Fallon POV, Part 3

Happy Friday! As promised, here is the final POV from Fallon's perspective. I hope you enjoy and it provides you a short break from the stress of the current situation.

Fallon POV Part 3

If you haven't read them already, click below or visit the free section of tawhiteauthor.com where I've posted other shorts and deleted scenes from the various series.

Part One
Part Two

Fallon POV

There's just over a week until Wayfarer's Keep, book three in the Broken Lands series, goes live. As a treat and to whet your appetite for Fallon and Shea, I thought I'd post a very short piece I wrote. The scene would take place in Pathfinder's Way and is told from Fallon's point of view about the first time he meets Shea.

One caveat - this has not been through the usual editing process so there will probably be errors galore. 

Enjoy!


Every warrior knew death could come in an instant, a split second where the odds turned against you and ended your time on this world. It was the one thing that bound all clans living in this fucked up land. It was an inescapable fact of life—eventually the cold embrace of death came for them all.

Some let it define them. They lived so carefully, never daring to step outside their narrow boundaries for fear it might consume them. Others ran to embrace it, dancing along its knife edge with wild abandon in the hopes it would make the time they had left taste all the sweeter.

Fallon had never particularly ascribed to either mind set. He treated death like the respected and canny adversary it was. One day it would defeat him, but until then he would fight with everything that was in him to resist its call.

He just hadn’t thought it would come for him so soon—especially not when he was on the cusp of achieving all he’d worked for. But that was death for you. It made a mockery of your plans even as you desperately tried to rally.

“Move it,” the guard said, jabbing Fallon hard in the back.

“Watch it,” Wilhelm hissed. Fallon’s friend and Anateri looked two seconds from throwing himself at their guards and exacting bloody retribution for the past few days.

Fallon was tempted to let him.

Their guards were the typical sort you found in a village like this. Brave when in a group; cowards when on their own or in the face of a predator greater than themselves.

A tall man, the guard was no stranger to hard work. A farmer, most likely, given the callouses on his hands. A man who probably spent his entire life toiling in the dirt, trying to tear enough from it to feed his family.

He must have been thrilled for the chance to play at war. He’d been one of several tasked with guarding Wilhelm and Fallon during their involuntary week long stay.

Fallon’s hands were scarred and calloused too, but his came from a life spent with blade in hand. They were formed over countless days spent training and during numerous battles where victory was decided by the thinnest of margins.

He didn’t play at death. For him, it was an old companion that was constantly at his side.

Fallon gritted his teeth and tamped down on his desire to rend and maim as the guard shoved him again.  It went against the grain not to retaliate, but every good hunter knew that sometimes patience was the only way to achieve your end goal.

He shook his head at Wilhelm. Much as nothing would please him more than popping this man’s head like a zit, it wasn’t time yet. Wilhelm might succeed in taking down the two idiots before them, but there were five more standing just outside this hovel, ready and waiting for an excuse to beat them.

Fallon didn’t want any avoidable injuries to hinder them when it came time for escape.

“What are you going to do? Huh?” The man’s lip curled as he glanced at his friend to make sure he was watching.

Fallon snorted, letting him see the derision in his face as he looked the man over. He sure talked big now that he had his friends backing him up. He hadn’t been so confident during their last confrontation. Then he’d looked like a scared little boy about to piss his pants.

The guard correctly interpreted that look for what it was, his eyes widening and rage turning his face bright red. He balled his hand into a fist and struck.

He was slow and telegraphed his move. It would have been easy to dodge. It was so very tempting to do just that, then show him the right way to punch, preferably in such a way that he’d be wearing the lesson into the next world.

Instead, Fallon remained still, letting the blow glance off him. It was just as weak as he suspected.

The man panted. “You’d better watch yourself, boy.”

Fallon wiped the speck of blood from his split lip. He examined the small amount and laughed. It really was too pitiful to even be considered a proper punch.

The man puffed up and stepped toward him. His friend brought him up short. “Enough of that now. We can’t go roughing them up right before the big event. The elders think their deaths will keep other outsiders away.”

The words seemed to get through and the first man relaxed, giving Fallon and Wilhelm a nasty smile. “Good point. I’ll be sure I’m the one holding the blade when it comes time to end your miserable lives. I’m told they didn’t bother sharpening it. I wonder how many whacks it’ll take before we succeed in separating your head from your shoulder.”

Fallon didn’t react to the threat, just stared at the man with a remote expression.

Not getting the reaction he’d hoped for, the guard spit at the ground and stalked out, his friend right behind him.

“Have to say, never thought something like this would be my end,” Wilhelm said tiredly as he leaned his head back against the wall of their cell.

It wasn’t really a cell, just a dirt room in one of the building off the village’s main square.

Fallon ignored the slight sense of claustrophobia he felt being in the small space. He didn’t understand how these people could spend their entire lives behind four walls. No windows or anything to let in the light. They were too afraid of what was outside their flimsy walls. They might as well have dug a hole in the ground and then closed it up behind them. It was nothing like the airy tents of his people.

“We’re not dead yet,” Fallon said.

Though if they didn’t act soon, that would become a very real possibility.

Who would have thought the great warlord, the man who’d united the Trateri clans under one banner, would be brought low by two youths of no more than fifteen? A boy visiting a girl he liked while she looked over the herds. Fallon and Wilhelm had attempted to buy a few mounts after their own had been killed during an encounter with one of the many beasts inhabiting this land. They’d barely escaped with their lives.

Perhaps that was why neither man had been suspicious when the girl had offered them a cup of warm otho to seal the deal for the mounts. Not until they woke up in this dirt room. Then it had become quite clear the otho had had something else in it, something designed to incapacitate them while the boy ran for help.

They should have just stolen the horses. Darius and Caden were never going to let him live this down if they caught wind of it.

“Time to go,” a man said from the doorway.

Fallon and Wilhelm didn’t bother arguing, filing out of the room one after another as the villagers closed ranks around them. The crowd outside jeered, already whipped into a fury. They were out for blood.

How many others had they sent to this same fate? Fallon and Wilhelm were obviously not the first. Not given the excitement in each man’s eyes.

Fallon didn’t react to the fervor, his face a blank mask. Not when they tied his hands. Not even when two other men were brought out. One had been seriously beaten, his face swollen and his eyes already turning purple as he sagged in his captor’s hold. The other man argued the entire way, pleading and begging before he tried to throw himself back into the room he’d just exited.

His captors were having none of it, dragging him outside with merciless grins. The villagers got off on the man’s panic and terror, excitement showing in their expressions.

“Have some dignity, man,” Wilhelm muttered.

Fallon agreed. Watching the other man was painful.

The other man struggled, whimpering pitifully as he fought every step of the way.

“Get up or we’ll kill you here,” one of their captors snapped. “Makes no difference to us.”

When even that didn’t work, another man squatted beside the captive and grabbed his hair, using it to force the man’s face up. “Ever seen what happens when someone’s stabbed in the belly. It takes hours for the person to die.”

The man on the ground might not have, but both Fallon and Wilhelm had. It was an agonizing way to go.

The words seemed to get through and the man climbed to his feet, tears on his face.

“Good choice,” the guard said, shoving the man out the door.

The other captive followed behind. Then it was Wilhelm and Fallon’s turn.

“Remember, our ancestors will judge how well we met death,” Fallon told Wilhelm. It was meant as both a warning and a reassurance.

They might not be able to defeat death today, but the grace with which they faced it down would matter in both this world and the next.

Wilhelm nodded. There was a grimness on his face that was familiar, one Fallon knew was reflected in his own expression. It was the look a man got when he knew his end was near.

“Watch for your moment,” Fallon said softly. The odds might be stacked against them, but you never knew when that might change.

“It’s been an honor, Warlord,” Wilhelm said.

He didn’t get to say anything else as his guard shoved him through the door. Fallon was next, walking to his execution with a straight back and his head held high as the crowd jeered and booed at their appearance.

The sounds faded as his focus locked on the four posts the villagers planned to tie them to. All the while, he watched. He waited and cataloged every detail around him. The number of people, the possible escape routes, even the condition of his fellow captives and how they might be of use.

Then he was on the platform, his hands being tied to the post.

His guard shoved his face next to Fallon’s. “Not so cocky now, are you?”

Fallon didn’t speak, simply stared at the man with an expression so cold and remote that it was like the lords of the underworld had risen up to peer out of his eyes.

The man flinched, fear momentarily flashing across his face before he recovered. He shoved Fallon’s head before walking away muttering.

Wilhelm jerked at his own bindings and snarled.

“Easy,” Fallon said. “We will have our revenge for every slight in the end.”

He meant that. There was a cold feeling in the depth of his stomach, a rage that ate away at his humanity as he watched the gathering. Men, women and children, gossiping and playing as they cheered for his blood.

He’d see every single one of them dead or enslaved before he left this world.

Fallon ignored them as he turned his body so his hands were protected from view from the rest of the square. He stepped forward and lifted the sharpened piece of rock out of his pants.

Wilhelm saw what he was doing and smiled, turning to keep watch as Fallon began to saw at the rope.

The discord in the crowd started small, almost unnoticeable at first. Fallon might have overlooked it if his senses weren’t so heightened.

A small figure threaded through the crowd. Not suspicious in and of itself, except for the fact that their hood was up.

Now, why would a villager be hiding their face while among their own people?

For a moment, Fallon thought Darius might have sent someone to check out the area when Fallon turned up late for their rendezvous. Just as quickly he discarded that notion. None of Darius’s men were that slight and the person didn’t move like a warrior. It lacked the confidence and awareness of someone who had spent his life learning to kill.

Fallon continued sawing at the rope even as he watched the figure advance on the platform. He found himself wishing the person to look up, just for a moment. He needed to see.

As if hearing his wish, the figure ducked their head lower and pulled the hood more firmly into place.

A man reached over, grabbing the hood and yanking it back, revealing a woman.

Her head lifted as a cry rose. “Outsider! She’s with them! There’s another outsider.”

She froze in place, staring around her as if startled at being unmasked. Stupid. She should run. These people were crazy. They’d kill her.

She did move then, but not away as Fallon had expected. She darted forward, her destination the platform. Fallon cursed as he sawed at his bonds. The fool woman was going to get herself killed.

Her head lifted, her eyes coming up to meet his. Fallon’s breath caught as her fierce gaze met his, a pair of hazel eyes wide in a determined face. Her mouth had a stubborn line to it.

Someone grabbed her, spinning her around. A man raised a fist at her.

Fallon jerked at his ropes. They gave, just a bit. Not enough.

A crack pierced the air. The ground shook as cries of  “stampede” rose.

The square turned into a sea of chaos as the villagers sought cover.

The woman bounded up the steps, her expression fierce as she raced across the platform, her cloak billowing as a halo of untamed curls circled her face. She looked like an avenging goddess from one of the old myths his grandmother used to tell him, come down to lay waste on her enemies.

The executioner approached her, an ax in his hand. Another crack pierced the air and red blossomed in his chest.

Fallon looked up at the buildings around them, spotting a man lying on one, a strange weapon in his hands as he aimed at the other villagers on the platform. Every sharp sound brought down anyone who approached the woman as she raced to the sniveler’s side.

“Shea!” the sniveler screamed as he struggled against his bonds.

She pulled a knife from her waist and started working on his bindings as her friend apologized over and over again.

Fallon looked over at Wilhelm, who shrugged and shook his head in confusion. He didn’t know what was going on anymore than Fallon did. The unexpected arrival of the woman and her friend had thrown both of them for a loop.

Shea finished with her friend’s bindings and pulled him free, shoving a knife in his hand and pushing him toward the wounded man. “Get Cam loose.”

Fallon expected that to be the end, for her to walk away and leave the two of them here. Only a fool would help a pair of strangers.

To his surprise, she pulled another knife and started sawing at his ropes. She was distracted, keeping an eye on their surroundings. She never noticed that the job was more than half done.

Fallon watched her through half lidded eyes, studying her carefully. This could be a trap designed to get her into his good graces. Something the clan leaders cooked up as an attempt to manipulate and control him. It was something they’d attempted before.

What better way to gain his trust than to save him from an impossible situation.

“Powerful weapon, that,” he said, testing her.

She grunted but didn’t respond otherwise as she finished freeing him and moved on to Wilhelm.

Fallon followed, not wanting to let her out of his sight. At least not until he understood what she wanted. Wilhelm looked over her head and lifted his eyebrows as if asking for orders. Fallon shook his head. For now, they’d play along. Things had just gotten interesting and he wanted to see where this led.

“Shea, come on. We have to go,” the sniveler shouted.

Shea cast a glance around even as she worked frantically to free Wilhelm, an expression on her face that Fallon read easily. He was surprised at how closely her thoughts mirrored his.

Where exactly did the sniveler think they would go? The horses still stampeded around them. If they tried leaving the platform now, they’d likely be stomped to death.

Fallon kept his amusement to himself as consternation crossed her face. She had obviously not gotten to that part of the plan. He was curious to see what she’d do now.

“Thanks,” Wilhelm said, rubbing his wrists. “We’re in your debt.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to escape this gods be damned, shit hole of a village.”

She looked around, clearly searching for a way out. Fallon held quiet as he studied her. If she was someone the clan leaders had placed in his path in hopes he’d be caught in her web, they’d chosen well. She wasn’t beautiful. The lines of her face were too strong for that, but there was something about her that demanded attention. An undefinable attribute that drew the beholder’s eye. A confidence that said she was perfectly at home in her own skin and didn’t care for the thoughts or opinions of others.

Some of the most beautiful women in these lands had graced his bed and failed to hold his attention the way this woman now did.

Fallon was fascinated in spite of himself. He didn’t have time for a woman and all the distraction she might bring. He was preparing to conquer these lands, a woman would just get in the way of that.

Still, he found himself unable to look away as every thought the woman had ran across her face. Frustration, unease, sarcasm. He had to wonder what thought spawned that last emotion.

Wilhelm nudged him then nodded at something in the distance.

Fallon couldn’t help his snort. This was the most slapped together plan he’d ever seen, but damned if it wasn’t working.

He leaned forward and tapped the woman on the shoulder, pointing. “Is he with you?”

She squinted at where he pointed.

Relief shone from her face. She grinned and clapped Fallon on the shoulder, not seeing the flash of humor on Wilhelm’s face at seeing his warlord treated as one of her men, or the startled consternation on Fallon’s.

“Prepare to jump,” she called, moving to the edge of the platform.

“In there?” the sniveler asked, wild eyed. “While it’s still moving?”

“It’s not like they can stop and wait until we get comfortable,” she said sarcastically.

Fallon grunted with amusement as Wilhelm’s eyes danced. It seemed she didn’t care for the sniveler any more than they did.

“They’ll slow down, right?” the sniveler asked hopefully.

She ignored him and gestured for the rest of them to join her.

“Jump right before the wagon reaches you,” Fallon said, taking over as was his natural inclination.  He tugged the injured man’s arm from the sniveler as Wilhelm took the other arm.

Fallon had a feeling Shea wouldn’t leave the hurt man behind even if it would be easier and safer. To forestall an argument, he decided to take charge of the situation for her. One way or another, Wilhelm, Fallon and Shea were getting on that wagon. He didn’t really care about the other two, except as it might affecta the outcome he wanted.

She didn’t argue, correctly assuming he and Wilhelm had the better odds of making the jump safely.

The wagon barreled down on them. Fallon and Wilhelm jumped together, taking the injured man with them.

Seconds later, Shea followed, nearly careening off the other side as she landed awkwardly. Fallon grabbed her by the back of the shirt and hauled her back in, grunting when she collided with his body. He got a second to feet her soft curves before he dumped her in the bottom next to the others.

“Thanks,” she said, patting him on the arm. “Guess I owe you one now.”

Fallon’s smile was slow. That’s right. She did, and he intended to collect. “Just returning the favor.”

She gave him an uneasy smile and moved off. He let her as Wilhelm moved up beside him.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Wilhelm said, looking around at their rescuers.

Fallon grunted. In life, all the best things were.

“How do you want to handle this?” Wilhelm murmured.

Fallon was quiet as he thought. They could take control now, but they might have to kill a few of the men since they were outnumbered. He wouldn’t mind the deaths of the other two captives—neither man had impressed him—but their rescuers were a different story.

At the core of things, he was interested. Something he hadn’t been in a long time. He wanted to see how this played out. “Stay close to the man with the weapon. Find out what you can about where they came from.”

“You don’t think they’re from that village?”

Fallon shook his head. “No, and I’d be interested in what kind of place creates people like these.”

Wilhelm nodded and moved off, taking a seat beside the man with the odd weapon and giving him a charming smile. Fallon stared at the woman as she talked to her friend.

He didn’t know her story, but he would soon. And if the clan leaders had sent her his way, he’d just have to break their hold over her and make it so she was loyal to no one but him.

What's in a Name?

Now that Pathfinder 2 is off to the editor and I can finally think again, I thought we'd have some fun. That means it's time for a contest. More on that below.

Anyone who knows me, knows how much I hate naming things. While writing, I usually leave an xxx where a place/beast/person's name should go. This allows me to come back and spend more time coming up with a suitable-ish name. Though rarely, do I find one I am totally satisfied with. In Shea's world, it feels like every other page needs some type of creative name. That go me thinking. Why stress out about every single beast/plant/place name when my fans are brilliant, creative people all on their own? Some (most) of you would probably come up with a much better name than myself.

Now to the contest

I have two species of beasts that need a name. I'm interested in seeing what sorts of names you, my reader, comes up with. If you have a name you think might be awesome, comment below or on Facebook. On Monday, I will pick two names from the entries and use them in the book.

Ready, set, name away!

The Journey

I decided to take a short break from working on the ending for Pathfinder's 2 and write a quick blog post since I've been a little absent of late.

My real world job has had me a bit busy with traveling for work over the past couple days, but that doesn't mean I've stopped writing. Since I've traveled for work a lot more this year, it's meant more writing on the road or while waiting for a flight in an airport terminal. I've even cut evenings short to go back to the hotel to get a few thousand words in before bedtime. A writer's life never stops it seems.

Let's see. Below is a list of some of the places that I've visited while writing Shea and Fallon's story:

• A few thousand words written on multiple trips to Chicago
• 5000 words written on the trip too and from San Antonio
• 2000-4000 while driving to North Carolina
• 3000 during a two day trip to Pittsburgh
• A little less than 4,000 on the trip too and from Seattle
• 113,000 words written while home in Columbus, OH

Sometimes I take inspiration from the places I've visited. Either way, it's nice to get out of the house though it can be a bit distracting. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish Shea's story before I add to this list, but you never know. There might be a place or two added before I'm through. Wish me luck!

Pathfinder's Way - Deleted Scene

As I near the end stage of Pathfinder 2, I'm reminded more and more why it took me over two years to write the first book. As much as I love Pathfinder's Way-and I do love that book-it was an absolute bear to write. It's impossible to make Fallon and Shea do anything. Reasoning with them is like talking to a brick wall. In the end, it's pointless and I just end up bruised and a little bloody. Their story loops and twists back on itself. Just when I think I've got a handle on things Shea does a 180 and totally mucks up what I have planned. For this reason, I'm left having to trim unnecessary scenes during the editing process. Something that I already know will happen with the current book as well.

Since I'm busy finishing up the first draft, I thought I'd share one of those deleted scenes with you. Be warned, they're kind of rough as I never really fully edited them. This scene takes place once Shea has escaped Fallon by climbing up the canyon wall and before she met up with Witt and Dane during that first mission.

Deleted Scene

With a grunt she pulled herself to the top and stood to slap away the dirt that had accumulated on her hands and arms. A rip had opened in her pants from when she had slid coming up that last little bit. She shook her pant leg trying to dislodge some of the dirt lodged there before giving it up as a lost cause. She was just going to have to resign herself to being filthy for the time being.

She began following the meandering path of the canyon in the general direction of the rendezvous. It would be nearly a day’s walk because of the detour they’d taken to the badlands. There were two paths she could take back. She could cut across the badlands and head directly towards the highlands or she could find her way back out the way they had come and walk across the lowlands until she found a way back up to the highlands.

She didn’t like the idea of heading back to the lowlands where possibly bloodthirsty villagers waited. Alone she would be easy pickings and without a horse she’d be easy to catch.

Badlands it was then.

Following the canyon was easy until it started branching. Eventually she found that she needed to get to the other side but didn’t want to go back down into the canyon.

Beasts often made their nests in the walls or caves down there and it was easy to get bottle necked. The bluffs had their dangers too with raptors that were twice a man’s size waiting to swoop down on potential prey. They could plummet silently from the sky right onto their clueless prey in seconds-the only warning the growing shadow on the ground. Shea knew, though, that it was mating season for them and most wouldn’t think about food until afterwards. She felt relatively comfortable with the risk.

Before long she found a tree that had grown sideways across the canyon expanse, nearly reaching the other side. Its roots were exposed at the top, bending in sleek arcs to grasp at the soil below. The trunk was three times wider than her and her arms didn’t even come close to being able to touch around it. She knew because she tried. The branches were a mess of snarls reaching for the other side. Most were too thin to support her weight but right in the middle of the mess was one that looked thick enough that maybe she could use it to cross.

She braced her legs and pushed against the tree with all her might trying to dislodge it from the soil. It didn’t move. Not a centimeter.

She relaxed and eyed it carefully and then edged to look down the cliff. The canyon floor was a pretty fair distance below and judging by all the rocks there wouldn’t be a safe place to land if she fell.

Edging closer to the tree she set one foot on an up thrust root, reached up to grab a knot in the wood and hoisted herself up, stilling when it creaked under her. When it became apparent she wasn’t going to fall immediately to her death, she inched further up using the tree’s branches as handholds. Once up into the tree, she bounced lightly on the thick branch she was counting on to carry her across. It shook under her but seemed like it would support her weight.

Shea took a deep breath as she stared over the canyon’s expanse, her view blocked partially by the twisty limbs of the trees. The ground seemed even farther away now that she was up here, but she tried not to let that bother her as she took a step away from the tree, using the other branches to balance. The limb she was walking across was as thick as her head but that would mean next to nothing if insects had eaten away at its core, leaving it hollow inside. If that was the case, she would crash to what she hoped was her immediate death. If not she might have to lie around with her arms, legs or back broken as she waited for the elements or the beasts to kill her off. Whichever got to her first. Of course she hoped neither of those options happened. Getting across the canyon safely was her deepest wish at this point.

By now she was over half way across the canyon and was running out of tree branches to grip. At least ones that didn’t break immediately the second she closed her fist around them.

Shea bent down wrapping her hands around the limb that swayed unsteadily under her at her movement. She scooted forward, her breath catching in her throat as the branch creaked ominously.

“Fuuck,” she breathed.

Biting her lip, she moved forward again feeling her stomach plummet as the limb bent slightly under her.

Perhaps this hadn’t been her best idea after all. She probably should have found another, safer, way across. As usual though she’d let her impatience get the best of her. Thinking she knew best and had calculated the risks she took a chance that left her suspended nearly a hundred feet over a canyon on a tree branch that could collapse under her at any moment.

“This is definitely what the elders were talking about when they said you leapt without thinking,” she groused to herself.

That very trait was probably a contributing factor in why she had been assigned to Birdon Leaf despite the fact that she was one of the most highly trained master guides in her age group or any age group for that matter.

She eyed the distance to the other side. Five feet. Not too bad. Better than the ten feet she’d have to traverse heading back the other way. In another two to three feet she’d run out of branch and she’d have to jump. But she’d jumped distances farther than that before. She could do it again.

One thing was certain; she had no intention of plummeting to her death. She wouldn’t give the elders the satisfaction of that death. No. She was going to prove every last one of them who thought she didn’t belong in this life wrong. That meant she needed to get moving and stop wasting time sitting on this branch being terrified out of her mind that she’d fall.

Something brushed against her hand and her pep talk came to a screeching halt. She held herself very still as she looked down because too much movement might upset the branch.

She felt physically ill at the sight of the small brown insect with ten legs crawling over the top of her hand. It was about the width of her thumb and only slightly bigger than her fingernail. Against the pale skin of her hand it stood out, but against the bark of the tree it had blended right in. Its butt ended in a sharp point that held a stinger filled with a poison that could cause massive hallucinations. If the victim got a high enough dose of venom, it could lead to a painful death.

It was a reardown, so named for the fact that it would rear back on its legs as a sign of aggression right before it sank that stinger into its prey. Its stomach had a hard outer shell that protected it from attacks.

This one was a baby. They could get as big as Shea’s hand and the adults were twice as deadly. But where there was one baby there were bound to be more.

Her body held as still as possible, Shea looked around her and nearly whimpered at the sight. She would like to say she could hear the insects’ legs skittering as they approached her but they were silent and trees branches creaking as the wind rushed through it made a sound.

Keeping the hand with the reardown very, very still, Shea got her feet under her, freezing any time the little insect moved.

Her gaze darted to the other side of the canyon. With the reardown making their way down the tree branch behind her, her only other option was to make that jump. And make it fast.

She lifted her other hand slowly, so slowly, and flicked the reardown up and off her hand, surging to her feet and running for the end of the branch. It cracked under her and shifted as her weight became too much.. She didn’t hesitate as she hit the end and leapt, trusting herself to reach the other side. And she did. But barely.

She crashed down, only one foot landing on the ground. The other hit the rim of the canyon and she started to slide back. She threw herself forward at the last moment and clawed her way onto safe ground.

Shea panted into the dirt, hardly believing she had made it safely. A glance behind showed the branch had been broken halfway by her leap and was held to the rest of the tree by only the slimmest of slivers.

A sharp pinch on her arm interrupted her moment of triumph and she jerked and slapped at it.  A reardon fell to the ground, but the damage had already been done. A spot where the stinger had penetrated the skin on her forearm was already turning red.

Shea popped to her feet and shook herself free of her jacket, dropping it the ground and stomping on it. She shook her entire body wildly, hoping to dislodge any other hanger ons. Once she had assured herself she had no other passengers, she picked up her jacket and shook it wildly, beating it on the ground a few times for good measure. Afterwards she donned it and pushed up the sleeve to look at the reardon sting.

This was not good. Not good at all. Worry had already set in and panic wouldn’t be far behind. Shea shut her eyes and concentrated on her breathing, bringing it under control with an effort. Panic wouldn’t help. If anything, the elevated heart rate and breathing would spread the toxin quicker, which was the last thing she could afford.

The reardon had been a baby so maybe it wasn’t as poisonous as an adult, though judging by the spreading angry red lines around the site of the sting, she had a bad feeling that wasn’t the case.

There came the panic again. She allowed herself a moment to worry about what was to come before pushing it firmly back out of her mind. Those thoughts weren’t helpful. She needed to concentrate.

Even if it was as potent as an adult, it wouldn’t kill her. It might fuck up her mind for a little bit, disorient her until she walked into a crevasse by mistake and seriously lower her awareness of her surroundings, but the poison itself wouldn’t kill her.

Time to get moving again, then. She needed to cover as much ground as she could while she was still able to function. At the very least she could find cover to wait for the toxin to work itself through her system.

Her lips were set in a grim line and worry had drawn the skin tight on her face as she changed course slightly to cut directly through the badlands to the meeting place in the highlands. Originally she had planned to follow the edge of the lowlands until she reached the highlands before cutting over to the rendezvous point. It was a longer route admittedly, but safer. Now she was taking the most direct path possible and praying she made it.

It was a long journey, one that took every ounce of strength and will Shea possessed. More than once she found herself having to argue herself into taking another step. At one point she thought the rocks were moving, scooting along the ground beside her and leaving grooves in the dirt behind them. Trees made thin by the climate grew to humongous proportions before shifting color and eventually melting away.

As she walked she became increasingly delirious but convinced if she stopped she’d die. Ghostly arms grew from the ground grasping at her feet causing her to stumble at times. Their hands soon became claws as they tried to keep her there.

Caught in her nightmare, Shea stumbled into the rendezvous point and collapsed shaking to the ground. Witt and Dane rushed to her side as she crumpled.

“Shea,” Dane whispered, shocked at how pale she seemed and the slightly manic look in her eyes.

Witt was already checking her arms and any reachable skin for marks. He hissed when he found the raised golf ball sized welt.

“She’s been bitten or stung,” he told Dane grimly.

“Can’t- can’t stop,” Shea struggled to stand, grasping onto Dane’s shirt weakly.

The two held her down. Dane’s eyes met Witt’s as he asked, “Do you have any idea what stung her?”

Witt shook his head. “Could have been any number of things?”

“Deadly?"

Witt’s mouth was tight as he said softly, “Probably."

“Shit.”

“Can’t stop walking,” Shea whispered her eyes darting around in panic.

“Shh. You’ll be fine.” Witt’s hand felt cool on Shea’s forehead. “Can you tell us what bit you?”

She stared into his eyes, trying to concentrate, to remember. Her legs moved restlessly as he repeated the question.

The fog cleared for a moment and she gasped, “Reardon.”

The elders were never going to let her live this down was her last coherent thought as her body abruptly relaxed and her consciousness started to fade. Witt shouting instructions was the last thing she saw as the world faded leaving her alone with her nightmares.