Odd Jill, Run, pt 2

[LibraryOgre]

A few years ago, I got started on this story, another of Odd Jill. I finished it up sometime last year, but I let it sit a bit; I'll let it sit some more before I get it set and posted elsewhere.



Legs aching, lungs burning, Jill hurtled through the darkened forest, her mind filled with a single word.
Run.
Behind her, she could hear the sharp breaths of her pursuer, and imagined she could see the gleam of teeth, and smell the lupine stink of the beast. But she dared not look back; she couldn’t afford to miss a tree root or branch that may trip her.
Run.
Ahead, a break in the trees. She didn’t know if that would be good or bad; would the open ground let her escape, or would it let the creature overtake her? She scrambled as she overbalanced for a moment, palms stinging where they slapped the soil, willing her arms to help her go faster for the moment her hands had purchase.
Run.
Driven by that command pounding through her veins, Jill missed the cause of the break in the trees; she took three steps into open air, her momentum carrying her away from the bank, before she fell into the river with an echoing slap. Already exhausted, she barely had the energy to flounder to her back so she wouldn’t drown, before pain and darkness took her.
***

Jill awoke as the sun began to rise, to what seemed to be millions of tickles to her leg. Soaked through, her back cold, she took stock. The way her chest ached, she suspected it would be a massive bruise from her fall, but nothing felt broken. Her legs were in the water, but she felt dirt… well, mud… beneath her back. Slowly opening her eyes, her vision swam as she propped herself up to look at the damage. Arms were scratched, palms and knees scraped, pants torn to the knee, she was sure the only thing that kept her from being filthy was the fact that she felt half-drowned. Her legs were surrounded by tiny fish, nibbling on the wet scabs forming on her calves. Hating it every second, she climbed to her feet, then lurched further up the bank, to where the ground was dry, then let herself fall back down.

The sun climbed, warming her. She checked herself over for equipment; her belt-pouch of coins hung around her neck. She still had a belt; a nice one of well-sealed leather she’d gotten in Pared a year ago. Her boots were probably still back at her bedroll, but at least she had her socks and leather camp shoes… she’d started wearing those after running from bandits one night. The socks were also drenched, so she stripped them off and laid them to dry on a rock.

She looked at the river, shining brightly in the new sun. She wanted to climb to her feet, take the edge off the hunger and thirst… how was she thirsty after a night in the river? … that prodded at her, but she was tired and sore, so she let the socks dry a bit more before she groaned her way vertical. Down to the river, she waded out, chest high, letting the cool water wake her, find the places on her that she hadn’t noticed aching. A few sips of water; enough to keep her going, but trying to minimize the danger of bad water. She waded back to shore, wrang out her clothes, and put on her shoes and socks.

She reasoned that she’d floated downstream, so upstream might give her a clue to where her camp was. Without a knife, she found a strong branch and broke it off with a bit of weight and a heavy rock; a makeshift staff wasn’t her favorite weapon, but it was better than a large rock. She wished again that she’d sprung for that folding knife she’d seen in Pared when she bought her belt; she would’ve rather had even that knife in her neck-pouch than the five silvers that robber of a smith had wanted for it. As she started, she felt every scratch, scrape, and bruise on her body; scanning for fruit and nuts she could gather on the go, but didn’t have luck beyond a handful of berries.

The sun at her back, it was most of the day before she found where she’d broken through the brush, and a few minutes more to draw close to last night’s camp. She heard a rustling and clanking ahead, and stopped short, dropping into a crouch next to a tree. She crept forward, willing the intruder to not hear her.

A dirty, disheveled man… Kalamaran or Young Kingdoms, unless she missed her guess… rummaged through her gear and her stewpot. No shoes, his feet were cracked and calloused, his hair unkempt, but recently hacked shoulder length. He was scooping her beans out of her pot with her flatbread, devouring it so quickly she was surprised he kept his fingers. He did not look around, concentrating on the food, and picking through the gear from her pack, which he seemed to have upended. He found one of her favorite knives, and was about to slip it into his pouch, when she cleared her throat, holding her staff in a defensive stance. He looked up, freezing in place like a rabbit hoping to not be noticed by the stoat.

“Didn’t know this belonged to someone alive. Abandoned.” His voice was raw and rusty, like he’d not talked in days, and not to anyone else in months. He slowly put the knife down, backing away from it and the pot. “Didn’t mean to take nothing from the living.”

“Well, now you have, but I won’t make a fuss about it unless you cause a problem for me. Been hungry a time or two, and I won’t fault you for eating when you can. But get on, now; I need a few more miles before full dark.”

“Can I ask a favor of you, before you go? I know I don’t have a right, but it would be a kindness.” He nearly whined, but she nodded.

“You can ask.”

“Can you start me a fire and leave me some of the food? I’ll hold back till the sun touches, let you get packed in peace, but I could use the food and warmth for the night.”

“I can leave you what you started eating, sure, and a small fire. Got a rag that’ll do for a tablecloth” she nodded towards a flat rock “but that’s it.”

“Thank you.” With that, he walked out of the clearing she’d chosen. She listened for a moment, to be sure he was gone, but his footfalls were soft; he knew how to walk out here, to be sure. Quickly, she laid out the rag, dropped a flatbread on it, and scooped the beans on top of that. She hastily packed, and, rather than start him a fire, left a spare flint and steel by the food; neither the Bear nor the Bright Eyes would thank her for leaving an untended fire. Thinking on it, she also left some old boots; the heels had worn and the tread was thin, but it would do for a while. Blessing of the Bright Eyes wasn’t something to skimp on. Then, she started quickly on her trail; kindness was one thing, but letting a hermit find where she was spending tonight was foolishness.

After a few miles, it was growing dark, so she began to look for a spot to rest. She hated to do it, but she started to look for a tree, one with wide branches and a strong bole. When she found it, she climbed to a spot hidden from the ground, tied a rope to the branch and the other end under her arms. Cold and precarious, but between the beast from last night and the hermit from this afternoon, she hoped it would be safer. Tomorrow, she’d find something a bit more secure, and sleep a bit better. Cold food and plain water, she went to sleep.

She awoke in the dark, Veshemo throwing shadows in her bower. Reflexively, she wrapped her legs around the branch, crossing her ankles, and tried to slow her breathing and listen. Below, she heard a snuffling, some great beast searching for a scent. She hoped it was a boar or sow, seeking truffles, but put no faith in that. Quietly as she could, she untied the rope from her chest, freezing as her movement rustled the branches. The snuffle stopped, and she thought she could feel the beast, whatever it was, peer up through the branches at her. There was the soft grind of claws finding purchase in hard wood, the creak of the trunk as it took the weight of another body on it. Carefully, Jill released the grip of her legs on the branch, then sat up, and drew her legs up under her, balancing precariously; falling seemed better than being in reach of the claws she heard splitting bark. She marked its progress up the tree as seconds crawled by, watched a dark form ascend through the branches. As its head drew above her branch, she saw a muzzle, and a brief flash of long, white, canines, before she drove her heel at its maddened eyes.

It’s head turned with the blow, but catching it on the brow was like kicking a rock. In an instant, it was surging onto the branch, but Jill trusted to luck and threw herself backwards, falling several feet before folding over a branch. She wasted a second gasping for breath, then let herself slide down, holding on to the branch as she sought a place to put her feet. She found one, let go… and heard the crack as her new perch broke away from the trunk. She slammed into the ground, again, but was up in a scramble.

Run.
Tonight, she’d slept in her boots. Tonight, she’d kept a knife and a waterskin with her. But, still, tonight, she ran from the hideous beast in the darkness barely dappled with the bright light of a full moon through the trees. She heard the crash of the beast leaping to the ground, and then its growl as it started after her.
Run.
Her only hope was the river, and she hoped she hadn’t gotten so turned around that she’d lost her way there.
Run.
Her ribs screamed, from the bruising and the need to pull in enough air to fuel this flight. She felt beads of blood cool on her arms and calves, knowing that those were the scent the beast was following.
Run.
She broke free, the moonlight glinting on the river… but while the banks near last night’s camp had been woman-high, here, the river was wide and shallow, with a cabin next to the ford.

The beast stepped from the woods and howled. Tall as a man, but covered with fur, its wolf-like muzzle was filled with an impossible number of teeth. She kept her back to the river, and it stepped slowly towards her, then stepped sideways, forcing her to turn in a circle with it, first one way, then the next. It was enjoying playing with her, she knew, but was grateful for its play. It gave her a moment to rest, to plan. She drew her knife, knowing it was nothing to a wolfman, and knowing that getting wounded even once could condemn her to the curse… if she lived.

All at once, the beast rushed at her. As it swung its clawed hand at her, she dropped, grabbing its wrist and pulling, jabbing her knife into its ribs as she did. It grunted from the blow, then again from the impact as it hit a rock in the shallow water. Jill dove forward, trying to plunge her knife into its eye, but it was too quick, rolling from the rock, instead taking a slash to the shoulder… a slash which, like the wound to its ribs, was healed over before it had fully gained its feet.

I am going to lose, and I am going to die. She had long known that life on the road would end, and most likely in violence; she’d walked under Bright Eyes, but you couldn’t dance with Draper forever. It strode forward, perhaps sensing her awareness of her defeat, reveling in the fear she felt at the specter of death at her shoulder. But I will not go down without a fight.

She watched it move, watched it swing its arms and swagger towards her. Tall, long arms, get under it. Toe-walker, probably can’t kick. She riffled through her mind, trying to find possibilities, tactics, anything to bloody the beast. She’d decided that its legs were her best bet… cripple it, slow it, keep away from the teeth, and prepared to duck the leap it was gathering for, when two quick stones smashed against its face. It growled and spun towards the blows, giving Jill a chance to slash its thigh, and be satisfied by the flow of black blood in the silver moonlight. A third stone hit it, this time in the other arm, and it fled, dodging around Jill to run to the woods, keeping her between it and the stone-thrower.

The adrenaline flowed from Jill’s body and into the river. On two nights of little sleep and surging adrenaline, she let her arm be draped over a broad shoulder, and leaned into the strong arm holding her up. “I think Draper finds me funny”, she said, and then lost consciousness.

***

Jill woke slowly, aching in every particular. Feet were fine, calves and thighs were tired and maybe scratched. Hungry, not starving. Ribs were probably bruised. Just scratches on her arms. Not dead, which took her by pleasant surprise. She feigned sleep, listening to whatever warm room she was in; a low fire, the scent of cooking vegetables, the sound of someone chopping wood outside. The blanket on her was thick and scratchy on her skin, but warm; the bedding was whole fleece, laid over something softer than just leaves. She cracked her eyes open; a shutter was open, spilling light across the small room, its single beam decorated with drying herbs, iron pans, and what looked to be a meat hook for dressing game. With no one else in the room, Jill struggled herself upright.

At the foot of the bed lay a shirt folded on a stool. Not one of hers, but since it seemed to be laid out for her, she slowly put it on, noticing the aches in her shoulders. Whoever owned the shirt was huge; Jill herself was wiry, she knew, but this? This shirt was built for a mountain. She tested her feet against the floor, then carefully stood up, despite the protests of muscles sore but bed-warmed. She started to bend to massage them, but felt her ribs protest; she could better stand sore calves than her ribs. The cool stone floor brought her further awake, and she heard the sound of chopping wood stop with a final chok of an ax being stuck in a stump. Her hands itched to be holding a weapon, but she couldn’t see anything suitable, and realized that if she were going to be killed, she’d have been dead long ago. As footsteps came towards the door, she opened it, blinking at the sun and her first sight of last night’s savior.

She was Jill’s height, but nonetheless had breadth of shoulders to rival the biggest men Jill knew. “Broad” was a word that described her; broad shoulders, broad hips, broad face bearing a broad smile, with a nose that was both broad and upturned. Her skin was what Jill could only call swarthy, her hair black and short. And she was carrying easily a hundred pounds of firewood with ease.

“You’re up!” Her voice boomed, her smile widening, showing sharp teeth and small tusks. As she spoke, she stacked her armload of wood next to the door. “I’d feared you taken a claw or two, but ‘Meris said those were just scratches from the run. And, friend, you must have had a hell of a run to get here in front of Slobber. We’ve lost a few travelers to him, last few years, but none have outrun him, yet. And to fight him? I was amazed you were on your feet, much less turning to fight. I was so amazed I almost didn’t get those rocks in the air, though I bet you’re glad I did. What’s your name, anyway?”
The last caught Jill by surprise; she’d been listening to the rumble of this woman’s voice without much registering the words, but the upward lilt of the question shook her out of it.
“Jill, Odd Jill.”
“‘Odd Jill’? That’s an odd name.” The woman laughed at her own joke, a bark followed by a chuckle. “I’m Pakara, and you’ll meet ‘Meris later. She’s out with the sheep. How’re you feeling in the light of day? How’d you wind up here? ‘Meris said some of those bruises were a day or more old.”

Jill told of setting her camp two nights ago, and the mad run through the forest, the fall into the river, and the long hike back. The man who she’d found at her camp, the deal she’d made, then the terror of the night before. Paka interjected as she talked, hissing with pain as Jill told of her brief flight and hard landing on the river, grunting with approval about the tree-bed and kicking “Ol’ Slobber” in the face. Meanwhile, Paka was never still, gathering squash and beans from the garden, rinsing them in a bowl of river water, slicing them for the stew. She casually lifted a stone from the floor, fetching out a bundle, which turned out to be meat. Paka sliced that, then, and dumped it in the broth. Jill's mouth watered.

Paka tossed a dried apple to Jill. "No fresh till this fall, but I'll bet you're hungry! We'll have bread this evening." Paka started to make dough from a brown, coarse, flour, working in a piece of a starter kept by the door. The whole time, she kept up a steady stream of chatter, passing Jill bits of food whenever Jill's hands got empty. Jill learned that Paka and 'Meris (that's short for Ameris, you see) lived here, trading fleece and mutton for goods, and "keeping the ford", which seemed to be done for some baron or other.

"Sheep live in the woods and up the hill; we round 'em up for shearing, and 'Meris visits them every few days to see who needs help. Ford isn't too much work; can barely cross it in spring, 'course, but most of the summer it's just hauling out deadfalls. Winter I crack it a bit, let it smooth out on top, but not many use it then. Bailiff keeps saying he wants a spillway, but unless he gets us some big strong folk to dig it out, he's not gonna get it. MERIS!" Paka suddenly shouted, looking towards the edge of the forest, on the far side from where Jill came in. "MERIS, SHE'S UP!" She waved her arm excitedly, towards the slight woman walking down the path. As she drew close, Jill could see a smile on the delicate face, such a marked contrast from Paka's broad one. Paka scooped her up and spun her around, them both laughing; Paka a rumble of thunder, Ameris lighter, practically summer rain. After Pakara set her down, Ameris picked up her basket.

"'Meris, this is Jill. Jill, this is my 'Meris."

Jill smiled. "I understand you're the one who fixed me up."

"Wasn't much I could do last night; mostly scratches and bruises. I picked some arnica today; if you wish, I'll make a poultice, tonight, for the bruises."

"Thanks." Jill looked to the sun, well to the west. "I think I'll be one more night with you."

They ate bread and stew that night, and Ameris spread a paste of tallow and arnica on Jill's wounds, including the monstrous green and purple bruise across her chest. Jill told stories of her life on the road; of freeing gnomish slaves, of fighting an owlbeast, of joining in hunting a massive plains unicorn with the Bylenjy east of P'Bapar. Pakara pulled a fleece down from their loft, and set it on the floor for Jill. Ameris rolled into the blankets of their bed and went to sleep; Paka sat on the edge of the bed, working a piece of wood with a knife. She half-hummed, half-murmured a song as she worked, and when she noticed Jill was awake, she spoke to her, her voice low.

"Seeing to the sheep always wipes 'Meris out; she's got some magic with their ram, can talk to him a bit, give him warnings and ask him questions. He'll keep them safe from Ol' Slobber, same as he always has. But it tires her. Me, though? Don't need much sleep. Both parents were uruk-va, same as me, so I'll sleep a bit more once the moon is down, and Ol' Slobber's back to whoever he usually is. Just one more night, and Veshemo's off full, and I'll be back to sleeping nights. But you rest, Jill, and Paka'll keep an eye on things."

To the sound of hums, murmurs, and the draw of a knife against wood, Jill went to sleep.

They awoke as the sun began to rise. Jill was still stiff and sore, but porridge, honey, and dried berries for breakfast warmed her up, and Ameris brewed some tea she swore would help with the ache. She then took down her loom and hung it outside, slipping in and weaving, singing the same song that Paka had last night. Her Ameris's clear voice, Jill recognized it; a hymn to the Peaceful and the Pure, the Raiser and the Bear. She listened for a moment, then Paka put a big hand on her shoulder.

"We're not going to put you out a night, not with Ol'Slobber there, but you seem to be travelling mighty light."
"Left my pack when I ran."
"Good thought. Want to walk out, see if you can find it again?"

Jill nodded. Paka hung a knife from her belt and limbered her sling. "Might as well pick up some dinner as we walk, eh?" They walked to the woods, Ameris's voice fading as they crossed the meadow, then disappeared when they were screened by the trees.

Jill immediately felt the difference between Paka-of-the-forest versus Paka-of-the-ford. Ford Paka was loud, boisterous, a river of chatter and jokes. Forest Paka walked with few words and a gentle scan of the trees and what lay between them. At times she would pause, smelling the air, then following the scents with her eyes. At first, Jill led, but Paka picked up her trail and took the lead. As they walked, Jill saw the massive paw prints that Slobber had left. They looked less wolfish than she'd thought two nights ago, more like a man on the balls of his feet, with raggedly nails that were just not quite claws.

Seeing the tree, though, Jill did not doubt that Slobber had claws. Deep gouges showed where he had driven them into the trunk, with small patches where he'd ripped wood from the still-living tree. She climbed up and freed her pack; something had gotten into her food; beans, jerky, and dried fruit, all ruined, and the gear would need a good scrub to stop smelling like raccoon piss. But the blankets were fine, and her clothes still there, so it was good enough. Climbing down, she touched the claw marks, and marveled that she was alive.

As they walked back, Paka felled a young deer with a slung stone the size of Jill's doubled fists. Jill cleaned it, leaving the entrails, but wrapping up heart, liver, and kidneys. Paka carried it back. Fewer than ten words were spoken between them in the miles back to the ford, but it was a comfortable silence, two women enjoying the walk and the thought of food at end of their hike.

As they stepped into the meadows next to the ford, they saw that Ameris was not alone. The hermit that Jill had met two days ago was talking to her, and Jill felt Pakara tense. She tried to understand why, and when they drew closer, she saw it: Ameris was tense. Still in her loom, she had stopped weaving; her shuttle tightly gripped in her right hand. Pakara bellowed "Oi, Meris, who's the traveler?" It sounded forced, but it brought the attention of the pair to Paka and Jill. Meris slipped out of her loom and seemed to skip to Paka; Jill saw it was a run. Ameris drew close and threw her arms around Paka, whispering.

"He hasn't done anything, but I've got a weird feeling from him. Been here an hour or so, and wouldn't stop talking."
"I'll see him off. Come on."

Jill went off to the side and knelt, pulling things from her pack and spreading them on the ground. One was her fighting knife, laid next to the pack. Paka walked up to him, and took his hand in a bone-crushing grip, but with a smile on her face. "Good to meet you. Did Ameris get the Baron's coin off you?"
He winced. "The Baron's Coin?"
"The Baron's Coin; just a bit to use the ford. His armsmen will be around to collect the tolls tomorrow."
"Ahhh... I hadn't used the ford, just come up to it."
"Fair enough, fair enough. You fill your waterskins before you go?"
"I was hoping I could ask some food of you; been a while since I ate well."
"We've got a loaf set aside for travelers; yes. I'm guessing you don't have anything to pay with?"
"No, ma'am."
"You're lucky the year's been good to us; you can take it, and we'll make up another."
Ameris went into the house and brought out a wrapped package. Jill noted she'd switched out the yarn shears on her belt for a cooking knife. The man took the package, and bobbed his head in thanks. "I'll be moving on, then. Thank you for the meal." Ameris went back inside; Jill kept working at her pack. Pakara watched him walk off, then followed Ameris. Jill gave them their space, took her time washing the gear, then setting out to skin the doe, then chop some wood into kindling, choosing not to listen to the cabin. Ameris and Paka came out as the sun went down; Ameris went to wash her face, and Paka thanked Jill for finishing with the deer and took the meat inside. Ameris, face clean and not at all looking like it had been crying, told Jill, "It's too late to leave tonight. Stay with us one more night, at least."

Jill smiled. "I'd love to. Besides, I think I'm entitled to a little of that deer." She gestured with her bloodied arms and knife. Ameris laughed with her. "I'll be in once I've washed up."
After dinner, they sat for a while; Ameris and Pakara spun a clean fleece on drop spindles, and Jill volunteered to card a fleece; hard work, but not complicated. The room was stuffy; the shutters, normally open to the night, were barred shut. The work was quiet, though each would sometimes take up a few verses of a song. None of them looked ready to sleep soon; they all knew it was still Ol' Slobber's night.
Three hours after dark, they heard him.

It started with a howl. Drawn out, mournful, it seemed to last for several minutes, and was answered from the forest around. Those secondary voices were lesser, the voices of beasts, not monsters, for which Jill was grateful; Ol' Slobber by himself would be enough. Ameris gave each of them a pouch, putting hers around her neck. "Monkshood and mistletoe; it is supposed to protect you from a bite." Jill put hers on, next to her money pouch. They sat tensely, listening to the howls, coming ever closer. The voices of the wolves faded with distance; they had no desire to be near this beast, either. Paka, full of nervous energy, rattled the shutters against their bar, checked the door, picked up her maul from beside the door, then put it down, pacing in the small space. Then the howls stopped. He was no longer talking, he was hunting.

More minutes passed. There was the scuff of a paw outside, and then the rattle of the door being checked. Then the window shook as something smashed into the shutters. The three watched the windows shudder, then begin to splinter. Pakara spoke, a harsh whisper.
"If he comes through that window, there's no room to fight in here. I'm going out." Ameris barely got out a "no" before Pakara flipped the heavy bar aside and rushed out, a long knife in her hand. She got six steps from the door before Ol' Slobber tackled her. Jill charged in behind, slamming her shoulder into his side. It knocked him off Pakara, but not off balance; he flung Jill to the ground, while Pakara scrambled to her feet. The half-orc leapt on his back, wrapping a thick forearm around his neck, her other hand pushing his head forward. He choked, bending forward, and Jill moved in to stab him while he was helpless.

He slammed his head back with a choked roar; Pakara's nose crunched, and her shoulders bled from where his claws tried to dig in, but her grip only tightened. Jill again rushed to stab his belly, his groin, hoping to make him bleed and weaken, but he curled up, put his feet on her chest, and pushed off as if he were leaping. She careened backwards, stumbling and falling, only barely managing to turn a sprawl into a long scrape of her arm against gravel. She took a second, then got to her feet. Pakara was up, in a knife-fighter's crouch, and trying to circle Ol' Slobber, to get between him and the house. Ameris stood outside, a shepherd's crook held like a spear in front of her. Slobber feinted at Paka, then burst towards the house, and Ameris.
Jill ripped a stone from the ground and flung it at his head, hitting him next to the eye, but it barely caused a stumble; crashing into Ameris's staff did more, and she pushed him to slam into the house, the scrambled away. Paka grabbed him by the waist and threw; he bounced as he landed, then slid a few feet before Jill leaped on top of him.

She brought her knife down again and again, most wounds closing almost as soon as she withdrew the knife. Slobber grabbed her knife arm, and tried to snap at her face. She jerked back, and he caught the amulet Ameris had given her, instead, yelping in pain as he bit down on the pouch of mistletoe and monkshood. Without thinking, Jill shoved the pouch further into his mouth, his teeth scraping her arm as she struggled to force him to swallow it. He scratched at her with his free arm, but Ameris jumped on it, as Pakara came forward with her maul... a massive stone on the end of a long haft. She swung that boulder into the arm holding Jill's knife-hand, crushing his elbow, and he swallowed the pouch forced down his throat as he howled in pain. Jill snatched her hand free, and Paka slammed the maul into his thigh. The howls of pain became piteous, but Paka did not relent; when Jill moved away, Paka brought he weight down up his chest, his chest, and then his head. He ceased howling, and, with the sound of more cracking and tearing of flesh, he shrunk to the hermit who Jill had met, who'd frightened Ameris. Standinig there, Jill's only thought was "I am never getting those boots back, huh?"


After the battle, they washed in the river, carefully cleaning the cuts on Paka and Jill. By Veshemo's light, Ameris made a paste of the mistletoe that was supposed to ward off the curse. She said the monkshood was better, but more dangerous; she didn't want to save them by killing them. She chanted prayers as she cleaned their wounds; to Feyd, the Shimmering One, and the Lord of Silver Linings. Cleansed, sore, and medicated, they hauled wood for a pyre, and burned Ol' Slobber's body, before dragging themselves to their fleeces. None of them knew his name, but they commended him to Shimmering One, nonetheless. He could not help what he had become.

They did not wake early the next morning. The pyre was down, so they put more wood on the smoldering bones and stoked it higher. Jill sat at the cabin and tended the fire; Ameris spoke to the sheep, and Paka dragged more wood to the clearing; the pyre had eaten much of their store. Jill helped to cut and stack wood until Ameris came back, and then the three of them rested, sitting near the reduced remains of the pyre, and enjoying a night without the fear of claws and fangs.

Jill would stay another month; Ameris insisted, and Jill knew they watched each other for signs of the curse. None came. They built up their stores, repaired their belongings, and made new ones. A month became two, then three. Ameris finished a new shirt for Jill; Jill and Paka dug the start of a spillway, and a small embankment to half-surround the house. But spring slid into fall, as it always does, and the small cabin was not built for three, nor was Jill built to live in a cabin. One morning, with many tears from all three, she shouldered her pack and started south.

[Bartmanhomer]

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A few years ago, I got started on this story, another of Odd Jill. I finished it up sometime last year, but I let it sit a bit; I'll let it sit some more before I get it set and posted elsewhere.



Legs aching, lungs burning, Jill hurtled through the darkened forest, her mind filled with a single word.
Run.
Behind her, she could hear the sharp breaths of her pursuer, and imagined she could see the gleam of teeth, and smell the lupine stink of the beast. But she dared not look back; she couldn’t afford to miss a tree root or branch that may trip her.
Run.
Ahead, a break in the trees. She didn’t know if that would be good or bad; would the open ground let her escape, or would it let the creature overtake her? She scrambled as she overbalanced for a moment, palms stinging where they slapped the soil, willing her arms to help her go faster for the moment her hands had purchase.
Run.
Driven by that command pounding through her veins, Jill missed the cause of the break in the trees; she took three steps into open air, her momentum carrying her away from the bank, before she fell into the river with an echoing slap. Already exhausted, she barely had the energy to flounder to her back so she wouldn’t drown, before pain and darkness took her.
***

Jill awoke as the sun began to rise, to what seemed to be millions of tickles to her leg. Soaked through, her back cold, she took stock. The way her chest ached, she suspected it would be a massive bruise from her fall, but nothing felt broken. Her legs were in the water, but she felt dirt… well, mud… beneath her back. Slowly opening her eyes, her vision swam as she propped herself up to look at the damage. Arms were scratched, palms and knees scraped, pants torn to the knee, she was sure the only thing that kept her from being filthy was the fact that she felt half-drowned. Her legs were surrounded by tiny fish, nibbling on the wet scabs forming on her calves. Hating it every second, she climbed to her feet, then lurched further up the bank, to where the ground was dry, then let herself fall back down.

The sun climbed, warming her. She checked herself over for equipment; her belt-pouch of coins hung around her neck. She still had a belt; a nice one of well-sealed leather she’d gotten in Pared a year ago. Her boots were probably still back at her bedroll, but at least she had her socks and leather camp shoes… she’d started wearing those after running from bandits one night. The socks were also drenched, so she stripped them off and laid them to dry on a rock.

She looked at the river, shining brightly in the new sun. She wanted to climb to her feet, take the edge off the hunger and thirst… how was she thirsty after a night in the river? … that prodded at her, but she was tired and sore, so she let the socks dry a bit more before she groaned her way vertical. Down to the river, she waded out, chest high, letting the cool water wake her, find the places on her that she hadn’t noticed aching. A few sips of water; enough to keep her going, but trying to minimize the danger of bad water. She waded back to shore, wrang out her clothes, and put on her shoes and socks.

She reasoned that she’d floated downstream, so upstream might give her a clue to where her camp was. Without a knife, she found a strong branch and broke it off with a bit of weight and a heavy rock; a makeshift staff wasn’t her favorite weapon, but it was better than a large rock. She wished again that she’d sprung for that folding knife she’d seen in Pared when she bought her belt; she would’ve rather had even that knife in her neck-pouch than the five silvers that robber of a smith had wanted for it. As she started, she felt every scratch, scrape, and bruise on her body; scanning for fruit and nuts she could gather on the go, but didn’t have luck beyond a handful of berries.

The sun at her back, it was most of the day before she found where she’d broken through the brush, and a few minutes more to draw close to last night’s camp. She heard a rustling and clanking ahead, and stopped short, dropping into a crouch next to a tree. She crept forward, willing the intruder to not hear her.

A dirty, disheveled man… Kalamaran or Young Kingdoms, unless she missed her guess… rummaged through her gear and her stewpot. No shoes, his feet were cracked and calloused, his hair unkempt, but recently hacked shoulder length. He was scooping her beans out of her pot with her flatbread, devouring it so quickly she was surprised he kept his fingers. He did not look around, concentrating on the food, and picking through the gear from her pack, which he seemed to have upended. He found one of her favorite knives, and was about to slip it into his pouch, when she cleared her throat, holding her staff in a defensive stance. He looked up, freezing in place like a rabbit hoping to not be noticed by the stoat.

“Didn’t know this belonged to someone alive. Abandoned.” His voice was raw and rusty, like he’d not talked in days, and not to anyone else in months. He slowly put the knife down, backing away from it and the pot. “Didn’t mean to take nothing from the living.”

“Well, now you have, but I won’t make a fuss about it unless you cause a problem for me. Been hungry a time or two, and I won’t fault you for eating when you can. But get on, now; I need a few more miles before full dark.”

“Can I ask a favor of you, before you go? I know I don’t have a right, but it would be a kindness.” He nearly whined, but she nodded.

“You can ask.”

“Can you start me a fire and leave me some of the food? I’ll hold back till the sun touches, let you get packed in peace, but I could use the food and warmth for the night.”

“I can leave you what you started eating, sure, and a small fire. Got a rag that’ll do for a tablecloth” she nodded towards a flat rock “but that’s it.”

“Thank you.” With that, he walked out of the clearing she’d chosen. She listened for a moment, to be sure he was gone, but his footfalls were soft; he knew how to walk out here, to be sure. Quickly, she laid out the rag, dropped a flatbread on it, and scooped the beans on top of that. She hastily packed, and, rather than start him a fire, left a spare flint and steel by the food; neither the Bear nor the Bright Eyes would thank her for leaving an untended fire. Thinking on it, she also left some old boots; the heels had worn and the tread was thin, but it would do for a while. Blessing of the Bright Eyes wasn’t something to skimp on. Then, she started quickly on her trail; kindness was one thing, but letting a hermit find where she was spending tonight was foolishness.

After a few miles, it was growing dark, so she began to look for a spot to rest. She hated to do it, but she started to look for a tree, one with wide branches and a strong bole. When she found it, she climbed to a spot hidden from the ground, tied a rope to the branch and the other end under her arms. Cold and precarious, but between the beast from last night and the hermit from this afternoon, she hoped it would be safer. Tomorrow, she’d find something a bit more secure, and sleep a bit better. Cold food and plain water, she went to sleep.

She awoke in the dark, Veshemo throwing shadows in her bower. Reflexively, she wrapped her legs around the branch, crossing her ankles, and tried to slow her breathing and listen. Below, she heard a snuffling, some great beast searching for a scent. She hoped it was a boar or sow, seeking truffles, but put no faith in that. Quietly as she could, she untied the rope from her chest, freezing as her movement rustled the branches. The snuffle stopped, and she thought she could feel the beast, whatever it was, peer up through the branches at her. There was the soft grind of claws finding purchase in hard wood, the creak of the trunk as it took the weight of another body on it. Carefully, Jill released the grip of her legs on the branch, then sat up, and drew her legs up under her, balancing precariously; falling seemed better than being in reach of the claws she heard splitting bark. She marked its progress up the tree as seconds crawled by, watched a dark form ascend through the branches. As its head drew above her branch, she saw a muzzle, and a brief flash of long, white, canines, before she drove her heel at its maddened eyes.

It’s head turned with the blow, but catching it on the brow was like kicking a rock. In an instant, it was surging onto the branch, but Jill trusted to luck and threw herself backwards, falling several feet before folding over a branch. She wasted a second gasping for breath, then let herself slide down, holding on to the branch as she sought a place to put her feet. She found one, let go… and heard the crack as her new perch broke away from the trunk. She slammed into the ground, again, but was up in a scramble.

Run.
Tonight, she’d slept in her boots. Tonight, she’d kept a knife and a waterskin with her. But, still, tonight, she ran from the hideous beast in the darkness barely dappled with the bright light of a full moon through the trees. She heard the crash of the beast leaping to the ground, and then its growl as it started after her.
Run.
Her only hope was the river, and she hoped she hadn’t gotten so turned around that she’d lost her way there.
Run.
Her ribs screamed, from the bruising and the need to pull in enough air to fuel this flight. She felt beads of blood cool on her arms and calves, knowing that those were the scent the beast was following.
Run.
She broke free, the moonlight glinting on the river… but while the banks near last night’s camp had been woman-high, here, the river was wide and shallow, with a cabin next to the ford.

The beast stepped from the woods and howled. Tall as a man, but covered with fur, its wolf-like muzzle was filled with an impossible number of teeth. She kept her back to the river, and it stepped slowly towards her, then stepped sideways, forcing her to turn in a circle with it, first one way, then the next. It was enjoying playing with her, she knew, but was grateful for its play. It gave her a moment to rest, to plan. She drew her knife, knowing it was nothing to a wolfman, and knowing that getting wounded even once could condemn her to the curse… if she lived.

All at once, the beast rushed at her. As it swung its clawed hand at her, she dropped, grabbing its wrist and pulling, jabbing her knife into its ribs as she did. It grunted from the blow, then again from the impact as it hit a rock in the shallow water. Jill dove forward, trying to plunge her knife into its eye, but it was too quick, rolling from the rock, instead taking a slash to the shoulder… a slash which, like the wound to its ribs, was healed over before it had fully gained its feet.

I am going to lose, and I am going to die. She had long known that life on the road would end, and most likely in violence; she’d walked under Bright Eyes, but you couldn’t dance with Draper forever. It strode forward, perhaps sensing her awareness of her defeat, reveling in the fear she felt at the specter of death at her shoulder. But I will not go down without a fight.

She watched it move, watched it swing its arms and swagger towards her. Tall, long arms, get under it. Toe-walker, probably can’t kick. She riffled through her mind, trying to find possibilities, tactics, anything to bloody the beast. She’d decided that its legs were her best bet… cripple it, slow it, keep away from the teeth, and prepared to duck the leap it was gathering for, when two quick stones smashed against its face. It growled and spun towards the blows, giving Jill a chance to slash its thigh, and be satisfied by the flow of black blood in the silver moonlight. A third stone hit it, this time in the other arm, and it fled, dodging around Jill to run to the woods, keeping her between it and the stone-thrower.

The adrenaline flowed from Jill’s body and into the river. On two nights of little sleep and surging adrenaline, she let her arm be draped over a broad shoulder, and leaned into the strong arm holding her up. “I think Draper finds me funny”, she said, and then lost consciousness.

***

Jill woke slowly, aching in every particular. Feet were fine, calves and thighs were tired and maybe scratched. Hungry, not starving. Ribs were probably bruised. Just scratches on her arms. Not dead, which took her by pleasant surprise. She feigned sleep, listening to whatever warm room she was in; a low fire, the scent of cooking vegetables, the sound of someone chopping wood outside. The blanket on her was thick and scratchy on her skin, but warm; the bedding was whole fleece, laid over something softer than just leaves. She cracked her eyes open; a shutter was open, spilling light across the small room, its single beam decorated with drying herbs, iron pans, and what looked to be a meat hook for dressing game. With no one else in the room, Jill struggled herself upright.

At the foot of the bed lay a shirt folded on a stool. Not one of hers, but since it seemed to be laid out for her, she slowly put it on, noticing the aches in her shoulders. Whoever owned the shirt was huge; Jill herself was wiry, she knew, but this? This shirt was built for a mountain. She tested her feet against the floor, then carefully stood up, despite the protests of muscles sore but bed-warmed. She started to bend to massage them, but felt her ribs protest; she could better stand sore calves than her ribs. The cool stone floor brought her further awake, and she heard the sound of chopping wood stop with a final chok of an ax being stuck in a stump. Her hands itched to be holding a weapon, but she couldn’t see anything suitable, and realized that if she were going to be killed, she’d have been dead long ago. As footsteps came towards the door, she opened it, blinking at the sun and her first sight of last night’s savior.

She was Jill’s height, but nonetheless had breadth of shoulders to rival the biggest men Jill knew. “Broad” was a word that described her; broad shoulders, broad hips, broad face bearing a broad smile, with a nose that was both broad and upturned. Her skin was what Jill could only call swarthy, her hair black and short. And she was carrying easily a hundred pounds of firewood with ease.

“You’re up!” Her voice boomed, her smile widening, showing sharp teeth and small tusks. As she spoke, she stacked her armload of wood next to the door. “I’d feared you taken a claw or two, but ‘Meris said those were just scratches from the run. And, friend, you must have had a hell of a run to get here in front of Slobber. We’ve lost a few travelers to him, last few years, but none have outrun him, yet. And to fight him? I was amazed you were on your feet, much less turning to fight. I was so amazed I almost didn’t get those rocks in the air, though I bet you’re glad I did. What’s your name, anyway?”
The last caught Jill by surprise; she’d been listening to the rumble of this woman’s voice without much registering the words, but the upward lilt of the question shook her out of it.
“Jill, Odd Jill.”
“‘Odd Jill’? That’s an odd name.” The woman laughed at her own joke, a bark followed by a chuckle. “I’m Pakara, and you’ll meet ‘Meris later. She’s out with the sheep. How’re you feeling in the light of day? How’d you wind up here? ‘Meris said some of those bruises were a day or more old.”

Jill told of setting her camp two nights ago, and the mad run through the forest, the fall into the river, and the long hike back. The man who she’d found at her camp, the deal she’d made, then the terror of the night before. Paka interjected as she talked, hissing with pain as Jill told of her brief flight and hard landing on the river, grunting with approval about the tree-bed and kicking “Ol’ Slobber” in the face. Meanwhile, Paka was never still, gathering squash and beans from the garden, rinsing them in a bowl of river water, slicing them for the stew. She casually lifted a stone from the floor, fetching out a bundle, which turned out to be meat. Paka sliced that, then, and dumped it in the broth. Jill's mouth watered.

Paka tossed a dried apple to Jill. "No fresh till this fall, but I'll bet you're hungry! We'll have bread this evening." Paka started to make dough from a brown, coarse, flour, working in a piece of a starter kept by the door. The whole time, she kept up a steady stream of chatter, passing Jill bits of food whenever Jill's hands got empty. Jill learned that Paka and 'Meris (that's short for Ameris, you see) lived here, trading fleece and mutton for goods, and "keeping the ford", which seemed to be done for some baron or other.

"Sheep live in the woods and up the hill; we round 'em up for shearing, and 'Meris visits them every few days to see who needs help. Ford isn't too much work; can barely cross it in spring, 'course, but most of the summer it's just hauling out deadfalls. Winter I crack it a bit, let it smooth out on top, but not many use it then. Bailiff keeps saying he wants a spillway, but unless he gets us some big strong folk to dig it out, he's not gonna get it. MERIS!" Paka suddenly shouted, looking towards the edge of the forest, on the far side from where Jill came in. "MERIS, SHE'S UP!" She waved her arm excitedly, towards the slight woman walking down the path. As she drew close, Jill could see a smile on the delicate face, such a marked contrast from Paka's broad one. Paka scooped her up and spun her around, them both laughing; Paka a rumble of thunder, Ameris lighter, practically summer rain. After Pakara set her down, Ameris picked up her basket.

"'Meris, this is Jill. Jill, this is my 'Meris."

Jill smiled. "I understand you're the one who fixed me up."

"Wasn't much I could do last night; mostly scratches and bruises. I picked some arnica today; if you wish, I'll make a poultice, tonight, for the bruises."

"Thanks." Jill looked to the sun, well to the west. "I think I'll be one more night with you."

They ate bread and stew that night, and Ameris spread a paste of tallow and arnica on Jill's wounds, including the monstrous green and purple bruise across her chest. Jill told stories of her life on the road; of freeing gnomish slaves, of fighting an owlbeast, of joining in hunting a massive plains unicorn with the Bylenjy east of P'Bapar. Pakara pulled a fleece down from their loft, and set it on the floor for Jill. Ameris rolled into the blankets of their bed and went to sleep; Paka sat on the edge of the bed, working a piece of wood with a knife. She half-hummed, half-murmured a song as she worked, and when she noticed Jill was awake, she spoke to her, her voice low.

"Seeing to the sheep always wipes 'Meris out; she's got some magic with their ram, can talk to him a bit, give him warnings and ask him questions. He'll keep them safe from Ol' Slobber, same as he always has. But it tires her. Me, though? Don't need much sleep. Both parents were uruk-va, same as me, so I'll sleep a bit more once the moon is down, and Ol' Slobber's back to whoever he usually is. Just one more night, and Veshemo's off full, and I'll be back to sleeping nights. But you rest, Jill, and Paka'll keep an eye on things."

To the sound of hums, murmurs, and the draw of a knife against wood, Jill went to sleep.

They awoke as the sun began to rise. Jill was still stiff and sore, but porridge, honey, and dried berries for breakfast warmed her up, and Ameris brewed some tea she swore would help with the ache. She then took down her loom and hung it outside, slipping in and weaving, singing the same song that Paka had last night. Her Ameris's clear voice, Jill recognized it; a hymn to the Peaceful and the Pure, the Raiser and the Bear. She listened for a moment, then Paka put a big hand on her shoulder.

"We're not going to put you out a night, not with Ol'Slobber there, but you seem to be travelling mighty light."
"Left my pack when I ran."
"Good thought. Want to walk out, see if you can find it again?"

Jill nodded. Paka hung a knife from her belt and limbered her sling. "Might as well pick up some dinner as we walk, eh?" They walked to the woods, Ameris's voice fading as they crossed the meadow, then disappeared when they were screened by the trees.

Jill immediately felt the difference between Paka-of-the-forest versus Paka-of-the-ford. Ford Paka was loud, boisterous, a river of chatter and jokes. Forest Paka walked with few words and a gentle scan of the trees and what lay between them. At times she would pause, smelling the air, then following the scents with her eyes. At first, Jill led, but Paka picked up her trail and took the lead. As they walked, Jill saw the massive paw prints that Slobber had left. They looked less wolfish than she'd thought two nights ago, more like a man on the balls of his feet, with raggedly nails that were just not quite claws.

Seeing the tree, though, Jill did not doubt that Slobber had claws. Deep gouges showed where he had driven them into the trunk, with small patches where he'd ripped wood from the still-living tree. She climbed up and freed her pack; something had gotten into her food; beans, jerky, and dried fruit, all ruined, and the gear would need a good scrub to stop smelling like raccoon piss. But the blankets were fine, and her clothes still there, so it was good enough. Climbing down, she touched the claw marks, and marveled that she was alive.

As they walked back, Paka felled a young deer with a slung stone the size of Jill's doubled fists. Jill cleaned it, leaving the entrails, but wrapping up heart, liver, and kidneys. Paka carried it back. Fewer than ten words were spoken between them in the miles back to the ford, but it was a comfortable silence, two women enjoying the walk and the thought of food at end of their hike.

As they stepped into the meadows next to the ford, they saw that Ameris was not alone. The hermit that Jill had met two days ago was talking to her, and Jill felt Pakara tense. She tried to understand why, and when they drew closer, she saw it: Ameris was tense. Still in her loom, she had stopped weaving; her shuttle tightly gripped in her right hand. Pakara bellowed "Oi, Meris, who's the traveler?" It sounded forced, but it brought the attention of the pair to Paka and Jill. Meris slipped out of her loom and seemed to skip to Paka; Jill saw it was a run. Ameris drew close and threw her arms around Paka, whispering.

"He hasn't done anything, but I've got a weird feeling from him. Been here an hour or so, and wouldn't stop talking."
"I'll see him off. Come on."

Jill went off to the side and knelt, pulling things from her pack and spreading them on the ground. One was her fighting knife, laid next to the pack. Paka walked up to him, and took his hand in a bone-crushing grip, but with a smile on her face. "Good to meet you. Did Ameris get the Baron's coin off you?"
He winced. "The Baron's Coin?"
"The Baron's Coin; just a bit to use the ford. His armsmen will be around to collect the tolls tomorrow."
"Ahhh... I hadn't used the ford, just come up to it."
"Fair enough, fair enough. You fill your waterskins before you go?"
"I was hoping I could ask some food of you; been a while since I ate well."
"We've got a loaf set aside for travelers; yes. I'm guessing you don't have anything to pay with?"
"No, ma'am."
"You're lucky the year's been good to us; you can take it, and we'll make up another."
Ameris went into the house and brought out a wrapped package. Jill noted she'd switched out the yarn shears on her belt for a cooking knife. The man took the package, and bobbed his head in thanks. "I'll be moving on, then. Thank you for the meal." Ameris went back inside; Jill kept working at her pack. Pakara watched him walk off, then followed Ameris. Jill gave them their space, took her time washing the gear, then setting out to skin the doe, then chop some wood into kindling, choosing not to listen to the cabin. Ameris and Paka came out as the sun went down; Ameris went to wash her face, and Paka thanked Jill for finishing with the deer and took the meat inside. Ameris, face clean and not at all looking like it had been crying, told Jill, "It's too late to leave tonight. Stay with us one more night, at least."

Jill smiled. "I'd love to. Besides, I think I'm entitled to a little of that deer." She gestured with her bloodied arms and knife. Ameris laughed with her. "I'll be in once I've washed up."
After dinner, they sat for a while; Ameris and Pakara spun a clean fleece on drop spindles, and Jill volunteered to card a fleece; hard work, but not complicated. The room was stuffy; the shutters, normally open to the night, were barred shut. The work was quiet, though each would sometimes take up a few verses of a song. None of them looked ready to sleep soon; they all knew it was still Ol' Slobber's night.
Three hours after dark, they heard him.

It started with a howl. Drawn out, mournful, it seemed to last for several minutes, and was answered from the forest around. Those secondary voices were lesser, the voices of beasts, not monsters, for which Jill was grateful; Ol' Slobber by himself would be enough. Ameris gave each of them a pouch, putting hers around her neck. "Monkshood and mistletoe; it is supposed to protect you from a bite." Jill put hers on, next to her money pouch. They sat tensely, listening to the howls, coming ever closer. The voices of the wolves faded with distance; they had no desire to be near this beast, either. Paka, full of nervous energy, rattled the shutters against their bar, checked the door, picked up her maul from beside the door, then put it down, pacing in the small space. Then the howls stopped. He was no longer talking, he was hunting.

More minutes passed. There was the scuff of a paw outside, and then the rattle of the door being checked. Then the window shook as something smashed into the shutters. The three watched the windows shudder, then begin to splinter. Pakara spoke, a harsh whisper.
"If he comes through that window, there's no room to fight in here. I'm going out." Ameris barely got out a "no" before Pakara flipped the heavy bar aside and rushed out, a long knife in her hand. She got six steps from the door before Ol' Slobber tackled her. Jill charged in behind, slamming her shoulder into his side. It knocked him off Pakara, but not off balance; he flung Jill to the ground, while Pakara scrambled to her feet. The half-orc leapt on his back, wrapping a thick forearm around his neck, her other hand pushing his head forward. He choked, bending forward, and Jill moved in to stab him while he was helpless.

He slammed his head back with a choked roar; Pakara's nose crunched, and her shoulders bled from where his claws tried to dig in, but her grip only tightened. Jill again rushed to stab his belly, his groin, hoping to make him bleed and weaken, but he curled up, put his feet on her chest, and pushed off as if he were leaping. She careened backwards, stumbling and falling, only barely managing to turn a sprawl into a long scrape of her arm against gravel. She took a second, then got to her feet. Pakara was up, in a knife-fighter's crouch, and trying to circle Ol' Slobber, to get between him and the house. Ameris stood outside, a shepherd's crook held like a spear in front of her. Slobber feinted at Paka, then burst towards the house, and Ameris.
Jill ripped a stone from the ground and flung it at his head, hitting him next to the eye, but it barely caused a stumble; crashing into Ameris's staff did more, and she pushed him to slam into the house, the scrambled away. Paka grabbed him by the waist and threw; he bounced as he landed, then slid a few feet before Jill leaped on top of him.

She brought her knife down again and again, most wounds closing almost as soon as she withdrew the knife. Slobber grabbed her knife arm, and tried to snap at her face. She jerked back, and he caught the amulet Ameris had given her, instead, yelping in pain as he bit down on the pouch of mistletoe and monkshood. Without thinking, Jill shoved the pouch further into his mouth, his teeth scraping her arm as she struggled to force him to swallow it. He scratched at her with his free arm, but Ameris jumped on it, as Pakara came forward with her maul... a massive stone on the end of a long haft. She swung that boulder into the arm holding Jill's knife-hand, crushing his elbow, and he swallowed the pouch forced down his throat as he howled in pain. Jill snatched her hand free, and Paka slammed the maul into his thigh. The howls of pain became piteous, but Paka did not relent; when Jill moved away, Paka brought he weight down up his chest, his chest, and then his head. He ceased howling, and, with the sound of more cracking and tearing of flesh, he shrunk to the hermit who Jill had met, who'd frightened Ameris. Standinig there, Jill's only thought was "I am never getting those boots back, huh?"


After the battle, they washed in the river, carefully cleaning the cuts on Paka and Jill. By Veshemo's light, Ameris made a paste of the mistletoe that was supposed to ward off the curse. She said the monkshood was better, but more dangerous; she didn't want to save them by killing them. She chanted prayers as she cleaned their wounds; to Feyd, the Shimmering One, and the Lord of Silver Linings. Cleansed, sore, and medicated, they hauled wood for a pyre, and burned Ol' Slobber's body, before dragging themselves to their fleeces. None of them knew his name, but they commended him to Shimmering One, nonetheless. He could not help what he had become.

They did not wake early the next morning. The pyre was down, so they put more wood on the smoldering bones and stoked it higher. Jill sat at the cabin and tended the fire; Ameris spoke to the sheep, and Paka dragged more wood to the clearing; the pyre had eaten much of their store. Jill helped to cut and stack wood until Ameris came back, and then the three of them rested, sitting near the reduced remains of the pyre, and enjoying a night without the fear of claws and fangs.

Jill would stay another month; Ameris insisted, and Jill knew they watched each other for signs of the curse. None came. They built up their stores, repaired their belongings, and made new ones. A month became two, then three. Ameris finished a new shirt for Jill; Jill and Paka dug the start of a spillway, and a small embankment to half-surround the house. But spring slid into fall, as it always does, and the small cabin was not built for three, nor was Jill built to live in a cabin. One morning, with many tears from all three, she shouldered her pack and started south.

Great story. Very intense as well.