Their yips and bark-like calls echoed through the crevasse behind him. Their footfalls destabilized the scree, causing crashes from behind. They were making far more noise than they should have, but they had thrown stealth to the wind, and they had no need for it. They were flushing me out from the narrow canyon.

The hundeor were gaining, approaching, coming near, and I was in no condition to outrun them.

But even so, I refused to release the spark of self-preservation, and I steeled myself and my courage: I would continue.

But I only had one direction I could go, and with my left side wounded, climbing to escape was no option.

No, I had to press forward.

Regardless of if a trap waited or not.

As I continued as fast as I dared while watching for uneven ground and loose stones, I weighed my options.

The crevasse was dark, even for those with night-eye. I find a spot to hide. I doubted this would work, as the hundeor would check every nook, cranny, alcove, or shaded outcropping. At least I assumed they would. I doubted they were so foolish as to not. They had an animalistic wisdom.

I considered that an Illusion might work, however. If the hundeor moved by quickly enough, before my Illusion expired.

It was that, or get run down like prey.

In a straight out chase, I would lose.

As I continued forward, I had yet to come across a wide enough spot for me to hide and remain untrampled.

The hundeor cackled in laughter somewhere behind me, louder now than before.

Another option, one I had held in reserve: I could try climbing. I thought I could muscle through my weakness, through the pain, especially considering the stakes.

The wall to my right might not have been a sheer face, but still steep enough to provide a challenge. Rather than perpendicular to the ground, it angled at perhaps eighty degrees.

I set my right arm up and relied on the handhold to form. I began pulling myself up. The strain, even though using my right side, still pulled at my left. Fire spread through my chest. My lungs spasmed. I gasped and let go and began falling backwards. Refusing to land on my back, I kicked off from the wall and landed on my feet in a crouch then on my rear.

Body: 51 (+1)

My vision whited out for just a second.

When I recollected myself, the hundeor had come even nearer. How had they not seen me yet? Had they heard my yelp? They were laughing, perhaps joking, though their words remained indistinguishable.

With climbing verified as an impossibility, I had no choice. I needed to find a wider spot on the crevasse. Surely something would open up, if I just continued onward, and kept an eye for an opportunity.

Minutes went by.

I continued my trek forward.

I had to slow my pace from a jog, the bouncing impacts, while slight, had felt horrific and left me light headed with difficulty breathing. I could not afford to lose consciousness.

All the while, the hundeor nipped at my trail. They must have been playing with me. Or driving me towards a trap. Perhaps they lacked knowledge of my sorry state, and assumed I was bigger game than they could handle on their own. Or perhaps they were hunting at a leisurely pace.

Regardless, it left my nerves wrought as my mind churned to find a solution. There was one, but a bad one, one I detested.

My pace slowed. I kept pushing myself forward, but my strength waned. The hundeor were nearly upon me. I glanced over my shoulder, they sounded like they were right there, but I failed to see them.

Was the sound just a trick? I wondered.

I stumbled again.

Banged my right side. Scraped my face and side of my muzzle. I could not keep going. I panted for breath, I actually, literally, panted. Like a dog. It disgusted me. This body, it disgusted me.

Another glance, still no sightings. I continued forward, still hoping for another possible solution.

Another minute passed, or perhaps minutes. Time blurred in a fog. I was flagging hard. A far off part of me acknowledged I was feverish, and perhaps delusional. Were there even hundeor pursuing me? I had to believe there were. But what I needed was a break. To catch my breath. Yes. Only to do that. Then I could continue.

Just as I was about to settle against a fold in the canyon wall, I noticed that around the corner, that the crevasse opened up, just slightly.

The crevasse opened up, the floor was filled with loose slate and scree. The left wall had partially collapsed, leaving the bottom of the crevasse just a little higher, and the left wall more or less a steep scramble.

A new option: I could escape by climbing up the scramble. The footing would be treacherous, and in my current state lethally problematic.

Fatigued. I just wanted this all to end.

My eyes tracked the scramble upwards. I could almost make out the sky. I could almost make out shadows moving towards the top where it evened out.

Was that where they planned to ambush me, I wondered. As I set about climbing? The climb already looked difficult enough as it was.

Regardless, the slightly wider area along the crevasse served my requirements well, for my last remaining option. I found an almost corner, angled away from the way I had come, and pressed myself against the wall, waiting. My tail pinched and pressed against my legs and the ground. Not only was this uncomfortable, but also a liability when I moved. I twisted so that it hugged the wall beside me. An irritating posture that provided more of a profile than I wanted, but it was that or suffer yet another tripping hazard.

Two options remained, well three, if I included surrender. The first was to use Illusion and hope for the best. The second, well, even if I loathed it, I had better prepare, just in case.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

I settled my sack down behind me on the ground and began digging through it. From the pale leather purse I grabbed a fresh Charger, one of the coins that still glowed. I pulled out the nice and sharp looking dagger and shoved it into my pants’ pocket. It stuck out and likely would not remain there long, but it was also within easy reach of my right hand. But the dagger was secondary. After some rummaging, I found it.

The gun-like-device.

The Charger fit into the slot like a charm, and the trigger pushed outward slightly, on a tense hinge.

The hundeor had still yet to arrive. I had time. It would be folly to waste it.

I glanced around at the loose rocks, then at my bag. That could serve as a distraction. Yes.Carefully, and as soundlessly as I could, I began stacking the small rocks around the bag, giving it a larger profile, a more noticeable profile, and not one immediately recognizable, but one that was obviously unnatural and ill fitting in the crevasse. Some leather peeked through the gaps between rocks.

A problem: With the bag there, originally positioned behind me, that meant that my position was now between where the hundeor would come out and the distraction. That was ill thought on my part.

I considered relocating the bag and stones, but I felt certain at any moment that the hundeor would arrive. So I relocated myself, leaning against the scramble, still at the corner near where the hundeor would arrive. Still, a sub-optimal position, but at least I would not obstruct the hundeor’s sightline of the distraction.

I realized, belatedly, that using my bag in this way committed me to the second option, unless I felt satisfied in losing the bag and the provisions therein.

Still, the plan repulsed me, and I hoped another solution would present itself. Nonetheless, I kept the gun-like-object ready, held in my right grip, with a finger near the trigger.

And I waited.

It took longer for them to reach me than I thought.

They approached the final stretch with caution. They sniffed the air and scratched the ground and walls as they went, feeling for irregularities that their eyes may have missed. There were two of them, two hundeor. The fact they scratched the walls left me nervous–did they know about my Illusions? It was possible. Several of them had ‘seen’ them.

I doubted they knew of my tangible Illusions. But using those would drain my reserves quickly, and I would rather not. Though if I had to, of course. Just twenty seconds of touchable Illusions went a long ways with creative application.

As they came near, I saw the individual markings on their fur. One male, one female. They wore no clothes, only their fur. I recognized them. They were the same two that I met in the bandits’ cave, near the pantry. Had they been watching me the entire time? Or had they watched me flee from the bandits’ settlement? Regardless, they knew far too much.

They neared the edge of the scramble, within five yards now. I could see them, which meant they could see me. Currently I relied upon the rocks of the scramble to break my lines, to provide camouflage. But as they neared, that reliance grew to be intolerable. Fortunately, I had a solution.

“Illusion.”

I covered myself in [Chameleon], a blur surrounding me that matched the texture and coloration of the rocks I rested upon. If they reached me quickly enough, I could even use ‘Touch’ to completely fool them, or trip them, or… gain the initiative.

Motherswear it, was I really going to do this? Doubts plagued me. I was no killer. I was no murderer. I have had the chance before, it would certainly have improved my quality of life, but killing? It… it just was not who I was, nor who I wanted to be.

But was it really murder?

Assuming I was unable to non-lethally incapacitate them, of course.

They were animals. They were hostile.

They had a language, they were sophont.

Stealth: 8/9 (+1)

Traceless Tracks: 4/9 (+1)

What were my alternatives? Nothing good. I could not sacrifice initiative.

Under the cover of my Illusion, I pointed the strange gun at where the hundeor would come out.

But they paused. It was the male who had been leading. He stopped before I had both him and the female in view. Well, he was partially in view, but not enough for me to chance it. I held off, counting down the seconds I had left on [Chameleon.]

He was looking at my distraction, the bag buried in stones.

I reprimanded myself for that impulsive action. It had caused the hundeor enough consternation that they were now even more aware and on guard.

Lessons learned, I guessed.

He sniffed the air.

“Why stop?” the female asked from behind him.

“No smell,” he said, more of a bark and grunt. He pointed a clawed finger ahead of him at my bag, at the distraction.

The female crouched down on her heels behind him to the side and her gaze followed where he was pointing. “What that?” she asked.

“Den Smells. Found thief.”

“Why no move?” she asked. “Dead?”

“Maybe,” he grunted. “Maybe hide. We check.”

“You check,” the female scoffed, pushing him in the thigh. “I stay. Guard.”

“We both–”

The female shoved him harder, sending him stumbling out into the open, just in front of me, practically brushing against the tip of the gun.

“You do!” she demanded.

He glared behind him for a second, but she extended her claws and made to swipe his backside with her claws. He yelped and hurried forward, while she laughed in that strange and eerie yipping song.

She remained partially in view behind the corner. The male was just passing me, almost to my bag.

I needed to do this. I would get no better opportunity. I had no choice. But still, doubts and indecision weighed me down, pressured in on me, as though I was sinking down into the depths of an ocean. I could not breathe.

What if it killed him?

I needed to kill him.

But did I?

Last minute alternatives: I could surrender; I could negotiate; I could flee; I could another Illusion to lead them away; I could trade what I had stolen from the bandits–so many other options.

But those other options were all uncertain–unlikely to work–would remove my initiative.

But was I heartless enough to not even try to peacefully resolve this?

They had tried to eat me.

I had stolen from them.

While my indecision assaulted me, while the panic dragged the air from me, I found a lifeline. I grabbed it and pulled, and everything made sense again.

Good girls listen to their mothers.

I hated it. But these hundeor had struck first. They could have left well enough alone. This is on them. The responsibility, theirs, not mine.

I had already aimed the muzzle of the gun-like-object at him. I screwed my eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 51 (+1)

* Mind: 58

* Spirit: 44

Talents:

* Athleticism (3/9):

* Climbing (8/9)

* Stealth (8/9) (+1)

* Trackless Tracks (4/9) (+1)

* Closed (8/9)

Spells:

* Illusion I (1/9)

* Touch (2/9)

* Closed

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (2/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)