There seemed no hope of avoiding the looming hulk lurching towards her, save to turn and flee. abandoning Girdley Island, and whatever hope Haleth said rested there. To say nothing of it being her home. Still, as the creature's palpable menace loomed, the dread seized her. Visions of her futile fight; her broken body, left shattered on the shores of the river to be eventually dragged, forgotten, into the bogs. Duin, crushed, left to molder in the mud he'd loved to play in. Girdley Island ruined, Haleth eventually found and killed, their efforts all for nothing.
The moon was low in the west, so its pale silver glow now cast shadows on her, shadows of grasping branches, and for a moment the fear in her shaped their movement into a painful grip that would soon rend her body as easily as mud and clay. Then she realized with a jolt they were but tricks of the light, but the creature was growing near. She had wasted most of the time that its slow water-treading had afforded her. Hurriedly she lit a torch and wedged it into the ground before her, near to hand, then tried to light the tip of an arrow in its flame. To her surprise, it caught, and she hurriedly nocked and let fly. The arrow struck, and the creature flinched, but it did not slow. I need a better idea, she thought. For while the fire had seemed to bother it, the tree did not catch flame; living trees were rarely that vulnerable to a small source of fire, and one rising from the shore of a river even less. A few leaves burned and flickered, enough to make it easy to see in the darkness, but never enough to harm the thing.
A better idea. She snatched up the torch and began to weave and dodge through the woods. It is nearly impenetrable. I cannot defeat it with arrows, save by the most extraordinary fortune. So I need a better idea. I can use its solidity against it. She made a chittering sound to Duin, then spoke: "Find the hole we passed earlier." As the otter jumped from her shoulder and ran off, the branches reached for her; she ducked away at the last moment, with one of the swinging limbs cracking against a stone that had been just beside her, and shattering it with an ominous sound.
With the flickering of tiny flames coming from its leaves, the tree-creature made an easily spotted target in the darkness, but even with this advantage, Kryssta's arrow danced between branches and seemed to do the thing no harm. Duin gave a small repeated bark some distance away, though. She tried to shift her dodging, dropping to the ground to avoid a swinging branch, to make for the direction of the barking. I hope he found it, she thought. And not just a fun mud-puddle.
At first she thought to move as fast as she could, but the creature would fall behind, and that's no way to bring something into a trap. So she weaved while walking backwards, shouting to egg on the creature. "I'm done for!" she shouted, thinking that seeming vulnerable might work better than being defiant. If the thing even knows my words. "I can't possibly run away fast enough!" While she retreated, she listened for Duin's barks, while trying to line up a good shot on the creature. It lunged for her, and very nearly caught her; if it hadn't been for the brand she clumsily held alongside her bow, it would have wrapped a gnarled, knotting limb about her arm.
And then, at last, came the drop. She leapt nimbly over it, drawing the beast after her, and it lumbered, then with a lurch it fell, its trunk sinking into the rocky hole. Writhing roots began to grip at the stones, trying to pull itself out, while branches still reached for her, one tossing her hair in the breeze of it passing just over her head. But the creature was stuck in one place; its own bulk and strength now worked against it.
At least for a few moments, until the inconceivable strength of those roots broke stones and pulled it up. She had to make the most of them. Her bow twanged, again, again, while the branches still strained to reach her, and stones cracked and shifted beneath the thing. Arrows sunk into the trunk, not all of them, but finally one struck true and deep. The creature lurched towards her and came so close one of the burning leaves caught on her tunic, but it was not trying to grab her; it was tumbling, like… well, there was no other way to describe it: like a felled tree. There was a low creaking for a few moments, and finally, it was still, its roots still wedged into the stones, its trunk canted at a slanted angle, its branches blessedly unmoving at last.
Duin jumped up onto those branches and made a loud barking cry of victory, posing triumphantly. "Yes, you helped," she conceded to the otter. "You were very helpful." He preened while she sank to a crouch and tried to catch her breath, patting out the smoldering leaf on her shoulder.
But by now, the other one is already on Girdley Island. Is this a victory, or just a defeat seen from far away?
