We rush back through the arch door, Piia clutching Sofia to her chest, the screeching batters our eardrums as the hawk follows in pursuit. Leaping rubble, skidding around corners and trampling the shrubbery, we are making good time through Hearthold.

However the assault course still hinders our progress, while the bird of prey simply glides overhead with no issue.

“We need to lose it!” I yell through short breaths, my poor fitness evident.

Piia, a healthy endurance athlete compared to myself, was slow with her precious burden and cautious over obstacles.

“I’ll lead it away and find you with the rings.”

Piia nods and makes a sharp turn away from me.

I slide to a halt and grab a handful of shattered Satyrcraft from the rubble.

The hawk, trying to watch both parties, barely dodges an orange sized stone. I unload my ballistics, hoping to hold its attention rather than sustain any damage.

The cawing intensifies with my irritating endeavours and it divebombs my face with sharp talons extended. The talons scrape my vambraces as I raise my guard, the screeching tones deafening up close.

I lash out a hail mary swing with my arm that meets nothing but air, the bird too swift and elusive for my clumsy caveman strike.

“Rutt you Pidgey.”

I toss another stone before sprinting towards the giant archway with the text. Regardless of its ceaseless cawing, I checked every few steps that it was still on my trail.

The hawk’s call is definitely a signal to the hunters to reveal my exact location, it flew fast and high therefore throwing more stones would waste precious time. I will potentially lose it in the dense forest and at the very least increase the distance between the hunters and Piia.

I reach the archway and continue down the same route we had taken before, through the thick brambles, the pathway now widened by Cane. I enter the walled section and hear the hawks' caw begin to reduce as the bird loses interest.

Running through the gap and along the low wall, I climb up again to confirm my fear. The hawk was flying across Hearthold in the direction Piia and Sofia had escaped.

“Mother please protect the Satyrs and hide them well.” I pray.

Gasping for air atop the wall, my lungs burned from the full circuit sprint.

All pointless if it catches up to them, my lover’s ring only half full of clouds indicating they hadn’t gotten far. Leaping off the wall and into a steady jog.

The clear cawing led me back through the ruins along with frequently glancing at my ring. That awful hawk was right on them, Piia would know she couldn’t outpace it and would have hidden at the first chance. It must be well trained and adapted to be so close on their hooves.

I reach a large structure with a damp tunnel cutting straight through, the cawing abruptly ends and gruff human voices reverberate through the tunnel. Crouching beside its mossy entrance, I peer around the corner for a better view.

Shapes were moving around a courtyard, standing around two furry bodies curled on the floor.

Rutting hell, the hunters have them. What am I going to do? I can’t fight these people alone. Their words echo off the tunnel walls but are difficult to comprehend, the conversation is heated as the men shout and snap at each other.

Behind them is Silva’s forest, the structure must partially surround the courtyard then.

I draw my Xiphos and follow the circular wall, which eventually cascades in a series of steps that are engulfed by the ground.

My heart races anticipating the coming conflict, adrenaline overwhelming my system like a flooding river. I peer over the steps and discover the structure is in fact the remains of an amphitheatre, a full crescent of seated sections offering views of the entertainment situated on the packed hard forest floor.

Today’s show is in full swing, ‘Scumlet’ presented and produced by the yobs of Order.

“Listen ere! thirst shot be mine, thirst taste is mine!” The largest hunter yells while shoving another one in the chest.

Three of them stand around Piia and Sofia, bows are strung across their backs with full quivers of blue feathered arrows. They all wear grimy brown furs and tattered leather garments, long knives rested against their hips and bloated pouches containing the traps of their trade.

All of them resembled the dregs of humanity, with greasy hair, spotty skin and black gums sporting the occasional tooth.

The Satyrs held each other tightly while the men proposed claims of their game.

“I led the hunt, I paid gud coin for the bait, it wer my plan.” A hunter with a messy beard and flattened nose.

“Who in Orda’s name do ya think ya kiddin.” says the last man, a stocky guy with multiple knives strapped all over his person. “It wa my bloody plan, you’d be licking tha pubs floor fo dregs by now, if I ain’t say we shud go hunt taday.” Knives continues his rant getting more flustered with each word.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

The big guy begins to chuckle, quietly at first but quickly building with volume as Knive’s face reddens, his tight leathers struggle to contain the muscles that lay underneath as he flops around in hysterical laughter.

“Go hunt was ya big plan, praise be ta Orda fo blessing our wurld wit your brilliant mind.” The big guy stops his mocking rant as Knives unsheaths a rusty butcher's blade.

“Suze ere - he waves the blade around.- She a dirty gal, think I’ll clean er wit yo tongue.”

The crew were not a tight group, Mother’s mercy, please let them all gut each other.

“Ya’ll dimwits stop it! There’s enough bukkehorn on the doe for all us and more. It’ll be shared equal, like we agreed. Ay?” Flat Nose steps between the two and quells the tension.

“Aye.” Knives gives Suze a kiss and puts her away.

“Aye, but I git first hump on her.” The big guy leers at Piia.

These savages were going to force themselves on her, I have to do something.

“After we taste sum bukke, I got Omnia’s tears running down me.” Flat Nose pulls out a short curved knife with serrated edges, Piia begins to squeal at the sight of it.

“Hold it still!”

The Satyrs protectively cling to each other as Knives grabs for Sofia, yanking her away until Piia snaps a hoof into his groin. He heaves in pain but manages to hold onto the Satyr child. The Big guy grasps Piias arms and crushes them against the ground, causing her to lose her grip.

Knives viciously tosses the blind child across the stage and leaps onto my friend to restrain her thrashing legs

Roughly 20 feet of open space separates myself and the hunters, no chance I can rush them with my blade without drawing their attention and ergo their bowstrings. My chaotic powers will cut through one or two with some luck, but I need to close the distance first.

These aren’t children or wounded Daemons, they’re killers with enough weapons to arm a platoon, it would be a suicidal attempt and the Satyrs will still fall victim to these cruel men.

I quickly check my inventory for inspiration and form a sketchy plan. Removing some bark wrap bolus, I chew a small amount and roll it into several small balls.

Piia’s scream cuts the air.

Mother, please help. I sheath my blade and stand up. The hawk, surveying its masters from perch on a nearby tree, begins its cawing alarm again.

“Oi, lads. Ya got tha bloody doe?” I mimic their old British accent and language while briskly walking with feigned confidence. Lucky for me the human population in Silva has some cultural influence from my own country.

The hunters react like wild beasts over their prey, weapons ready, eyes measuring and searching for tricks. Flat Nose draws an arrow and holds his mark, I wouldn’t have made half the distance if I had charged in.

“We hav Orda’s claim on this doe. Burd shut your dam mouth!” He yells with the bowstring resting against his face. The hawk immediately settles and watches the exchange.

“Aye, clear as day it be your bounty. But ya arguing ova scraps. I got dozens more, fat hethers wit actual meat on tha bone.”

“Dozens?” Knives face lights up.

Stopping a few feet away, I start picking sticks and seeds out of my bear poncho with a casual boredom.

“A tribe, not far from ere either.”

“Why you spilling the beans wit us? Can’t take dem fat hether’s yaself?” Flat Nose asks while stone still, the drawn bow still locked on.

“Doe’s ain’t the problem, got a few bulls too. Need skilled hands ta take em.” I conjure more lies.

The hunters share a look, even Flat Nose glances away from me for a split second.

“They full mature?” The big guy yells on top of Piia.

I struggled to avoid her eyes, they were burning into mine with confusion and fear.

I nod at the big guy with a winning smile, picturing a huge bed of Sana flowers in my mind to help my act of selling a large haul.

“Each got bukke? Don’t wanna trapes through the scrub for left overs or younguns.” Knives queries with a sneer.

Bukkehorn they called it before, they also talked about sharing Piias now. That is the prize to them, like rhino horns they must hold value in the right market.

“Bulls I said, Orda knows they got bukke.” - I unstrap my right vambrace and present my healing cut - “One near took me arm off.” The wound looked healthy from the treatment, pink fresh skin spanned my entire forearm.

“Don’t look recent.” Flat Nose states, suspicious of my tale.

“Aye, promised that bloody goat I’d get it. Been tracking them since, like I said bafore I just need more hands to take the lot.” I say with malice on my tongue.

The big guy bellows his deep laugh. “Goat! I never heard that bafore.”

Knives and Flat Nose chuckle along as well.

He lowers the bow and turns to his crew, they nod in unison with silent agreement.

“You take us to this tribe, we split equal gains in these hunts, aye?” He grins with a fragmented smile.

“Aye, we fairly close, jus follow me.” I begin to walk away.

Now what? I could lead them into the bush and hope a Guardian finds us and pray to Mother it doesn’t slaughter me as well. Terrible plan but it will buy me time to think.

“I ain’t going anywhere witout tasting some bukke.” The big guy grabs Piia’s throat with one hand and reaches for his own curved dehorning knife. My friend grimaces in a silent scream, her windpipe flattened and unable to vocalise her protest.

“Oi, we gotta go now or I’ll lose the trail, I said we’ll get far more bukke from them bulls.” I insist.

“It needs drying out you fool, tis weak stuff so fresh.” Flat Nose yells at the big guy.

“And I said I need it now, I got the chaos itch crawling ova me.” A frantic hunger was burning in his eyes, like a junkie close to their fix.

I realise the bukkehorn was like a drug, these hunters were addicts suffering from withdrawal.

“Chaos itch, why you not say before? I got dry bukke on me.” All the hunters snap around in an instant.

“That right, ye appy te share wit your new pals?” Flat Nose voice rapidly changes from irritated yells to charismatic charm.

“Call it a token to our new alliance and further gains.” I reach under my poncho, access my inventory and remove a small leather bag. I hold it out before them, fiendish grins paint their faces, they are putty in my hand.

“Strong batch this stuff, dried it out in sun for weeks.”

Imagination is a powerful tool, the mere idea of their vice so close was a pleasure in itself, probably offering a greater high than what the drug could ever provide.

However that is only true if the fix is guaranteed.

“Just got enuf for two. You guys decide who gets.”

The doubt floods over instantly, the possibility of missing out vanquishes their smiles and brought forth pure hysteria.

“I led, I get first claim.” Flat Nose snarls, reaching for a hatchet on his hip.

“Bollocks to dat, ya no leader.” Knives accuses, gesturing Suze at him.

The big guy releases his hold on Piia and stands over the group to impose his full frame. He locks eyes with me, sweat runs down scars across his face.

“Give it!” He screams causing the hawk to squawk in alarm.

“Kay.” I toss the bag over the three men.