Kveta cowered underneath the branch as the beast stalked overhead. It was as alike a dragon as she had ever seen, like those in the books at the library in Ristor, scaly and fork tongued. Though it walked with a limp, its body was the size of carriage, and its teeth jutted out as long as swords. She clutched her rifle tight to herself, shaking.
And then, a snap near to her. A flash of steel and the beast roared, staggering as it turned to face the new aggressor. Kveta caught only glimpses of the huntress, her armor black and red, her sword nearly as tall as she was. The huntress flashed the blade as though to dazzle the beast and then held it up at shoulder’s height.
Howling, the beast charged, swinging its forelimbs, alternating with each step.
The huntress stood her ground until she leapt up. Kveta could see little else than a spray of the beast’s sour green blood, coloring the air as the huntress landed on the neck. Though the beast’s head had been cleaved in two, from nose to skull, the huntress planted her sword just under the base of the beast’s skull, and twisted her blade.
The beast fell, nothing else controlling it than gravity, and Kveta broke cover to stay clear of the carcass as it tumbled onto the tree she’d been hiding under. She scrambled, dropping to her hands and knees, dragging her rifle through the dirt and mud with her until she could try to get back to her feet, only to find the huntress was now standing before her, holding her sword before her, the end piercing the dirt in front of her boots. There was the noble sharpness of a Kotenese in the woman’s features, but softer eyes.
“Th-Thank you,” Kveta said.
“Are you the survivor then?” The huntress asked. She was tall, too, a head taller than Kveta at least, and there were zamarkite deposits along her jaw. Her eyes had a peculiar red color as well.
Yes, Kveta thought. She is Kotenese. The accent is unmistakable. “A survivor,” Kveta said, to correct the Kotenese huntress. “I was with others...”
“I assumed so,” the huntress said. “But they are not with you now.” She said it softly, almost sympathetically. “Come with me, and help me defeat the Greyfang of Obsidia, and I will help you find your way back home.”
I need to get back to Risto, she thought. It’s not far. “I only need to make a few dozen kilometers to the west...”
The huntress shrugged, and began walking away.
Kveta stayed put for a second, hugging her rifle. She glanced at the barrel, saw that it was mercifully clear of mud, and hurried after the huntress. As soon as she’d caught up, Kveta asked, “What’s your name?”
“Mira Walks-With-Me,” she said. “I am sure you are thinking that I am a barbarian, now?”
Kveta shook her head, resolutely adding, “No, you are a warrior. Uh, brave.”
“And you are a Kelvish girl,” Mira said. “Have you even used that weapon before? Is it even loaded?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” Mira said, softer. “Well, I hope you are prepared to use it again.” She rested her sword on her shoulder. “We will be doing a fair share of fighting before this is over.”
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