Hevaej-Cheenaek crawled over the ground, each clawed foot and hand carefully placed to avoid unnatural noise. She made her way up a rise of earth and roots to peer at what had made the racket. The dark soft soil felt cool and moist under her fingers. The heavy smells of dirt and decay were tainted with the stenches of conflict. Pulling her up the rise were the smells of excrement, vomit, oil, unwashed bodies, and blood. Along with these smells came the thuds of footsteps; the scuffing, scratching, and thumping of looting; gleeful bleats of goatfolk; and the groans and sobs of a man. As she crept closer, her hope for finding a good trophy eroded.

Her head peeked over the edge. Three wagons lay in a line. Their beasts of burden dead in their harnesses; throats slit. Goatfolk crouched next to these beasts, ripping and cutting out chunks of their flesh. Each at max height would reach no higher than a man’s shoulder or her mid-thigh. Their grimy coats of brown, black, and gray fur covered their entire bodies. They had the torso of a man and the head and legs of a goat. Each had two little nubs of horns on their heads and the tips of their fingers are protected by keratin. They shoveled the meat into their diseased mouths. Bile burned her throat.

Around the wagons lay the bodies of men and goatfolk alike, with two or maybe three goatfolk per man. Many more goatfolk roamed over the wagons and dead. They smeared filth on anything man made. Anything they considered too “civilized”, they broke. Next to the furthest wagon a group of goatfolk crowded around something. From this group came the most gleeful of the goatfolk’s bleats. It was also from this group that the man’s noises arose. All of the group except four stepped back. The four lifted a man up using two spears with broken shafts stabbed through his arms. The goatfolk had pushed their filth into his many wounds. As he hung between the four, the goatfolk bleated and spat at him.

Her muscles tensed. Energy rushed through her body. She launched over the rest of the rise, a bellow on her lips. The nearest one’s skull was crushed by her fist. The next one was trampled beneath her feet. The third only had time to look at her before she ripped its head off. She threw it at the fourth, who’s ribcage crunched from the impact. She was now halfway to the group with the man. Her tail smashed one into a wagon as she sped past. The goatfolk were petrified with shock. Then she was in amongst the group. She was ripping and tearing; crushing and breaking; smashing and throwing.

No more than thirty seconds after she had run from cover and the only signs of the goatfolk were their bodies and the diminishing terrified bleats from the surrounding woods. She loosed a roar of her unfulfilled rage to hunt the fleeing cowards. She took several deep, calming breathes until thought returned to her mind. Her emotions still seethed just under the surface, but now she held them with an iron grip. She looked down at the warrior at her feet. She had seen enough dying humans to know that he would not last through the next hour. She crouched low enough to rest her right hand across his chest. She opened her razor filled mouth and adjusted the vocal organ in her throat. In her closest rendition to their tongue she whispered, “Pass with honor, warrior.” With a gentle shove, his ribs cracked and his organs turned to jelly, “They won’t have you any longer.”

As she turned, deep, rough bellows sounded distantly from the trees. Thousands of them, repeating endlessly. A bugle pierced through them. Silence filled the forest. The rumble of uncountable hooves shook the trees. A mist fell upon her. She growled with frustration. She ran away from the approaching herd.

The mist thickened to a dense fog and the rumble of hooves became a thunder. She lost track of where she is and where she was going. She tried to use the sound of the oncoming herd to orient herself. Thud. A smooth rock bounced off her thick, scaly hide. Her eyes locked on to the goatfolk’s location. It tried to hide behind a tree. As she sped past, she smoothly snatched then threw it into the mist and woods.

A hail of stones flew from the side. She shielded her face with her hand. She turned and ran in the opposite direction. She swiped at them with her tail, but missed. From the mist rose a wall of deerfolk holding outstretched spears. They stamped on the ground and huffed; eager to be loosed upon her. Behind them an elkfolk’s silhouette dwarfed them, its shrill snaps keeping them in line. A growl of frustration crawled up her throat as she pivoted on her heel. Her foot slipped in the moist soil. She dug into the earth with her hand. She righted and ran parallel to the line of creatures. The deerfolk were agitated, but the elkfolk held them back.

After passing the line, the mist became full of shifting shadows. Huffs, shrill snaps, bleats, and thuds sounded around her. The only area clear was ahead of her. She realized they are trying to corral her. She ran on until she passed through two inconspicuous trees and found herself inside of an open space. It was roofed by the thick canopy. There was never a gap longer than her leg between any two trees along its edge. In these gaps stood innumerable deerfolk with the occasional silhouette of an elkfolk. There was a rumble of milling beastfolk past the first few ranks that she could see.

On the opposite side of the clearing sat a cage made with tightly wound young trees. Something large paced inside of it. Its huffing and grunts so loud and low that she more felt than heard them. The crowd around her huffed and snorted. One of them began to stomp a beat and seconds later all sound was drowned out by sound of thousands of hooves beating the ground. Hevaej-Cheenaek walked to the center of this “arena” and did a slow turn. As she turned, she inspected every angle and found no way out. She pulled out her chitinous sword. It was an iridescent orange. Its blade was as long as a man is tall and the hilt half of that. She spun it from one hand to the other, reminding herself of its feel.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

She relaxed into a neutral stance and pointed her blade randomly at the crowd of beastfolk. Her vocal organ in her throat adjusted itself to produce sounds impossible of her otherwise. She held open her mouth as it produced the desired speech. “My name is Hevaej-Cheenaek, Keeruh-Dethud, Sasun-Daereek, Hevaej-Nekam, Komaak-Rasoj, Vazor-Chaamam. Know it and die.” No need to include the “honorably” at the end. Her words were drowned out by the noise, but it was said.

A shrill bugle cut through the thunder. All sound died. The largest elkfolk she had ever seen pushed its way through the wall of deerfolk. Its lips pulled back, exposing its rotting teeth. In harsh human it spat, “Know Deserter that we have witnessed you. We will skin your hide and use it as a banner. We shall leave your flesh for the scavengers and worms.”

It barked. A thunk followed by a loud rasp sounded out somewhere behind it. Movement caught her eye and she turned to see the closest wall of the cage fall towards her. With a boom it crashed into the earth raising up a wall of dust. The deerfolk bellowed then began their stomping again. Through the dust emerged a creature one and a half her height. It had a barrel chest and arms and legs at least as thick as the widest of trunks that had held it. She could lay in its antlers and neither the tip of her tail or the top of her head would touch the tips. It stared at her with an unthinking hate and bellowed a deafening challenge.

A fire exploded in her chest. Finally, a worthy trophy and a chance to earn another name. She answered it by roaring as she charged. It ran to meet her half way. As they drew near, it swung at her head. She ducked its boulder fist. Her sword bit deep into its side as she passed. It bellowed in pain and spun on her. She stepped back as it made another swipe at her, this time only able to punish it by scoring its arm. It began to swing over and over again at her. Without her earlier speed she could not get within its arm reach and out again without suffering counterattack. So, she settled for scoring its arms.

They circled the basic arena three times. Despite the amount of she had bled it already, it showed no sign of weakening. She growled. Then ducked the next strike, holding to the side the blow had come in from, she stabbed its chest with all the force she could muster. She felt the impact as it slammed into a rib and heard the crack of the rib breaking. That was as far as the sword got. A glancing blow sent her tumbling.

She managed to turn her tumble into a roll and ended on her feet. She spun around to see the moosefolk pull the blade out of its chest and hurl it into the crowd. Screams of surprise and pain rang out. They were quickly silenced by cries of excitement and the ripping and tearing of flesh. She did not take her eyes off the moosefolk, but did feel bile burn her throat once more. It did not seem to notice the carnage at all though.

Its arms matted with blood, the moosefolk charged. She dodged out of its way and could still avoid its strike, but now she could not even score its flesh. It went to swing with its left, but at the last moment shifted its weight and snatched her left arm with its right. Her humerus snapped. Pain erupted in her upper arm. Its other hand grabbed her waist and it lifted her up. She hit and clawed the arm holding her waist. She could not gain nearly enough power to effect it. She clawed at its face and it only lifted her higher and bent its head so its antlers shielded it.

She felt the hand on her left arm begin to pull. Slowly it gained more and more strength. It was going to slowly pull off her arm. She began to panic. Smashing her hand over and over into its left antler. She tried kicking its chest to no effect. She felt something in her begin to stir. Then it began to churn. Then her limbs were filled with sudden power. Her fist came down one last time and she heard a tree split. She was thrown into the air.

She landed on her left and she could not see through the pain. She took a deep breathe in and let it out slowly. She repeated this several more times before she could focus her eyes. She rolled over on to her right and got onto her knees. She was near the edge of the arena. In the middle she could see one of the moosefolk’s antlers laying on the ground. It took her a few more seconds before she could see past that to where the moosefolk itself was. It was standing bent over at an awkward angle and seemed to be trying to find a way to move that would not snap its neck. She bared her teeth with a cruel joy.

She got up and made her way carefully over to the disabled moosefolk. Once it saw her coming it lashed out at her with its feet and fists, but she just stayed out of its reach until she was behind it. She walked to the back of its neck. It bellowed and grunted. She reached out and ran her claws along the skin on its throat. Even here it was too thick for her claws to do much damage. She lunged forwards and sunk her teeth into its neck. Its foul blood flooded her mouth. She ripped backwards, shredding its throat. She spat out as mush of its flesh and blood as she could but its horrible taste and stench remained. She could bear it no longer. Bile rushed up her throat carried off the flavors of the horrid creature. It left a burning sensation and its own bad taste, but it was still much better than the beast’s.

She stood up with all the pride she could muster and glared at the giant elkfolk. It held her gaze. After a moment that took forever, it huffed. All the surrounding deerfolk lowered their spears at her. It huffed again and they began to take slow measured steps towards her. They for their parts were snorting with glee and bloodlust.

They all froze. It took Hevaej-Cheenaek a moment to realize all their ears were cocked the same way. She listened for whatever caught their attention. She heard bugles and a distant thunder. It glared at her for a few seconds before it loosed a bugle. Dozens of bugles answered it. The deerfolk grunted and stomped their feet, but they turned and made their way in the direction of the distant thunder. All that she could see glared at her as they passed. It was nearly five minutes before she could no longer see any of them, but she could hear them slowly leaving.

She walked over to pick up the moosefolk’s broken antler as a trophy. She carried it and began the painful hike through the forest, in the opposite direction of where the herd had gone. It had to lead out of the forest, eventually.