Page 3 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
I hate how my head suggests it could also be a sacrificial graveyard. What is wrong with me?
I sprint like a madman. I won’t go down without a fight.
Skidding to a halt in the center of the clearing, I shakily unfold my bow and nock an arrow. Butterfingers strike, and I drop a few arrows at my feet. At least they are ready for action.
Tears threaten to spill as I scan the shadowy tree line. The second sun has disappeared, leaving the world awash in a palette of moody blues and inky purples. The once vibrant plants now fade into the darkness. I squint, desperately searching for any sign of movement, anything to reveal the location of the lurking beasts.
A growl emanates from the dense foliage to my right, and with a slightly hysterical cry, I spin around and launch an arrow. It soars into the underbrush, followed by the sound of twigs snapping. But there is no creature in sight.
Well, that’s one less arrow in my arsenal. I swivel slowly, trying to locate the beasts. My feet are glued to the ground, not by courage, but because they have gone completely numb.
“Show yourselves!” I say into the frosty night air, hoping they’ll be intimidated by my bravado.
As if on cue, a monstrous creature from my wildest nightmares emerges from the brush. It’s massive, like some unholy fusion of a bear and a wolf—a wolf-bear, if you will. Standing on four legs, it towers over me, its light-colored fur blending in with the pale plants around us.
The wolf-bear lowers its head and bares row upon row of glistening, needle-like teeth, perfect for turning flesh into lunch. I have no doubt its jaw can also turn bones to dust.
I aim my bow and arrow at the wolf-bear, the metal arrow quivering on the bow’s arrow rest, mimicking the tremors coursing through my body.
“Don’t come any closer!” I say, aware that the beast probably can’t understand me. But at this point, instinct has long overruled logic. “Stay back!”
Unimpressed, the wolf-bear rears up on its hind legs and unleashes a mighty roar. I can feel the air quivering around me—or is that just my body shaking?
It lands on all fours and charges without a moment’s hesitation. Flinging dirt behind it, the creature barrels toward me. Panicked, I let my arrow fly and stumble back, fumbling to grab another arrow. My world shrinks to just me and the wolf-bear.
My arrow finds its mark in the creature’s chest just as it lunges for me. Miraculously, the impact knocks it off course, and instead of its claws sinking into my flesh, its massive body collides with my side. I hit the ground, the wind knocked out of me. Scrambling to my knees, I grab the fallen arrow and nock it as quickly as I can.
The wolf-bear whirls around to face me. I let loose my arrow, my movements feeling frustratingly slow. My mind screams for me to increase my speed. The creature’s pained yelp confirms a successful hit.
As I ready a third arrow, I find myself staring into the beast’s eyes.
I shriek, raising my hands—still clutching the bow and loose arrow—in a feeble attempt to shield my face. The creature slams into me, knocking the bow from my grip and wrenching my fingers back painfully. I crash to the ground, pain shooting up my spine. The weight of the beast pins me down.
I let out another scream as the wolf-bear glares down at me, its eyes a fiery red, radiating pure fury. It snaps at me, and I flail my arms out in a desperate attempt to defend myself. Anything to keep those teeth at bay. But it isn’t enough. The creature’s jaw clamps around my arm, its teeth sinking in deep. Pain consumes my arm, a blazing agony that surpasses anything I’ve ever experienced. I flail at the beast’s face with my free hand, striking it while sobbing uncontrollably. My vision wavers, and a bone-chilling cold creeps through my body. I am slowing down, becoming exhausted, and I know it. I scream at my body to fight, to do something, but the more I try to fend off the monstrous creature, the clumsier I become. Those once-forceful punches? Now they are more like gentle pats.
Coldness seeps into my very bones as the darkness of the night intensifies. As my consciousness begins to fade, I can’t help but think how ridiculously unfair it all is. I mean, come on! I am finally catching a break, life starts to look promising... and this is how I’ll meet my end. Just my luck, right?
ChapterTwo
TACCIT
Icrane my neck to observe the antics of my drolvden as they frolic around me. My pets, blissfully ignorant of the world’s troubles, tumble about in the soft blue grass. Their light grey fur stands out against the blue shrubbery as they playfully snap at each other with their razor-sharp teeth, taking care not to actually inflict harm. Not that it is easy to harm a drolv, thanks to its thick hide and even thicker fur. This extra fluff comes in handy during the bitter season, helping to keep the beasts warm against the chilling air and snow. My tribe domesticated these lovable monsters ages ago. The choice was simple: fear the beasts or befriend them. Who wouldn’t want such terrifying allies by their side?
I reminisce about the days when my drolvden almost outweighed me. But that was many seasons ago, when I was a mere youngling. It has been an age since I learned how to communicate and control my beasts.
While my drolvden appear to live in a world free of worry, I can’t quite shake my own concerns. The bitter season is quickly approaching, and having more food stored away is always better than having too little. I still remember times when the snow piled up so high that leaving the village was nearly impossible. I’ve gathered enough food for myself, but I worry about my tribe—the inexperienced younglings and the elderly who can no longer hunt. Food scarcity is a very real threat.
And so, I make the decision that today, I’ll hunt for them. My goal is simple, as it always is—hunt a beast grand enough to feed my tribe and make the offering.
Soon, my drolvden’s play becomes rough. The sole female yelps when one male bites too hard into her scruff. With fangs bared and drool dripping from her muzzle, she turns to confront the larger male.
Annoyed, I flick my tail in their direction, and all three drolvden instantly flatten their bellies to the ground, hindquarters at the ready. It is the “be prepared to move quickly and quietly” signal I’ve taught them for hunting.
It’s time to head out and actually hunt.
I rise to my feet, adjusting my belt and pouches around my hips. My tail coils around my weapon—a magnificent axe—keeping it close at hand for when duty calls.
Upon my command, my three drolvden dash ahead, their keen senses on the lookout for our next quarry. I let them choose the prey, as I’m not particularly fussy. After all, a meal’s a meal, right? I know the moment my drolvden find their target. The female looks up from the piles of leaves she is sniffing. Her whole body stiffens, and she lets out a low whine. The males hurry to her side, noses going wild at the scent she points out. The youngest, in a burst of uncontainable excitement, leaps into the air before all three dash off, leaping over logs and scrambling up inclines. We seldom hunt along the valley’s steep walls, usually sticking to the valley floor or lower hills. Occasionally, I even hunt near the river, even though it isn’t my territory. However, whatever piques their interest today is lurking along the ridge.
