The woman’s unexpected exclamation and charge startled Chess into frozen, gaped mouth uncertainty. So, she had but a moment to digest the woman’s fright, her stout stature, and iron-grey hair, all in a state of surreal bewilderment. Then another half breath to noticed the long wicked knife the woman held before she plowed into her point first.
"Wait!" Chess squawked before impact.
The woman checked like a pro.
The blow thumped hard into her upper ribs and pitched her ass-over-teakettle, into a bramble bush, the breath knocked clean out of her lungs.
Stunned, Chester gasped like a fish desperate to draw a breath while rolling back and forth, sinking lower into the brush with her thrashing.
Son of a bitch!
The woman didn’t press the attack. Instead, continuing over Chester and her bush then disappeared into the trees beyond and it wasn’t long before the woman was completely beyond sight or hearing.
What the hell was that! An incensed Chester wondered while rubbing her sore ribs once she'd succeeded in drawing a few shallow breaths.
Ow! She winced at the flare of pain her touch brought. Yup, that’s going to bruise, bad. What’s with that? Not even a how’d-you-do. I didn’t even have a chance to say hi. What a bitch.
Bra 1, knife 0, she thought, realization dawning that it had saved her life. Also, boobs hurt when hit, I thought they would provide some padding. I’m glad she missed my nipple.
She tried to stand but struggled against the brambles’ thorns. They’d tangled with her new cloak holding her down.
Struggling to sit up proved fruitless as the tangle restrained her. In fact, movement made the situation worse as she got progressively more tangled the more she flailed.
“Ah fuck this!” she swore and went limp in frustration. It’s like a grasping bush of death! She chuckled at her own stupidity then sighed.
Taking a couple of slow deep breaths, she took another look around. Careful to move her head slowly as it was the only thing left with a decent range of motion.
No one had returned during her struggle with the bush, and it looked like the others had vacated their camp. Dude, they literally ran from me in terror. I mean I can be scary, but this shit is insulting. She thought about it, then broke into laughter. The belly laughs lasted a couple of minutes before she regained control. I need to get out of this bloody bush, she thought feeling thorns poking her. The laughing probably makes me look like a crazy person.
With a snort, she started to sing Let Her Go to encourage the bush to let her go. It surprised her how efficiently the bushes retracted with a few of the words in the song relevant to her task. The bush seemed to flow just the little bit it needed to, to let go of her and it only took moments before she regained her, now scratched, feet.
I’ll definitely need to experiment with that later, she thought, giving herself another note. These notes to self are starting to add up.
Turning around to study the bush she frowned in thought. It was the first plant that she’d seen that looked like one from back home. Its berries were even the same shape and color.
Huh, that might be a legit Earth bramble berry bush. Still, do I risk it? She studied the berries intently for a moment, hoping they’d give up their secrets but nothing happened.
She sighed. I’ll have to see what they abandoned in their camp. Hopefully, the other two didn’t grab the lady's pack, or anything before splitting?
She made her careful way to the small fire, placing her feet with purpose.
The darkening sky and the low burning fire forced her sight into the strange greyscale again, allowing for a clear view of what had been abandoned.
As if in direct answer to her prayers, there was a single pack toppled over beside the fire. Along with three sleeping rolls, a cookpot suspended above the fire, and various other odds and ends scattered about.
A stack of loose deadfall branches also sat nearby for the fire. They must have felt somewhat safe here to have a fire in the first place.
In the earlier confusion, she had failed to notice the enticing smells wafting from the pot but now that she was close her stomach tightened, reminding her of her growing hunger.
She peered inside and found a very normal-looking creamy stew simmering away. Huh, looks tasty. She looked around, to see if there were any dishes lying about but discovered none.
She approached the pack and started messing with it. It resembled a modern earth ruck pack, though made completely with leather and without any zippers. It had the familiar wide waist belt, though this one had a couple of knives sheathed to it: one below the back, where the ties for the sleeping roll were, and another on the left hip and a large top flap to protect its contents.
She must’ve had that other blade strapped to her body somewhere. This one will be hidden by the sleeping roll, nice. This thing is legit, I guess it makes sense if people travel with packs a lot. Now, what else.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
She opened the ties at the top and started pulling things out, examining them. On top sat a small metal bowl with a fork and spoon in a small linen drawstring bag sitting inside. Finding what she wanted at the top she turned and headed back to the fire and the simmering pot.
She used the ladle to first stir the stew, then fill her new bowl before scarfing down the first bowl of the meat and root vegetable stew so fast she hardly tasted it. She served herself another and went back to drag the pack closer to the fire, so she could continue snooping.
It largely contained the lady’s personal belongings. The next couple of items were a heavy woolen dress and ancient-style ladies' undergarments and socks. Putting the bowl down she pulled on the thick woolen socks and sighed with relief. Thank fuck at least it's better than absolutely nothing, it's getting cold out here. She repositioned her feet closer to the fire. They were getting colder as the temperature dropped with the sun.
Riffling deeper into the pack, she found a strange flat and long water skin. At least the liquid inside didn’t have any smell and the tiny sip she took tasted like water. Then came a small box with some flint, fibrous material, bark bits, and small wood shavings. She pulled a very large thin scarf out and ran the silky fabric over her hands. It had patterns woven throughout it in various shades—the colors she didn’t know because of her greyed-out vision. A box of hygiene items came next: hairbrushes, a small hand mirror made from a polished circle of silver, a bar she figured was soap, and a few other items she was unsure of.
A few food items came out next; a wheel of dark cheese, some hard-looking biscuits, a bag of nuts, and a leather bag full of jerky.
Then at the bottom of the pack, she discovered four small pouches. One had some strange shimmering crystalline dust in it and a new box started blinking in the corner of her vision. Pulling it up she was intrigued.
Name: Pyth Powder 2/10
Type: Dash
Rank: 1
Rarity: Uncommon
Properties: 2/10ths of a full measure of Dash Powder.
So, does that mean I would need a full measure to be able to bond it, and does it have other uses? It seems I just have more and more questions and no one to answer them for me.
She took another furtive look around at the surrounding forest. The sun had finally finished setting but she could see as far in the moon and starlight as she could during the day. Not seeing anything dangerous she returned to her snooping. It doesn’t appear they are going to come back for their items anytime soon. I hope they don’t come back with friends and attack me without letting me talk first this time.
The next bag revealed a handful of different coins. She couldn’t tell what they were in the low light and she didn’t know how to force her sight back to color so she could use the fire.
Shrugging she put them back in the bag and set them with the powder. The next bag held a single measure of Power-Strike Pyth powder and the last had a couple dozen empty powder bags.
I’m totally keeping her stuff. Fuck that lady attacking me for no reason, she decided then cast the inventory spell so she could store her new powders and coins.
Removing the makeshift water skin, she tied it to the side of the pack, returning the rest of the items to the pack. Except the dress and scarf, both of which she removed her vine cloak to don.
Eating another bowl of the hearty stew, she contemplated what she should do next while hugging her knees and staring into the fire. I have no idea where I should go, the first people I see ran from me in terror. Would it help if I covered my face, or was it my cloak that gave them the idea I was a dryad? Is that word even translating properly? I mean it seems to mean a humanoid tree-bound creature. I remember them being portrayed as nature spirits, no worse than other animals. Maybe a little hard to understand in their motivations and all that. How much of that applies to the meaning I get from this new language. I definitely can’t trust anything from Earth mythology. Gah, it's so confusing.
Yeah, I’ll have to ditch the cloak or hide it. Maybe use one of the other sleeping rolls to make something. Later.
I wonder if my cloak can be used as a living plant still. Doesn’t it take a while for plants to actually die? That’s how cuttings work, right? Not to mention seeds.
Curious she summoned her guitar and started playing, willing the vines of her cloak to take root. They did and started expanding about her. She willed a small tent-like shelter to grow, the vines creaking and groaning as she wove them. It did an amazing job of trapping the heat of the low fire and providing warmth. Sweet! I should have thought of this sooner. The vines are nice because they naturally attach to other plants to climb, but I wonder if I can do better.
She looked about the clearing again, settling her gaze on the bramble she had fallen into earlier. Thorns and berries. I sure hope they aren’t poisonous. She made her cloak release its new growth and approached the bush.
With a laugh she started playing the bits she could remember of Poison’s, Every Rose Has Its Thorn.
Eh close enough.
Again, the plant moved with efficiency, as she willed it to grow. Well, that confirms that, she thought as it grew thin flexible green stems into the weave of her current vine cloak.
Getting creative she made it enlarge its thorns and had them point away from her body. The task was laughingly easy because of the song. Once satisfied, she made the bush choke off the new growth and broke it away, heading back to the fire and throwing on a few large branches.
It was everything she could do not to cackle at the intimidating look of her new creation. Here I am making my cloak better when I was just thinking I should ditch it.
Shaking her head at herself, she stared into the fire, a large yawn taking hold. I need to find somewhere to sleep. I should leave this camp in case they come back.
With a groan, she got up and flipped the pack. She tied one of the sleeping mats to it, along with the now empty cooking pot, then swung it onto her back. Holding a second mat in her arms, she left.
She traveled for a good half-hour through the increasingly eerie forest before finding a large tree with exposed roots that she thought would work.
Climbing under one of the largest roots she willed her cloak to grow into a small tent wrapped over the top. This thing is scary useful, she thought, willing it to weave her a hammock, so that she could sleep off the ground.
After settling in, she made it grow a few of the bramble berries. Then with great trepidation, she ate a few of the large blackberries before closing her eyes.
Freya’s tits, I hope they aren’t poisonous and that nothing finds me in the night. It would be nice if these cramps would end too. She groaned a little, worried it was the berries. It's too soon for that right?
Sleep wasn’t long in coming despite her fears and discomforts.