The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 06-11

While no female is allowed to marry in Derven until they have killed a brush tiger either by themselves or in a group, many say that it satisfies the desire for excitement and recklessness and that after the hunt, a young girl is able to see reason and choose her partner sensibly.

While Jackson builds up a fire, Gregory does his best to clean a pheasant he shot with his bow. He knows how to field dress it and he slices it down the belly, removing all of the entrails. After the easy part is done, he has a hard time trying to figure out what to do next. He decides to chop off its head and then starts plucking its feathers, throwing them carelessly everywhere.

Namora gets up and walks over to him. He shifts nervously when she stands in front of him, unsure if he is supposed to take a knee in her presence or if he is just supposed to bow. Gregory resorts to just standing there, waiting for her to initiate conversation.

"Would you like help?" She ignores his confusion, not bothered at all. She can tell that the stubbornness of Derven is stronger in him than most; even though he doesn't know what to do, he definitely doesn't want to ask for help and especially not from the Princess.

"Tamera usually does this..." he says quietly while he continues to pull feathers out of the bird.

Namora holds out her hand to him, waiting for the pheasant. He looks at her clean, soft hand, no doubt thinking that putting a dead animal against her skin would be like rubbing horse dung into the carpets of the castle. It takes a few moments for him to come to terms with her request and reluctantly he hands over the pheasant.

She quickly puts her small hands into the opening on its belly, sliding her fingers between the meat and the bird's skin, pulling it away from its body. Within a few minutes, she has the whole skin, feathers and all, removed from the bird. After inspecting her work for flaws, she hands it back to the Officer.

"The only way to make sure you get all of the feathers off of the bird is to dunk it in scalding water first. Even though you can get out all of the big ones, without the hot water there will still be hundreds of tiny ones that don't pull out very well. Since we aren't in a position to do so, the next best thing is to skin it before roasting," when his odd look makes her shift uncomfortably, she busies herself by looking for something to clean her hands with, "Since pheasants are so fatty, it shouldn't dry out too much..." She uses a water canteen to wash them before rubbing her hands dry with the fabric from hem of her skirt.

He continues to look at her odd, trying to suppress his surprise at her knowledge "I wouldn't have thought the Princess has skinned a pheasant before..."

Franklin wanders back into camp and dumps an armful of wood next to the fire by Jackson. He stands straight, rubbing the small of his back and chuckles at Gregory, "Princess Namora cannot only skin a pheasant, she can kill one too. In fact, she might be able to skin you before you realize what is happening. The Princess is the Head Huntress, after all. That isn't a title that the women of Derven give up freely to anyone—it is a title that has to be earned the hard way."

Gregory looks at Franklin, his surprise now showing in the open, "No, I didn't know that. The women in my life don't openly talk about what happens in the Festival..." he looks back at Namora.

She smiles back at him, "Of course they don't. If they did, you would know we only hunt at night. That leaves all day long to talk about politics, fighting, men...love... By the way, congratulations on your engagement, Officer. Tamera will make you a good wife." She winks at him, smiling at the stunned look on his face before taking a seat on the ground next to the laughing Franklin. His voice warms her more than the fire, offering familiarity and comfort despite the odd situation. Never, under normal circumstances, would she be sitting on the ground, alone in the woods with three men. She imagines that maybe her and Franklin are married, traveling to Geofen to negotiate the price of fish. Even if he were King, his normal up bringing would no doubt encourage some informal chatter like this.

Over supper and around the campfire, Gregory and Jackson begin to warm up to Namora. Without her crown or the oppression of duty weighing her down, they find her easy to be around. Each of them begins to act like a man should around an attractive woman, trying to impress her with a story of their cunning intelligence or how they avoided a fight, both trying to out to the other. She listens earnestly, reacting with shock or laughter or fear when it is called for, pretending that she is just a normal woman. But it is Namora who manages to impress them with a few tales of the Huntress Festival and how she was finally elected Head Huntress five seasons back.

They eat, laugh and talk into the late stages of night. When the moon is high and Namora is finally so tired she can barely keep her eyes open, Franklin forces her to part their company and return to the carriage. She doesn't want to, however; she wants to lay by the fire where the heat warms her cold heart. She wants to lie next to Franklin, wondering what it would be like to be held by a man who could possibly see her as a companion instead of a possession. But as soon as she stands, the coldness of the night creeps through her skin and deep into her heart, shutting down all of its irrational wants. She drags herself back to the carriage and bidding her friends a quiet 'good night' she shuts the door behind her, knocking her heart down again. The dainty smells of flowers and herbs that accompany almost all royal things is soon over took by the hearty scent of roasting pheasant and burning cedar that emanates from her hunting dress.

She lays back on one of the cushioned benches, not only physically tired but mentally and emotionally tired from the constant fight she has with herself. She rubs her eyes and almost scratches herself with her engagement ring. Looking at it in disgust, Namora wraps her fingers around her hunting knife so that she can't see the band any more. She wishes that she could live a few more simple nights of roasted meat and campfires and hopes despite the impossibility of it all, that the burwood tree blocking the road never gets removed. 

CHAPTER 11: CAPTURE

Namora sits up so suddenly the blood rushes to her head. Still half asleep she feels confused about where she is or how long she has been out. Her heart pounds in her chest, unsure about what woke her up so quickly. Smelling the campfire on her clothes she remembers that she is in the carriage, in the forest just off of the public road. She sits very still, straining to hear the silence outside. Though her pounding heart rocks her body, she forces herself to discount her worry when she hears nothing more. Just as she is about to lay back and try to fall asleep again a loud shout, some ways off, reaches her ears.

Despite her better judgment to remain inside, she hastily pushes open the carriage door with her free hand, the other still wrapped tightly over her knife. She steps out into the cool night. Franklin's shirtless body glows in the dying firelight, Jackson just behind him. Both stand tensely, hands wrapped around the hilts of drawn swords. Namora comes up behind the Captain, her fingertips touching his bare skin; he is warm despite the crisp air. She whispers softly, worried, "Where is Officer Gregory?"

He looks at her when she touches him; a faint longing in his eyes. "He went into the woods to keep watch over the camp," he says after he moves closer to her. She isn't sure if he does it so she can hear him better or out of a desire to be nearer.

Namora's eyes wander off into the dark night, straining to see any sign of Gregory; the three of them stand still, listening keenly for another sign of trouble. Just as the Captain relaxes a little and lowers his sword, an unmistakable, blood curdling scream pierces through the trees. The hair rises on the back of her neck; she knows it is the last sound that Officer Gregory will make. Their horses scatter in a panic, breaking easily out of the rope corral when the desperate howls of dogs ring out. Namora hears the shouting of unfamiliar voices begin to draw near them.

Franklin steps in front of her, raising his sword. He harshly whispers an order over his shoulder to Jackson, "Take her!"

Jackson doesn't need to hear any more. Without apology, he roughly grabs Namora's wrist and begins to run, dragging the Princess behind him. The awkwardness of it takes her several steps to retain her balance. She isn't used to anyone touching her roughly, let alone holding so tightly to her wrist. While she is capable of running in a dress and of running at night she has never done both at the same time; the combination of all three makes it difficult for her to keep up with Jackson. Behind her, she can hear metal screeching against metal. Two voices respond to the Captain's angry shouts; he is outnumbered. Namora feels sick, thinking that she won't ever see Franklin again. She wishes for his death to be quick.

Even though they got a head start and are running fast, the dogs close in on them. Namora stumbles over an unseen branch and falls to the ground; because of his tight grasp on her wrist, she drags Jackson down with her. There isn't time to get up before the first dog reaches them. It leaps viciously towards Namora and latches onto her left calf, near her knee. She screams in pain through her clenched teeth and wrenches her hand free of Jackson to pull the sheath off of her knife. With one swift swing she slices the throat of the mutt. Jackson gets to his feet quickly. He slides his hands under Namora's arms and pulls her up to a standing position; she growls with pain as he flings her left arm over his shoulder. Even though she is not heavy, she is shorter than him; as best as he can, he hunches over, trying to support her weight while continuing towards the road. He forces her to move fast.

Namora grabs onto a tree to stop him. She lets go of his shoulder and shoves him away from her, "I can't, it hurts too much." The pain from the wound on her leg feels different from a normal bite. Every movement of her body sends searing heat burning through her blood.

Jackson looks at her bleeding leg even though he cannot see it in the darkness. Quickly assessing the situation he moves in front of her, holding his sword tight with both hands, he stands ready to kill the oncoming pack of dogs.

"No," Namora grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him towards her. She shoves him hard towards the road, motioning with her free hand, "You must run without me!"

He gives her a dumbfounded look, "I will not leave you, Princess."

Namora makes her face stern. She draws up all of the authority she can manage in spite of the pain and speaks down to him, despite the way she hates doing so, "Officer Jackson that is a direct order. You will leave me behind. You must reach my father and tell him what has happened or he will never know. Tell him that if he doesn't hear word of me by sunset tomorrow, I am in trouble and will need assistance," she lets her voice soften a little, "I will be fine. Take this," she pulls a chain off of her neck with a whistle on it, "when you reach the road, blow this three times. Greystar will come and you must go back to the castle at once."

Jackson lowers his sword just a little. He doesn't want to leave her alone in the woods, even though he knows she can defend herself. The thought of being the last one to see her alive terrifies him into disobedience, "No!"

She grits her teeth. Letting the anger that always boils inside of her rise up and out of her mouth, she growls at him, "It is an order! Now go!"

Against his better judgment, he reluctantly takes the whistle. She has to shove him again in order to get him running but before long, she is alone in the darkness. Processing the steps carefully to draw her attention away from her leg, she presses her back against a large tree so that the dogs cannot surprise her from behind. She has to lift the hem of her skirt a little to get a wide stance. Namora closes her eyes, letting the sounds of the oncoming dogs echo in her ears while she breathes slow and deep. When she knows they are close, she grips the familiar handle of her hunting knife tight and opens her eyes. They run up quickly but stop. The pack forms a circle around her, as if they are waiting for something.

Her eyes scan each carefully; above their snarls and growls, Namora can no longer hear Captain Franklin's shouting. She feels a pang of regret for all of the things she should have told him and all of the things she might have done differently to prevent his death. Though her heart pounds rapidly, her breathing is steady and even. The adrenaline pulses unfamiliarly through her body-never before has she been the prey. Even though she feels no fear of her death, she feels fear of the consequences that it might bring up on her people. As she waits for one of the dogs to attack, a million thoughts of things she wanted to do yet in her life come into her mind. For the first time, she is thankful that she doesn't know the love for another because she doesn't think she could bear the pain her death would cause him.

Hearing something she does not, the dogs relax a little. Seeing some lay down and some sit only causes her nerves to set in. All eyes remain on her. As she begins to wonder what has calmed them down, her breathing starts to increase. The pain in her leg over takes the adrenaline that has begun to fade from her body. Through the movement of leaves nearby, Namora finally sees why they have calmed down and her heart begins to pound faster, the pain subsiding again as her body prepares for attack. A large, brute of a man comes strolling up. In the dim light of the stars she can't make out much of his features but his sword is casually rested on his shoulder. She slips the knife carefully into her right boot. When he sets eyes on Namora, he lets out a rude whistle.

"My my, what do we have here, puppies?" The bear sheathes his sword making the mistake of not seeing Namora as a threat. When he comes closer, she can see that the man is clad in well made, well worn leather amour and he is adorned with many battle scars. He reaches to the back of his belt, unclasping a crudely made pair of shackles. "Come here, darling," he calls to Namora, walking without fear right up to her.

Though she doesn't give it to him willingly, Namora lets him grab her left hand and clasp one of the shackles to her wrist. As soon as it is locked on, without hesitation or even thinking, she pulls the shackles from his grasp and swiftly kicks him in the groin, almost falling when she puts the weight on her left leg.

He instantly doubles over in surprise, groaning with discomfort. She seizes the opportunity and quickly wraps the chain around his neck twice. Once she is behind him, she uses her left hand to hold the open end of the chain and pulls the dagger out with her right. Bracing her knee against his ass, she roughly pulls him backwards into a standing position and slams the dagger through the side of his leather armor. She twists it until it pierces his skin; she only stops pushing it further in when he cries out in pain. The moment he tries to struggle, she twists the knife in his side until he quits.

"If you try to fight me, I will thrust this dagger into your rib cage and you will die from a punctured lung," her voice is full of the venom that her anger brought with it. She hears a threatening growl come from the man's mouth but cuts him off before he has a chance to speak, "You will slowly walk me back to my camp or I will kill you now and be done with it."

Reluctantly, the man moves forward. He has a difficult time walking because Namora doesn't let up the tension on the chain. She uses it to take the weight off of her injured leg. The burning pain jolts through her body, almost causing her to lose her vision. The only thing that keeps her conscious is the fury that rages inside of her, coupled with the Derven stubbornness to complete the task she set out to do. She can feel her heart beat pulse blood out of her wound and down her leg. Her right hand begins to grow numb due to the amount of pressure she keeps on her captive but she doesn't give in. It seems like it takes an eternity to return to her camp but she thinks it is due to the fact that she ran away and is now hobbling back in pain.

When they finally reach the almost snuffed out campfire, Namora takes care to ensure that her body is completely hidden behind the man. She can still see around him if she leans carefully to the left. Her eyes quickly fall on Franklin. He is on his knees and arms chained behind his back. His face is almost unrecognizable as he has been badly beaten and one of his eyes has swollen shut. Another man, somewhat smaller than her pursuer but dressed similarly, stands with a sword positioned at the back of Franklin's neck, ready to sever his spine.

"Well, Dell, did you find what the dogs went after?" his smaller companion asks.

When Dell doesn't respond, Namora twists the dagger in his side, pushing it in just a hair to let him know she means business. He lets out a scream of pain.

"On your knees!" she orders him. She leans on her right leg so that she won't topple over when his support is gone. When his elbow hits her knife hand, he groans in pain. He puts his arm up and rests his hand on the back of his head before he makes it all the way down.

Finally seeing Namora once Dell kneels, the other guard tenses and grabs Franklin by the hair. Franklin's good eye lands on her and she knows he is angry that she didn't follow his wishes.

She lifts her chin up, sizing up Dell's companion. Her voice comes out threatening, "You will let my guard go or I will kill this one you call Dell."

He sneers smugly at her, leaning down to look at Franklin at the edge of his sword. He looks back up at her and says with a cool voice, "I don't think that you are in a position to bargain, darling. We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way."

Namora twists her knife. Dell's scream makes the other man jump. "Is that so?" she responds, "Now, while I don't know Dell personally, I can imagine that if I don't kill him he will most likely kill you for gambling with his life. As you have already deprived me of one escort," she surprises herself with how nonchalantly she can talk about Gregory's death, "I demand that you release my remaining guard and let us continue on our way. Due to your obvious ignorance, we will gladly forget your attack on my caravan."

The man looks from Dell, to her, seeming to weigh his options. His smug smile never leaves his face; she gets the fleeting idea that he is stalling. "Fine," he says finally. He kicks Franklin square between the shoulders, pushing forward so that he falls face down on to the ground. Franklin's head hits with a crack; she knows that he is out cold. "I see that you want to do this the hard way," the man taunts as he starts towards her.

Namora, calculating her odds, believes that she can easily take down the man after she kills Dell. Of the two, Dell would have been the most difficult to take head on but since she had the element of surprise on him earlier, she now has the upper hand. Her body tenses, giving the other man a fraction of a second to change his mind. When he continues to move towards her, she leans to the right to put force behind the dagger and plunge it into Dell's ribs. Before she has a chance, she feels a cold, metal object on her throat. It instantly reminds her of the still cold, foreign ring on her finger and her rage begins to boil once more.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," an unfamiliar voice whispers almost softly in her ear. Her mind frantically wonders why she never thought to consider a third man into the equation-probably due to the severe amount of pain in her throbbing leg. Rough, unknown fingers enclose her hand. Even though she wants to pull away from both of the men, not liking their close proximity to her, she keeps her arm tense, dagger firmly planted in Dell's ribs. But even on a good day, in the same situation she wouldn't be able to break free from the new man's death hold. His firm grip tightens on her hand and he pulls it and the dagger away from Dell's ribs.