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Eventually, I give Larzad an order. “Lead the group through to the trees on the other side. I’ll bring up the rear.”
The human is somehow blending into the trees, and she’s doing an excellent job of it. But I’m a decorated hunter in my clan, and there is no prey that can hide from me for long. I have skill and I have patience, and between the two, I will capture this prize.
* * *
OAKLYN
I’m awakened by the sound of whispered voices. They’re quiet enough that they wouldn’t wake most people, but I’m a light sleeper with extra sensitive hearing.
I slowly slide out of my sleeping bag and press my ear to the tent, my heart racing. There’s no way to unzip the tent silently, so I’m trapped. I’m parked in the middle of the clearing; there’s no way whoever is out there could miss me. Maybe they’ll just leave me alone, but it’s the middle of the night, so whoever these people are, they aren’t your average hikers.
Sweat beads along my brow as I breathe as silently as I can, listening carefully. I only hear one voice, distinctly male, and it sounds like it’s giving directions, though I don’t recognize the language.
My stomach sinks when I hear another male voice respond.
Well, shit. I’m sure they’ve seen me, so there’s no point in being quiet now. I unzip the tent with lightning speed and fling myself out of it.
A voice calls out, in a raspy guttural language I don’t understand. Another voice replies; they’re all around me, surrounding the clearing.
My heartbeat ratchets up another notch as I step on a twig. It snaps, impossibly loud, and the men surrounding me suddenly go quiet.
In a panic, I wrap my arms around the nearest tree and send a prayer to my ancestors.
They were dryads, and while I don’t have much of their magic, maybe I can blend into this tree well enough that these men won’t see me. In the old myths, this was one way to escape dangerous men; maybe it still is.
Please, please let me become one with this tree.
From my perspective outside the tent, I can at least get a better idea of what’s happening and how many of them there are. It’s dark, but I see at least four men searching the clearing, though they aren’t carrying flashlights.
Searching in the dark seems pointless, but then again, they don’t seem to be having any more issues seeing than I am. My hearing and eyesight are dryad blessings, which leaves me wondering: who—or what—are these men?
As I watch, a large shape pokes its head into my tent and then backs out a moment later. It says something, presumably that I’m not in the tent.
The first voice, the deepest one, responds. The owner of the voice is clearly in charge, and even though I can’t understand what’s being said, I think I get the gist.
I’m being hunted.
I close my eyes and steady my breathing, willing my pulse to slow down. I feel the change as it comes over me, slow and prickly. This might save my life, but it’s not especially comfortable. My skin tightens as it turns to bark, and I feel the tug on my scalp as my hair becomes leaves.
My face freezes in place, my features becoming knots in the wood. My breath and heartbeat slow even more, until they are imperceptible. I’m completely immobilized, part of this tree. I’ll stay like this as long as I have to.
The men, who are huge, hulking shapes in the dark, search thoroughly, but of course they don’t find me. Finally, the leader calls off the search and they move out of the clearing, disappearing into the woods.
I wait several minutes, ears pricked for the smallest sound: a snapping twig, a crunched leaf. When there’s nothing, I slowly let go of the magic enfolding me, regaining my human shape.
With a sigh, I step away from the tree and make my way back to the tent. I’m almost to the entrance when a massive, heavy hand slaps across my mouth and an arm as thick as an oak trunk bands across my torso.
“Gotcha,” whispers a hot voice in my ear.
Bradoc
Bringinga captive with me into enemy territory was not part of the plan, but when the forest offers up a gift, one takes it. The human woman was simply there for the plucking, and I’m certain she can be of use to us in one way or another. As a bride, perhaps, or simply an extra pair of hands around the village. Or, if she proves too troublesome, we can store her with the rest of the captive game until the seasonal slaughter.
Trolls don’t often eat humans these days, but when the pickings are slim, we aren’t choosy. Better to eat what we can than to starve in the lean, cold months.
Capturing this particular human was almost…fun. She proved cunning and elusive, disappearing into the trees and evading all of my men. It was only by staying behind, silent and watchful, that I was able to locate her hiding place and catch her by surprise. I bind her hands behind her back and tie a gag around her mouth to keep her quiet.
“Mmmrph!” she splutters as I carry her deeper into the forest, where my men wait. Whatever she is saying is muffled by the gag, but I don’t particularly care to hear her protests at the moment.
