Krayzor's Arc

Chapter 2 of 16

Krayzor's hands had just stopped shaking when he heard the splash. Someone had come through the curtain of water. He drew his blade and crouched low against the wet stone. A small shape staggered into the cave and fell — a kitsune scout, fox ears flat, one tail matted red. She wore the paint of the war party that had hunted him. Her eyes found his, wide and afraid, and then rolled back as she dropped. Krayzor froze. If she ran, she would lead them here. If she died, they would track her last steps to his door. He had minutes, maybe less. He sheathed the blade. He dragged her to the back wall and laid her beside a rusted iron trap left by some long-dead hunter, its jaws sprung open in the dirt. It made a grim marker, but it kept her off the cold stone. He cut her tunic away from a deep gash along her ribs. From his pack he pulled a small jar sealed with cloth — green moss salve, the last of what he had. He pressed it into the wound and bound it tight. Then he sat across from her, beneath a thick curtain of vines crawling down the inner wall. From there he could see her face and the bright slit of the waterfall both. He set his blade across his knees. He did not sleep. Near dawn she stirred. Her violet eyes opened and locked on his. She tried to speak, coughed, tried again. "You could have cut my throat," she whispered. Krayzor met her gaze. "I'm not building something that starts that way," he said. "Rest. When you can walk, you choose. Go back to them, or hear me out." She watched him a long moment, then closed her eyes and breathed easier. She lived. The cave held. But somewhere in the trees, her war party was already counting heads and finding one missing — and the next time they came through the ferns, they would not be chasing a blood trail. They would be looking for her.