Days passed, in which
Taren, Wheatweeve, Casey, and I all roamed further and further from Intisa. The
August air was dry, and bitingly hot. We ripped the sleeves of our garments in
order to keep from cooking inside our clothes. Casey grew increasingly bad
tempered, grumbling that it was too hot, that we ought to try to head to
another settlement, and that we were getting nowhere. I told him, equally
angry, that we had no clue how to get to any of the other settlements, and to
stop being such a whiner. Before I could lose my temper and punch every inch of
his body black and blue, Taren did.
“YOU COMPLETE *Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!
WE ARE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE, THANKS TO SILAS, AND YOU STAND HERE
COMPLAINING ABOUT THE WHEATHER?!? YOU
HAVE BEEN OF ABSOLUTELY NO HELP
WHATSOEVER! JERK!!! BLGAHGOIVWJFYUUIHUHFUCKIGYIGYIHGHOIHV…”
*Reader- Note that I
have made some words unintelligible. This is because I don’t want to print
these foul (and often unintelligible) terms.
At this point,
Taren’s screams became completely incoherent, and she began punching every
single inch of Casey’s body. To my surprise, I found myself subduing her. “We have to stick together,” I whispered
to her as I dragged her away from Casey, who was now bleeding at both the lip
and the nose, “I know Casey’s an annoying
little shit, but he’s
part of our group.”
Taren nodded, still
glaring ferociously at Casey. I was also surprised to find that this
altercation didn’t make me happy that Taren didn’t like Casey anymore. The
latter was sitting on the dry grass, bleeding and sniffling. I once again shocked myself by sitting down
beside him.
“Look Casey,” I said,
putting my arm uncertainly on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, “I know that we
don’t seem to be getting anywhere. But, look at us! We’re still alive! And
we’ve been out here for days! That’s certainly a feat that few have
accomplished!”
My words seemed to
cheer Casey, for he stopped crying and gave me a watery smile. I was just in
the act of returning the grin when Wheatweeve exclaimed, “Silas!”
I leapt up, grabbing
my sword as I went. I turned around to find that Wheatweeve and Taren were
standing, swords drawn, looking in fear at a group of twelve very grubby, very
dangerous looking men that had surrounded our camp. Bandits. These were people who had been exiled for murder, torture,
and other brutal crimes. I knew this because they had D, a tattoo given to dangerous criminals, tattooed on their biceps
and because they were carrying some very nasty looking knives and swords.
“Well, well, well,”
said the bandit furthest to the right. I took him to be the leader. “What have
we here? Poor, lost, little children by the looks of it. Ah, and I see that you
have some nasty swords. Nasty little children, then.”
The man was garbed in
a dark brown coat that reached his calves. He wore several rings on his
spider-like fingers, and had stubble that covered much of his chin and cheeks.
His hair was long and blonde, but dirty. And his cold, grey eyes sparkled with
cruel amusement. This man is going to
kill us, I thought, and nothing we do
is going to change that.
“So children,” the
man said, chuckling, “May I ask who the leader of this bold group of adventurers
is?”
My companions all
looked at me, so I said, as bravely as I could muster, “I am. And may I ask who
you are?”
At this point, the
entire group of bandits roared with laughter. “Kid,” said the leader, “You are
asking who I am? You’re in no
position to-NO!”
For Casey had roared
angrily at their laughter and swung his sword. It slashed cleanly through the
skin of one of the bandits’ stomachs. He crumpled to the ground, moaning as a
dark stain appeared on his dirty, green shirt. We didn’t wait for his group’s
reaction. We bolted through the opening Casey had created. I grabbed Casey’s
shirt and dragged him with me, because he was staring in horror at what he had
done. Wheatweeve and Taren had grabbed the packs, but they had to carry two
each, and they were slowing down. I sped up, Casey now running along with me,
and grabbed a pack from Wheatweeve. Casey snatched a pack from Taren, and we
sped up as a group. The bandits were hot in pursuit, and they were gaining. The
packs were still slowing us down.
“DROP THE PACKS!” I
screamed to my companions.
“ARE YOU CRAZY? THESE
HAVE ALL OUR FOOD IN THEM!!!” Wheatweeve yelled back.
“WE’LL BE PLANT
FOOD IF WE DON’T, WHEATWEEVE!” Taren told my sister, tossing her pack behind
her. It hit the bandit in the front, and he toppled backwards.
Wheatweeve chucked
her bag behind her as well, grinning as she heard a satisfying “AAARGH!” from
behind us.
Then there was
nothing. No ground beneath us. In our haste to escape the bandits, we had run
off a cliff. Genius, I thought
sarcastically to myself, pure god damn
genius. Then, we slammed into the densely packed foliage of the top of the
Greenblade forest.
You see, in less than
three weeks, we traveled a little under 100 miles. That is slow! We must have
been walking less than a ¼ mile every day! What were we, turtles? Of course, it
wasn’t like we were trying to go anywhere. Our main plan involved staying
alive.
Right. Back to the
story I’m supposed to be telling, in which we had just slammed into the
Greenblade forest.
I fell through
several branches, bruising myself up a bit on my way down, but landing fairly
gently on the ground, which was preferable to the alternative of being
splattered all the way up a tree.
I looked around. It
seemed like all of my friends were okay, so I dared to turn my eyes to the top
of the cliff. All of the bandits, except for their leader, were looking at the
place where we had fallen. The leader was looking right into my eyes and,
even-though there were trees obscuring me from his view. I could swear he saw
me. Apparently, he had, because he mouthed, I’m
going to kill you plain as day.
Talk