"I guess it was only a matter of time before we were caught," Tora thought.
"I just hope this ugly b*****d doesn't decide the camp would be better of without us," she murmured to Kaya as Kortlig dragged them by their chains. Kortlig was Taranin's second mate, and true to Tora's previous comment, was quite deformed from years of losing the battles that made him the warrior he was today: cold, cruel, efficient, and deadly.
As the group tramped through the woods, night soon fell as the moon pulled through the sky as though it was attached to the sun by a rope. and Kortlig decided it would be best for them to camp out. "Alright you mongrels, time to set up camp. Pussycat, you go gather firewood. She-b***h, I don't trust you out of my sight; just sit there for now. These were the nicknames the pirates had come up with for the two. "How original," Tora thought, " 'Pussycat,' definitely a nickname worthy of someone from an ancient race of beast-man warriors." Of course, she didn't voice any of these thoughts as talking would likely earn her a boot to the head. Howls sounded in the direction of the hills to the west, signaling the beginning of a wolf hunt. "Better start that fire soon, whelp. Wouldn't want to be snuck up on by dire-wolves, would we?" As the fire took hold of the tinder, Tora fed it some of the firewood she had gathered while the moon rose to its summit in the sky. Soon enough, exhaustion took hold of Tora and Kaya's minds and they drifted to sleep. Tora tried her damnedest to stay awake, she only held her eyes open for a minute longer. But it was long enough to notice something strange, yet oddly comforting: The shadows around her were moving to a strange rhythm. Almost as if they were breathing with her.
prev chapter
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing