One. Two. Three. Four.
The familiar, ragged rhythm of Relik's breathing was now less a silent anchor and more the furious pumping of a bellows.
It had been a week, and he'd learned two things: the forest floor was unforgiving, and his entire existence was now dedicated to avoiding being skewered by an unwilling target practice.
He dashed between two towering ash trees, his too-short, ill-fitting shirt clinging to his back with sweat. He was not slowing down because of his lungs, but because of his clothes. His actual wardrobe, expensive, finely spun silks and leathers, were still supposedly in transit with Maico.
Until then, he was running in borrowed, vulnerable fabric. A tear, a stain, a smudge of mud, any of it would mean wearing the borrowed rags for another day. The true mission, he thought bitterly, is laundry preservation.
The air next to his ear whipped.
Wyva wasn't far. The Alven's excellent archery skills, honed on training fields and hunting estates, meant his blunted arrows were constantly snapping at Relik's heels. The only mercy was that a direct hit from one of these fast, thudding arrows hurt no more than an ant bite.
Unfortunately, Relik had been hit by approximately twenty "ant bites" every hour for the last seven days.
He feigned a cut to the left, planting his foot hard enough to spray a minimal amount of dry dirt, then launched himself to the right, using the momentary cloud for cover.
THWUCK!
The arrow slammed into the bark where he should have been, burying its head deep. He'd gained a precious second.
"Inefficient, Wyva."
Koa's voice, somehow amplified and perfectly clear, sliced through the rustling leaves. The Vice Captain stood rooted at the base of the clearing, arms crossed, two wicked knife hilts peeking from his vest. He hadn't moved an inch, yet he observed everything.
"You are forcing a reaction, Wyva," Koa continued, his tone clinical. "Predicting an escape path is amateur work. You must design his escape path. Fire one shot to drive him toward the ravine, a second to make the ravine seem like the only viable path, and the third, the one that kills him."
Wyva, hidden 80 yards away on a ridge, lowered his bow slightly, his brow furrowed in concentration. Unlike Relik, he took Koa's tutelage with absolute seriousness.
Design the path. Wyva reloaded. He fired low and wide, aiming not at Relik, but at a thicket of brush 15 feet to the redhead's left, the dull arrow tip sinking deep into the undergrowth with a solid thump.
Relik reacted perfectly, exactly as Wyva intended. The sudden, noisy impact forced him to abandon the treeline and cut back toward a narrow, open path.
Wyva grinned. He sighted the next arrow, his strongest taught yet, directly onto the opening. He anticipated a clear, desperate sprint.
THWACK-WHOOSH!
Wyva released the arrow.
Unfortunately, Relik didn't sprint. At the last possible moment, he threw himself sideways, diving toward the massive, hollow trunk of a fallen maple. The arrow shrieked past him, burying itself deep into the earth where his hip would have been.
Koa gave a slow, dry smirk that was probably meant as a compliment. "He deviated from the optimal path. An unexpected choice, but it's your job as marksman to expect the unexpected."
Relik scrambled into the hollow trunk, pulling out his canteen and taking a deep, shuddering gulp of water. He needed to rest and re-establish the perimeter.
He spotted Wyva's enraged figure on the ridge and seized the opportunity.
"Hey, El Sharaab!" Relik yelled, his voice echoing.
"If you're supposed to be so damn good, why are all your arrows hitting my memories? I see your aim is as bad as your taste in wine."
The insult, was a direct hit and Wyva visibly stiffened. Relik saw the pure, cold unease flicker across the Alven's face.
Immediate regret sank in.
Wyva's face hardened with fury far worse than any simple rage. He swapped for his longbow, this time ignoring all pretense of subtlety. He loaded his longest, heaviest arrow, sighting a center mass shot aimed straight at the hollow tree.
No more games, Wyva thought, locking onto the hollow trunk. Precision is unnecessary when brute force is available.
Relik saw the dangerous tension in the Alven's stance and knew he'd pushed too far. He coiled his muscles, ready to burst out the back of the log-
But before Wyva could release the shot, a figure dropped from the dense canopy directly onto the ridge between them.
The impact was silent, yet immediate. The figure was short, a full head shorter than Relik, and compactly built. They wore practical, heavy leather, and when they spun to face Wyva, they raised an arm, catching the deadly-looking arrow on a massive, reinforced bronze gauntlet.
The impact let out a heavy THWACK!
The figure was knocked back a single step, the gauntlet dented where the arrow had struck.
"Oh, come on," Relik groaned from the log, recognizing the absurd timing.
The figure turned, pulling the arrow free from the dented gauntlet. Her face was striking: the sharp, angular features of a Human, but with the subtle, deep-set grey eyes and wider, almost brutal bone structure of a Hurc.
A Hurc-Human hybrid.
She gave Relik an appraising glance, her voice deep and matter-of-fact.
"You look entirely too clean for a week of evasion," She pointed the bent arrow at Wyva, who stood frozen with his bow half-raised. "And you, archer. You just wasted a phenomenal amount of effort on my apprentice."
She then pulled a small, clean satchel off her back and tossed it before her mentee.
Relik hurriedly gathered the bag and searched it's contents. Finding a collection of unwashed and unfolded clothing. Worst yet none of this belonged to him.
"This isn't mine," Relik shook his head, "are you sure this was my mother's doing?"
The woman looked at him with an eyebrow raised, "actually I prepared this."
Relik reached into the bag and removed a dress. His mistake was allowing it to be seen by Wyva who made his amusement known even at this distance.
"I'm failing to see the problem here," Maico replied, "Reina of the Hamron lordship."
Wyva's laughter grew more rambunctious.
"It's Relik... Von Vino," the boy sighed and turned to leave.
"Oh well, we'll have to trade something in at the market."