4. Draknir

My steps slow as I head toward the source of the screams. Heading through the brush, I move forward, the grumbling sounds of a struggle make themselves apparent as I approach the scene.

What I find would be almost comical if it wasn"t so serious.

A small, dirtied human is rolling around on the ground, attempting to wrestle food from a small beast. There is blood spattering this person, a woman, I"m assuming. It"s hard to tell. The beast"s small sharp claws reach out and gash the woman person again, a piercing shriek of hurt and frustration emits from her furrowed face.

Who is this person? And why on earth is she in such a state?

Her appearance immediately fills me with disgust. She"s reduced herself to stealing a measly piece of bread from this small, unthreatening beast.

I let out a frustrated sigh and watch her, the determination and stubbornness only serving to irritate me. The bread is ruddy and as tattered as she is. By Maws, there"s even dirt on it. My mouth turns up, wrinkling my nose at the unappetizing display.

"Pathetic," I mutter as my stomach churns at the soiled woman, and her desperation for such dirtied food.

My eyes zero in on her as she is too preoccupied with her plight to have even noticed my presence. Her thin small frame is covered with reddened claw marks and a mixture of fresh and drying blood.

Underneath the blood are thickened older scars like the deep cutting remnants of the tail end of a whip. She"s the most disappointing thing I"ve seen today, and yet, something within me blooms and lingers with a nagging tug.

"Such is the fate of a weak human," I mutter to myself with disdain, trying to shake this inexplicable pull that is compelling me to stay.

As the woman continues to struggle with the small animal, I watch with a mix of pity and frustration. Her clothes are in tatters, her skin sallow and bruised from what looks like years of hardship and abuse.

The smell of desperation wafts off her like a foul wind, mingling with the scent of sweat and fear that clings to her everywhere. Her hair is short matted, the struggle with the beast rubbing sweat and dirt into her scalp.

She growls through gritted teeth as she tries to pry the bread away from the tiny beast"s sharp claws, but it"s clear she doesn"t have the strength or agility to win this battle. The sound of tearing fabric fills the air as the beast digs its claws deeper into her palms, drawing blood that stains the dirt-encrusted fabric even further.

The dirt itself seems caked onto her body like a second skin, evidence of countless hours spent scrounging for food and survival in this unforgiving land. The woman"s eyes are fierce but wild, clouded with hunger.

There is something else there, a depth I"m unprepared to see. Despite her ferocity, there is a softness about her. My nose wrinkles at the wayward thought.

A softness? Gods, what is wrong with me?

I shake the thought off, but an unwanted sense of empathy weasels its way out of the fortress that I force any notion of unwanted emotion into.

It"s pathetic really how far someone can fall just because they lack the right positioning in the caste. I take a step forward, trying not to cringe at the sight of her mangled hands. I"m not sure if it"s the talk I just had with the captain, but the pang of pity grows as I think of my mother and her death while giving birth to me. She was helpless much like this woman and my father left her on her deathbed and married another.

The beast squirms away, but she holds tight, their gruesome tug-of-war continuing under my unmoving gaze.

"What is happening to me?" I groan, rubbing my hand down my face.

I take a step forward, drawn by an invisible force pulling me towards them both. The woman"s breath is ragged from exertion. A gut-wrenching thought strikes me: maybe if someone had helped my mother when she needed it most...

I don"t allow myself to finish the thought.

I scoff, these newly surfaced emotions are proving to be annoyingly inconvenient.

I watch as she gives a mighty tug on its tail, finally managing to pin it against a nearby rock. It growls menacingly at her, baring its teeth in warning before lunging forward once more; she braces herself for impact but doesn"t let go.

Without thinking, I draw my bow and notch an arrow in place, aiming directly at the creature"s head. It lunges again and this time, she manages to keep it pinned down long enough for me to fire. The arrow sinks deep into its skull with a sickening thud, silencing its cries instantly.

The woman hurriedly releases her grip and falls backward onto the ground, panting heavily as she stares at me in disbelief. Her eyes are wide and filled with fear,

"You need to leave here now," I say plainly as if the entire situation hadn"t even occurred. "This forest is filled with worgs."

The woman cowers and scrambles backwards, hastily snatching the bread from the dirt where the creature dropped it. Her back is pressed against the rock, the prized piece of bread is clutched to her chest, and she stares at me like I'm about to devour her.

I glance down at my tunic and see that the blood of the worgs I slaughtered is splattered across my clothes.

"I"m not going to hurt you," I say, unsure what this need to comfort her is. She continues to stare at me, wide eyed and unmoving.

Why isn"t she running?

With an annoyed sigh, I look at her in utter disbelief.

"I said, you need to leave. It"s dangerous here," I gesture widely to the area surrounding us.

The look she gives me in return is enough to rattle my resolve. Her soulful brown eyes look at me, into me, with an innocent sense of gratitude. It's as if she can see into my soul, that and the purity of her gaze unnerves me. I can"t take the sentimentality of the moment.

"You need to leave!" I roar, my voice echoes in anger into the woods around us. My chest tightens and I ball my fists at my sides. If I successfully intimidate her, she doesn"t show it.

She nods slowly, still staring at me with those eyes that see too much, and scrambles to stand up. Her knees protest the sudden movement, but she manages it anyway, wobbling as if she might fall over any moment.

She quickly scurries away before stopping for a brief moment.

"Thank you," she says, turning to face me. Her eyes hold me in the depth of their knowing gaze for the briefest of moments. Without another word, she turns away from me and runs. I watch her disappear among the trees until she"s just a blur of brown and green.

The quiet that falls over me is deafening; all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat.

I"m struck with the foreign sense of concern. I've never concerned myself with the needs of strangers before, but I can't help wanting to know how she came to be in this state.

Perhaps I should have helped her instead of trying to scare her away.

I shake it off with a hollow sigh.

We"ll never cross paths again.