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Leeches. Honestly.
The little human would need food when she woke, he realized with a frown. He should have found some berries during his nerve-riddled excursion beyond the well, but he’d been too anxious to get back.Coward, Moss-fang chided himself, feeling suddenly weak.
A shudder slid down his spine, making his tail tip lash with discomfort, his limbs feeling heavy now that the distraction ofnewhad worn off. This was far more activity than he was used to, his days typically spent re-reading his modest library from the comfort of his nest.
Before he could really put higher thought to it, he’d grabbed another still-wished coin from the nearby stash and absorbed it. A good one, this wish put a sparkling necklace on the throat of some pampered foreign duchess, or at least someone in her lineage. Moss-fang sighed with satisfaction as strength returned to his limbs, curling up beside his nest and resting his head on the edge of the fabrics. He reasoned it was for comfort’s sake, not to be closer to the little human that smelled of sun-warmed sage and a thankfully-fading note of copper.
Tira feltlike she’d been run over by a carriage. And mauled by wolves. And possibly involved in a tavern brawl she’d somehow forgotten about.
What the hell happened?
The ache in her head throbbed, dull but persistent, and the pieces came slowly back to her - the strike against the wall, the broken rope, thefall. Icy fear skittered through her chest - she was stuck in a well no one had been able to find, her only way out snapped, and potentially in no condition to free-climb. How long had she been down here? She flexed her feet, extraordinarily relieved but puzzled to find that nothing seemed to be broken. A hazy glance up at the well column left her even more confused - at that height, she ought to be dead.
Even more curious, the stone tube of the well didn’t plunge into a pool of water, or even the ground, as she’d anticipated from above. Instead, it appeared to stop mid-air, ending at about the height of her brow, were she standing beside it. She struggled to sit up to get a better look, fingers tightening curiously in the softness beneath her. It was dim, but even in the low light she could feel how fine these velvets and silks were: things that should definitely not be at the bottom of a disused well.
Squinting, she looked for whatever inconstant lantern was struggling to illuminate the dark, circular space around her. She could just barely make out the edges of shelves carved into the walls, set with small pottery jars, glittering gems that made her thieving little mouth water, and books with elegant leather spines.
Shuffling her legs under her ass, she pressed a hand blindly behind her, intending to rise. Rather than more cloth, her palm found something cool and firm, broader than her palm’s span, a faint texture perceptible under her fingertips. Reflexively, Tira turned to look and swallowed a yelp of alarm: she wasn’t alone.
The young man sprawled beside her on the generously-wide pallet was stunning - and the soft glow was emanating from him, somehow. Shirtless and asleep, his skin was a light brown tone that reminded her of pale autumn leaves, adorned with drops of golden illumination scattered like tiny constellations. The man’s soft eyelashes were long and black against well-hewn cheekbones, his full lips softly parted in the center of a well-kept mustache and goatee the color of his lashes. Her eyes caught on the pointed, ridged shell of his ear, pierced with a few slender golden hoops, before traveling to the pair of short patina-green horns cresting his tousled black hair. Though partially obscured by a length of coppery satin, the serpent-like tail his torso narrowed into shocked her into silence. He - her evident savior - was abeast. Amonster. The thick, scaled column of his lower half was adorned with diaphanous fins along the edges, its tapered end curled companionably against her ankle.
Every muscle tensed, Tira tamped down the urge to scream and skitter away from the monster beside her. There had been rumors, fairy tales of otherworldly beings everywhere she’d traveled, but usually the only ones to vouch for the legends were tavern drunkards and doddering elders. She had no idea what manner of man - beast - whatever he was - currently had his tail looped over her ankle, but she had kept her head this long by avoiding anythingstrange.
Holding her breath as her heart hammered wildly, Tira eased off the pallet, moving her ankle by minute degrees until the finned tail coiled as if stretching, sloughing off her leg to the cloth below. She stared at the sleeping figure as she extricated herself, watching for the slightest twitch. Truthfully, it was also because she was fascinated by - and perhaps even attracted to - the strange, serpent-like features of him. Lightly touching her head to find the wound she remembered, a cool gel slicked between her fingertips, clear, with only the faintest pink of blood. Had she been treated?Healedby the strange man-creature? To what end?
Carefully ducking under the lip of the well’s opening, Tira looked up to find a bright moon shining through a hole in the rotted wooden well roof. With a glance over her shoulder at the still-sleeping creature, Tira narrowed her focus to search for tools to help her escape. The rope had snapped - the broken pulley rested on the ground nearby.
Ah, there!
Across the circular room, a small bundle of rope sat, neatly hanked atop a few worn crates. Grabbing the broken pulley from the ground, Tira used the well’s bottom edge to force the metal covering open, bending it into a curve that could latch onto the upper well wall. Unraveling the rope and lashing one end to her makeshift hook, she peered up the well shaft, closing her eyes when a wave of dizziness made the moonlight swim. She wasn’t in great shape, but she’d sooner take her chances with the potential dangers of a dark forest than the obvious, very present ones laying seductively across the room right now. Holding her breath again, she spun her haphazard tool in a few tight circles before letting it fly upwards, the rope gliding through her hands as she braced for the sound.
The distantclinkof metal on stone was followed by the scrape and dig of purchase, just loud enough to make Tira wince, her grip on the rope shaking slightly. When no sound came from behind her, she relaxed a fraction, tugging the rope hard a few times to test the hold and prepare to haul herself up. A gleam in the darkness caught her eye, and she inhaled sharply at the sight of a sizable mound of coins she’d missed in her earlier perusal. A trove of gold sovereigns sparkled at her, studded with a few copper and silver discs here and there. The sheer display of wealth caught in her throat as she realized what awaited her only an arms’ length away. She’d only seen a handful of gold sovereigns in her lifetime, and the pile was easily ten times that.
The ache of hunger in her belly wrestled the guilt of stealing from her apparent rescuer, so she balanced the warring emotions by only taking one shining disc. Surely the beast wouldn’t miss a single coin, a theft so small it could scarcely be called ingratitude. For Tira, though, it would mean a month of room and board at the inn, and new clothes besides, all of which would give her time to redefine her solo life.
Tucking the coin inside her bodice, Tira gave the sleeping pallet one last regretful glance and a silent apology for her theft. Technically, the well’s guardian had the riches of a noble, but wasn’t: taking from him broke the loose code she’d embraced as a thief. Frowning, rope in hand and feet braced, she started the difficult climb up the well shaft, resolutely ignoring the throbbing protest of her aching head and guilty heart.
By the time Tira had crested the well, her vision swam, her feet unsteady beneath her. Falling to all fours in front of a nearby bush, she gave a few weak, dry heaves of nausea as she clutched the gel-slick lump on her head. Gods, she was in no shape for this, and still had hours to go before she’d be back at the Inn. To say nothing of the tangled, shadowed mass of the forest around her, unfamiliar and threatening. The narrow path that led to the clearing was easy to see, at least. Hopefully some of the trampled leaves and broken twigs she’d left in her wake could guide her back to the inn.
Pressing a palm to the ground to rise, subtle, rhythmic vibration thudded under her fingers, so slight she’d nearly missed it. Had the beast woken? Hopefully, whatever creature she’d left behind in the well struggled to see in the dark. Giving her head a sharp shake to clear it and immediately regretting the gesture as pain bloomed, she grabbed her rucksack and took off down the path as fast as she was able to.
A few minutes later,some sort of nocturnal bird nearly frightened Tira to death, rustling and flapping in the underbrush. Clutching a hand to her chest, she stumbled backwards with a relieved laugh, watching the dark shape take flight against the full moon. Turning back to the path with a little more spring in her step, she yelped in shock as a massive black horse seemed to slip out of the shadows directly in front of her, giving a gusty snort.
“Wondered where you got off ta, girl. Kent seen you light off after Old Barnaby filled yer head with nonsense, nary a lantern in hand. So tell us then, ye findthe well?”The man above her on horseback leered as he snapped the question off, eyes roaming hungrily over her chest. She recognized the rough accent as belonging to one of the brigands from the inn.
Suddenly Tira became deeply aware of the two men staring her down like a wounded doe in the dark. What hints the moonlight offered of their features revealed rough, unkind attributes ready to do her harm. The man on horseback slid from the saddle, thesnikof a flip-knife cutting through the chilly quiet.
“Believe Sam asked you a question, girl. Rude not to answer ‘im.” The deeper voice of the one Sam had called Kent growled from the horse’s far flank, stepping around the impressive beast and lightly swinging something from one hand into the opposite palm.
She could flee. By the time Sam realized and remounted, there was a chance she could lose them both in the underbrush. As she frantically weighed her options, Tira realized with a sinking feeling she’d let Kent get too close. In her current state, there was no way she could outpace the men. The forest was dense on both sides, with thick undergrowth barring every way but straight back to the clearing - and the beast. She wasdoomed. This was precisely why she always traveled and did jobs in a trio - Brenna or Ardin probably would have spotted these pricks an hour ago and already found a way around them.
Kent reached for her rucksack, moving to tear it off her shoulder. She threw both hands up, cringing as she imagined the cudgel slamming into her already-aching head. “Wait! Wait, don’t hurt me. Ididfind the well. I’ll take you straight to it, Gods’ honor.”
The two men shared a long look, apparently unprepared for her response. After an uncomfortably long silence punctuated by dramatic facial gestures at one another, Sam cleared his throat with irritation. “Let’s go. If it’s there, maybe we won’t leave your body here for the wolves to feed on.”
Kent sneered his agreement, ripping her rucksack away and rifling through it casually as he shoved her back down the path. He made an excited noise of discovery as he found Ardin’s flip-knife, passing it to Sam with a dark grin. Tira gritted her teeth as her only weapon ended up in the hands of her adversaries, taking some small comfort she’d at least tucked the coin in her bodice.
Her muddled plan took on a sense of urgency as she led them to the clearing. In addition to the persistent headache, she now had to deal with the occasional sharp point between her shoulder blades, a reminder that Sam had a knife trained on her. Trying to make a plan on the fly was much more difficult on her own, let alone with a head wound, and she wished Ardin - or even Brenna - were here to help.
