And the monsters.
But if it was wearing off?
Shivering in spite of the heat, she threw off her blanket. She’d have to find another corpse.
“Should have tried to collect some off the last dead Anhur,” she mumbled, yawning. Speaking aloud just to hear another voice, to break the silence so it matched her mood. For the third night in a row, sleep had evaded and mocked, leaving her skin hot and itchy. Her eyes burning, aching and light-sensitive.
Bleary-eyed, she stumbled over loose shale and into the moonlight, her spear doubling as a walking staff. The stub of her docked tail sending splinters of pain shooting through her nerves with every other step—a sensation she’d grown accustomed to, no matter how irritating.
Three times, the moons had waned.
Three times they’d waxed while she’d been living this new life of a renegade.
Teeth flashing, she shook out sweat damp hair, gazing up at the triplet moons. Her skin cooling in a gentle breeze. It was a hard life, but one she relished. She’dsurvived. Eaten her first kill raw and done her best to learn the old witching ways. Teaching herself to eat from the forest, where to find the best shelter, and the water not poisoned with volcanic sulfur. That it was best to hide from the vicious beasts dominating the wild.
She’d seen creatures beyond anything she could possibly imagine. A flock of tiny jewel colored, winged lizards that spit acid and gorged on scalded flesh. Giant, tusked water wallowers caked in decades of muck, a veritable island of mud and vegetation growing straight from their broad, oblong backs.
And she’d taken pains not to be seen by the packs of roaming predators. Those stealthy jungle lurkers who stalked the edge of the visible world. Ravenous. Dressed in claws and teeth and poisoned barbs, their senses attuned to the dark. Their appetites bottomless, outmatched only by the next hungry mouth fighting for supremacy.
The wilds suffered no innocent fools.
She grew hardened by all that she saw, felt something akin to sympathy for the Anhur, who’d come from this hellscape of volcanic misery. For those ancient tribal packs who’d needed to fight for every breath, made to evolve simply to survive deadly herbivores and demonic predators.
But she would never forget Hadim. That he might be coming for her, even now. Bent on retribution, on punishing her until the very last breath was forced from her lungs.
So she learned to avoid detection from those who would enslave.
It was vigilance and experimentation, pure and simple.
When another might be content to find a place to stay, she roamed. Never sleeping in the same den twice, she hunted when her stomach growled. Mastered the spear that had kept her alive and ate her fill of the forest’s bounty. Utterly lawless, she’d found the life that suited her best.
Where once she’d been all soft curves and delicate angles, she was now hard and lean. Coated in rangy muscle, her body could meet the challenge and demand she required of it.
She washappy, living this life of an outcast. For the first time ever.
Days away from the nearest civilization, she’d wandered as far as she could, always away from Hadim, to the outskirts of any conquered lands just to see what she could see. And with each passing day, she grew to hate where she’d come from. Hated everything about the Silver City, where the Anhur clung to their shiny technology and insufferable rules. Cowering behind a wall that kept them safe from what lurked in the untamed wilds.
It was the Trax virus that had driven those ancient conquerors to form alliances, to share resources and bind together in the safety of numbers.
No longer a valid threat, as far as she was concerned, for she’d been living in the beyond for months without so much as coming down with a cough.
Collecting her spear, she settled into the insomnia, sharpening the tip and refastening the ties. Her gear was far from pristine, but it was arguably the best cared for on this side of the wall, for she and the night were fast becoming lovers. In the absence of sleep, she filled the small hours with busy work to keep her mind off the aching solitude.
It was rarely enough.
When the spear was as sharp as it’d ever be, she set it aside, stretching to dispel the memories that clung to her nape and soured an already delicate mood. Wide awake as the sky began to lighten. Morning’s sunlight making the very air grow damp. Moist and oppressive.
Still, she gathered her frayed nerves, stripped off her jacket, and strolled along the forest’s edge. Looking for edibles and whatever else she could scavenge, hoping to spend her excess energy and earn a few hours of honest rest before she moved on.
Stooping, she prodded at a patch of spongy moss and found it delightful to the touch. Dense, without being hard—soft, but not wet.
Perfect.
Alert, even as she pocketed the moss, she kept her senses sharp. Attuned to the quiet sounds of early morning, listening for anything out of place. For the whistle of the winged lizards as they descended with the intent to feast, and the thrumping groans of the grazers as they chewed their cud.
A sparkle caught her eye. The glitter of pink quartz trapped in a dull gray stone. It would be stunning in the sunlight.
She smiled as she claimed it. Turning it over and over in her hands, already thinking of the perfect place for the semiprecious stone, she tucked it away.
