After I stumbled back into the canyon, I found myself leaning against a wall, barely holding myself up.

My injuries had only grown in severity since I had received them, and to make it all worse, I felt incredibly frustrated at my new Talent, because at least on the surface, it appeared all but useless.

Eschiver.

I only had a vague idea of what that glyph included. To deny, avoid, forswear, evade… why had I received such an untimely Talent? Every other time I had a new unlock, it had always been applicable to my needs at the time.

When I needed to flee, I received Athletics and the ability to scale sheer vertical walls.

When I needed to shake a pursuer, I received a Talent that helped me go unnoticed and that removed my tracks.

But now, now that I was grievously wounded, bleeding, weeping, oozing, what did I get? A general ability to avoid taking damage in the first place. Certainly that would have been useful before I had been shot! But receiving it after the damage was already done? Insult to injury. Why could I not have received a Talent to mitigate the damage I had already taken, or an ability to heal? It left me wondering who had been responsible for marking me, for bringing me to this awful world.

Useless.

No giving in to despair! I chided myself, ignoring the whispering doubts and self-recriminations hounding me.

I kept going, now climbing up a very slight slope, heading back towards where the bandits may have been. But there had also been turns and arterials turning off from the central canyon. I planned on finding one and taking it, escaping the hundeor and bandits, and then finding medical attention.

I thought I heard a scratching noise padding along behind me. I turned quickly, the motion sending me careening into a wall. I winced, but kept from yelping. When I looked, I found nothing.

Delirious. Feverish.

Really, it was magical that I had yet to peel over dead. I really ought to have by now. Dehydration killed, and that was without festering holes in flesh. Which I had. The festering holes. The rot. The fever. It had grown difficult to form coherent thoughts.

But still, I forced myself to continue. I ignored the temptation to lay down and die.

I found a branch, a narrow one, one that I squeezed myself through. It opened up a bit beyond the initial pinch, otherwise traveling the ancient stream bed would have been murder. I continued trailing my right hand along the wall, to keep my balance, to keep from stumbling.

Laying down would be so easy. Just follow gravity. Water flowing. So simple…

Why was I continuing this journey?

Either the sun was going down, or my eyes were worsening.

It could have been either.

Alternating sweats and chills hindered me. One second, I shivered. The next, my jacket felt unbearable. My legs weak. Each step, each step… just another step further. But why? Why must I suffer so?

At the back of my mind, I knew I needed to rest.

But I also knew, that should I rest, that getting back up would be all the more difficult. Likely impossible.

Body: 55 (+1)

Despite the pain, despite the delirium, I continued, pressing forward.

At least I was continuing until I walked into a sudden dead end. My nose, the tip of my muzzle, hit the wall. I rebounded and landed on my rear. The base of my tail got caught between rocks and back, spraining it. And as I continued rolling back onto sharp stone, once again I hit my poor inflamed and rotting from the inside left side.

This time, I did yelp.

I hated my newest Talent. Or perhaps I was just spoiled. I had several supernatural abilities, such as climbing, and sneaking. But now, with this evasion, I had not even been able to evade a mothersworn wall! Or the ground!

It was a disappointment.

I was a motherswearing–fuuu—a motherswearing disappointment.

I slung my bag off and settled back into the corner. Without any better recourse, I allowed myself to cry. And I pulled out the bottle of fortified spirits. I had found an ideal spot for a break. Defensible, and a dead end that would offer no escape.

Just perfect.

Evasion: 2/9 (+1)

Body: 56 (+1)

Traceless Tracks: 5/9 (+1)

I jerked awake.

An empty bottle on my lap, drool dripping down my neck, and cramps all along my legs and back. My neck felt stiff. I could barely move. Had I been in any other situation, I would have curled up in a hole and waited for help to arrive.

But here was the thing.

I heard a chuffing and a scratching somewhere further out, further in the way I had come from.

This was fine.

I had a plan.

That I had developed while imbibing strong liquor.

Deliciously strong liquor.

When had I begun drinking? Why was my bottle empty?

My thoughts, still muddled.

I clamped my jaws shut before I accidentally giggled and gave my position away.

They probably already knew where I was. Yet they had not entered my narrow cramped offshoot yet, so maybe not. I decided to err with caution. A bubble escaped up my throat and came out as a very small, tiny, practically unnoticeable emission.

The chuffing sound never truly went away, though it came closer than further then closer once more. They were out there in the primary canyon, circling, seeking me, or working up the courage to enter the little dead-end offshoot I had crawled into.

I doubted anyone would blame them for their lack of courage in accosting me in this narrow space. They probably knew I was armed with a deadly weapon. It was unlikely that they could flank me in this canyon. If they were to chase me in, they would do so single file, squeezed together by the terrain. An ideal shooting ground.

But waiting for them to enter had not been my plan.

No, but it did make use of the fact that the walls of the canyon were so narrow, that with my back pressed against one wall, I could touch the opposite with the tips of my fingers. Or, more practically, with my legs.

Collecting my things, I pushed my back against one wall, and began walking my ways up.

My Talent made this task easier than it should have been. My back practically slided up, as though it were lubed. And my feet never slipped.

My Talent failed to help mitigate the pain. But the light-headed dullness from the spirits did.

I was about halfway up the canyon walls, congratulating myself, when I heard the hundeor speaking. But their voices were not coming from below as I expected. No. But from above.

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That was not per the plan at all.

Even in my delirious and possibly drunken state, I had the wits to pause my ascent. I listened in, straining to make out their voices. It came difficult at first, with the distance, and the wind, and the chuffing from below, but as I focused, it grew easier.

Mind: 59 (+1)

A stern female was speaking. I recognized that voice.

The den mother from the hundeor cavern, from where I had raided their supplies, and possibly had lured (unintentionally) an ooze monster into attacking them.

Afterwards, I had followed them to the humans’ encampment, where I know at least several of the hundeor had perished. However, hearing her speak now, this confirmed my suspicions that the hundeor were making a unified effort to hunt me. I could not say that their motivation was unwarranted either.

Of course, that meant nothing, except that I was unlikely to successfully negotiate with them, especially when I had killed two of their own personally. As I listened to their conversation, our irreconcilable differences only grew more apparent.

“...stole our treasures!” the den mother shouted.

Several yips and barks followed, coming from around the speaker. I was unable to count them exactly from my position below them, but there were at least two others.

“...killed my children!” she snarled. “Even led … to our door! We … vengeance!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, causing dust to come loose, raining down on me from the top of the canyon. “We will wear her entrails!”

If they were above me waiting, and if several were below me waiting, then I lacked many options of escape. But that did not mean I lacked any options. I just needed to think about it a bit, and not give away my exact position. I remained where I was, holding as still as I could. My back hurt, and my legs had begun to tremble from providing the constant tension holding me up, but I could remain where I was for a while yet.

“Wet your claws!” the den mother shouted.

Her minions repeated her with less eloquence. “Wet claws!” I counted three others from their voices.

This was growing increasingly sub-optimal.

“Open your maws!” she demanded.

“Open maws!” they repeated in varied barks and howls.

They were going to flush me out from where they thought I was. Which meant I had an opportunity, a hazy one, and one not without inconsiderable risk. But an opportunity nonetheless.

“Chase her! Find her! Rend her flesh and crush her bone!” She howled. “Go!”

That moment several things happened at once.

From down below eager barking echoed up as claws scraped on stone, coming through the narrow entrance.

From up above, three of the hundeor laughed as they dove over the sides of the canyon, jumping from wall to wall to slow their descent into a nonlethal fall.

At that time, I mouthed, “Illusion,” forming a [Chameleon] blur around me to help hide me. It would not last for long, but it gave me time to figure out my next steps.

Within seconds, the hundeor from up top met the ones down below, and both groups realized I was not down there. Their faces almost appeared comical. From down below, I would be a dark smudge on the night sky, still within the shadows of the canyon wall. So near imperceptible.

“Where prey?” one of them asked.

“Here? Smell ... No her.”

The den mother apparently grew impatient. “What happen?!” she shouted over the edge, peering down into the darkness. I could just barely see her outline. She stood twenty feet to the side, not directly above me, which meant my Illusion likely was unnecessary at this point. Unless she had excellent vision, she would not be seeing me.

Evasion: 3/9 (+1)

My hips had begun to spasm, and the twinges traveled all the way up to my left side, leaving trails of fire. Ordinarily, I would remain where I was until the perfect opportunity presented itself. But in my current state, I doubted I could hang where I was for much longer.

As silently as I could, I began sliding up the wall, relying on the noise of the hundeor down below to cover up the sound of my back scraping against the wall as I rose.

I made it to ten feet below the lip of the canyon wall. Thus far, none had noticed me. I remained as alert as I could, and ready to call forth an Illusion at a second’s notice.

The den mother began pacing back and forth snarling as the reports came up from down below.

“No see prey!” one of the hundeor down below called out.

“What you mean?! We tracked her here! Is dead-end!”

“We wrong?” the hundeor asked, scratching its chest.

“Look harder!” the den mother shouted back down.

“Yes den mother.”

I had less than five feet to go. The moment I reached the top, I would cover myself in an Illusion and begin slinking away. If I got far enough, then I could rely on Traceless Tracks to hopefully lose them. It was one thing for them to track me in a canyon system where the directions I could choose were limited. It was another to track me on the surface where I could take my pick of directions.

As I continued, already prepping the Illusion in my mind’s eye, the den mother grumbled to herself.

“She has tricks. She was down there. She has tricks…” She froze, seeming to have made a realization. “She is here.”

She growled and grew even more alert.

Three feet to go, and I began twisting around my good arm to finish my climb.

Her ears flicked.

“She’s up here!” the den mother shouted. She was already running towards me.

I still had a foot to go before I could reach the top with my arm. She was three paces away. Three strides. Not nearly enough space.

I had run out of time for a safe course, and instead had to take a gamble, roll the dice.

Stepping one leg before the other, I ran up the wall while keeping my back in place.

My legs were soon above me.

I kicked off.

My legs tasted air.

I began to fall down, headfirst.

My calves hit the ground at the top of the cliff face, I hooked my legs, holding myself up and sitting up. My side strained. It hurt. I pushed through it as rapidly as I could.

Body: 57(+1)

Athletics: Climbing: 9/9 (+1):

* Unlocked Featherlight (1/9)

I rolled in a tangle face first on the top of the cliff. The den mother stood on the other side of the narrow chasm. She leapt across as I was getting back to my feet. She went around and cornered me, my back against the cliff, her to my front.

“No more,” she growled. “You suffer. Return what you stole.”

From down below, several hundeor clattered. They shouted over each other in enthusiastic barking, showing their support for their den mother.

“Can’t climb!” “Push her down!” “Kill!”

If they were stuck down there, then I still had a chance. I just needed to deal with the den mother first.

“Can’t we talk it out?” I asked hesitantly, already knowing she would say no, already preparing, putting my right hand on my sheathed knife. Slowly, I began to draw.

“Die,” she snarled, lunging and swiping at me.

I jumped to the side, and went further than I should have. I landed softer than I expected, leading to an awkward stumble.

She followed through, swiping again, her long claws hissing through the air.

I pulled out my knife and held her at bay, or tried to. But my efforts were weak. She was not convinced of the danger of approaching. Or she did not care.

“Illusion.” I formed a black [Shroud] over her head, blinding her.

In the moment of her distraction, I jumped towards her, driving my weight into the knife into her. Or that had been the plan.

She sidestepped away from the cliff while raking her claws across my arms and shoulder.

My wrist seized and my knife fell, hitting the stone out of reach. My concentration faltered and my Illusion broke.

She gave a wolfish grin while showing me her bloody claws. She brought them up to her muzzle and licked them clean.

My stomach churned while I hugged my arm in. I stepped backwards, away from her. My back was no longer to the cliff. I could turn and run. But I would never outrun her. She could catch me the moment I turned.

“For family,” she said. “They … be avenged!”

She began coming towards me, methodical, slow, drawing out my suffering.

I refused to give up. I had already decided to live. I would not let this animal make me an abjurer.

“Illusion,” I said. I formed a [Clone] beside her.

She glanced derisively at the shadowed person and snorted. “More tricks? … won’t work.”

“I don’t think you’ve seen this one yet,” I told her.

“Touch.”

My energy pool began to plummet. I knew I could only keep this Illusion active for a short period of time. But I only needed a short period of time. The clone took on substance, becoming a solid humanoid, made of an indeterminate but solid black material.

She growled and crouched slightly. Her muscles tightened. Her eyes unfocused. She was going to jump.

My tangible [Clone] slammed into her first. She yipped in surprise. The [Clone] carried her over the side of the cliff, mostly into the chasm. She barely clung to the side. My [Clone] hung from her.

“Whaa–” she yelped.

But I took no time to flaunt. My [Clone] pushed away from the cliff while still holding her, away and downward. Her grip loosened, and she plummeted downwards in a tangle with the construct.

Touch: 4/9 (+1)

I grabbed my knife and hastened to get away from there, but before I left earshot, I heard the hundeor in the canyons howl mournfully.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 57 (+3)

* Mind: 59 (+1)

* Spirit: 44

Talents:

* Athleticism (3/9):

* Climbing I (1/9) (+1)

* Featherlight (1/9) (+1)

* Stealth (8/9)

* Trackless Tracks (5/9) (+1)

* Eschiver (1/9)

* Evasion (3/9) (+1)

Spells:

* Illusion I (2/9)

* Touch (4/9) (+1)

* Closed

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (2/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)