Hagitha Mysticbottom's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The prince came, but he did not come alone. Hagitha watched from the reeds in her maiden shape. The hunting party clustered at the swamp's edge, spears up, backs together. At their center stood a short, round man in a purple coat trimmed with white fur. Prince Teddy Poofington VI. He was shaking. His guards would not let him stray one step. Three of his servants were already gone, pulled into the dark. Now the men circled him like a wall of iron. No lure would reach him. If she cried for help, a guard would answer first, and she would eat a soldier instead of her prince. "We go back," the prince said. His voice cracked. "The thing takes us by rank. I am the prize. I will not be last." He grabbed a guard's arm. "Carry me if you must." Hagitha needed the men gone. She could not pull them all into the mud. So she would give them something else to chase. She sank into the water and called the swamp to her. A deer came, broad antlers spread, lean and quick. She touched its flank and whispered into its ear. The beast bolted from the trees, straight past the party, snapping branches. Then she cracked a dead limb to sound like a second runner deeper in. "There!" a guard shouted. "It moved!" The men saw meat and motion and a chance to be heroes. They broke from the circle and ran after the deer, spears leveled. The prince screamed for them to stop. They did not. He stood alone. Hagitha rose from the reeds as a trembling girl, gown dripping. "My lord," she gasped. "They left you. Come, I know safe ground." She reached out a soft pink hand. The prince stared. Then his face melted into relief and pride. "Of course they left. Cowards. But you came to me. You know a prince when you see one." He waddled toward her, chest out. "Lead on, girl." She led him along the quicksand's edge. He talked the whole way about his pheasant, his coat, his noble blood. Hagitha smiled and nodded and let her tooth show. He did not notice. She stepped where the ground held. She told him to step where it did not. The prince sank to his knees in the mud, then his thick waist. His pride cracked into terror. "Pull me out! I command it!" Hagitha's face went green. Her jaw stretched wide. He screamed, same as the servants, same as the hunter. The swamp swallowed the sound. But the mud here was shallow. The prince thrashed, too heavy and too stuck to free, too high to sink. The three-eyed raven dropped to the water's edge and watched. In the reeds, red eyes gathered. Hungry fish circled the trapped prince, fangs breaking the surface. They smelled blood before she had taken a bite. Hagitha hissed. Her supper was caught at last. Now she had to claim him before the swamp did.