Stillness lay upon the landscape. A winter’s moon sat high and distant from the world, shedding cool, pale illumination over frostbitten hills. Among the leafless trees, with their bent and wearied limbs, a cluster of tents was hid in a small dell. No fire betrayed its location, though wisps of smoke curled up from the cooling ashes that had blazed during the daylight hours.
A man patrolled the circle of makeshift shelters. A warg hide covered his shoulders, its jaw resting atop the crown of his head. With a spear in hand, he strode slowly past the tent nearest the edge of the trees. His eyes swept side to side, his ears straining towards every rustle in the undergrowth, every flutter of wings overhead.
Within the little tent, a man lay on his back, sprawled upon a bear-hide blanket. A slender, dirty finger was pressed to his lips. The digit was attached to a woman who sat above him, bare of clothing. In her other hand was a thin knife, and its blade rested against his throat. She smiled down at him.
“Shhh,” she breathed when the man grunted as if he wished to speak. Her head remained stationary while her umber eyes shifted to the side. Waiting for the steps of the patrolling guard to fade away. “Now then,” she whispered down at the man beneath her. “You wanted to tell me something?” The silencing finger lifted half an inch.
“Who are you?” breathed the man, his dark-haired chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’ve the gall of a witch coming in here like this.” His eyes flickered down to where their bodies touched without a scrap of cloth between them. Betrayal ignited on his visage, and swelled to a rage that twisted his bearded lips until his teeth were bared.
The woman leaned down, smiling still, though it was mirthless and cold. “Where will it be?”
The tip of the knife-blade tucked briefly into the flesh of his neck as he swallowed loudly, making a tiny, shadowed dimple in his skin. “Did someone pay you to do this?” he spat back. “What was the price? Gold and silver?” He struggled to laugh, unable to make much sound with the prick of death at his throat. “You will burn for this!” he growled.
The woman grinned broadly, leaning further until her soft flesh rested against his. “No. No coin. Coin holds no value for me.” She tipped her head slightly, admiring the way the dim light shone on the dagger. Her other hand began to toy with his long, dark hair, dragging her fingers through the sweat-damp locks. “We can play here all night if you wish. The hour is yet young.”
“One shout from me and they’ll skin you alive!”
Her hand went still, and her eyes locked upon his in the darkness. “Will they now? Am I not swift and silent when I wish to be? Has anyone ever seen me going in or out of your tent?” Slender fingers slowly wound about the tresses on his scalp until she held a fistful of them. “I don’t wish to spill your blood. I would be very glad if you did not force my hand.”
“But you would force my tongue to tell secrets?” he whispered back, his thick brows coming together. “So you can run back to whoever it is that bought and paid for your deceitful, malicious hide!” Fury gritted his teeth together, and flecks of spittle flew forth, striking her cheek. “And no doubt see my people slain at the end of it?”
“Your people?” the woman laughed suddenly, barely able to contain the sound before biting her plump lips together again. “Who do you think my people are? Your people, my people...such talk of people...as if we don’t all bleed the same red!” The knife that kissed the pulsing life-vein in his neck quivered in her grasp.
Bewilderment bled into the panicked rage that rode the man’s countenance. His eyes darted about the face above him, stricken with confused horror as she continued to laugh in a hoarse, whispering croak. “You are mad!” he hissed, and all at once, his arm flew up like a shot, knocking her over onto the bare earth beside his sleeping furs.
He rolled quickly to grab at her wrists, though she was already bringing the knife up to slash at his chest. The blade whizzed through the space between them, a quick arch of his spine all that spared him, though the tip of the dagger grazed over his skin, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. His fingers closed around her arm, and a flash of admiration dazzled in the back of his senses to feel the iron-like strength in such a delicate creature. They tussled, panted, grunted, struggled, squirmed. But he did not shout as he had threatened.
Her lithe body was strong, but it was no match for the bulk of his own flesh and bone. He pinned himself against her, sweat glistening on each of their brows. Carefully, he kept the knife-holding hand extended to its fullest length, far from him. For a moment, the feral ire in his eyes faded. “Why?” he whispered.
“Go on,” she spat, her lips peeled back over her teeth. “Call them! Let them come! They will not hear me scream no matter what they do!”
Her sudden helplessness was unnerving. And it was this thought that made him hesitate. And it was this hesitation that disarmed him. She watched his eyes like a wolf in a trap watches the hunter as he draws near to finish the deed. A sliver of regret, almost too faint to catch, and she lurched upwards with a guttural snarl, and bit at his ear. He yowled in surprise and pain but did not forget the knife in her hand, holding fast to her wrist. But she was able to wriggle the rest of herself free, spitting his blood from her lips. While he moved to clap a hand protectively to his torn ear, she landed her knuckles as hard as she could against the fresh wound and the vulnerable patch of his temple. His fingers relented at last, and she was released.
Voices were shouting already beyond the tent flap. Torchlight flickered through the pores of the skin covering their shelter. She felt his hand brush against her calf in a final attempt to halt her. Whether his effort was half-hearted or weakened by his own wounds, she did not know, nor did she care. She threw the flap aside, her eyes already trained on the welcoming womb of darkness beneath the trees. There was no waiting, no looking about, no thinking. She flew on bare feet over the frozen earth, naked and splattered with blood, and vanished into the maw of the night.
