lingered.
She was crying when she lifted Alaya to her breast to feed her, letting the weak baby girl take as much as she wanted before kissing her forehead and setting her back into the wrap across her back. Whistling, her horse Ethel came to her, and lay beside her so that she could grasp the saddle and roll into the seat. The poor, decrepit old horse stood up and they began again the long hard march. Brynna disappeared, hunting or keeping watch, Katnya knew not.
Hours later, Katnya heard the blowing of a horn in the distance behind her and the baying of hounds.
The pursuit continued.
