Day 4
Prompt: Mortal or Sanctuary
They weren't Frithjofr's footprints. Frithjofr always wore the soft blue boots from Cyrodiil, pointed at the toe, whereas these were blunt at the end and square in the heel. Quite a clear outline. Leather, finely cobbled, belonging to someone who spared no expense when it came to style. Haaki didn't know much about the mages from the College, but he assumed that ruled them out. People who, as he understood it, spent all day in a library, studying tediously old texts, probably had no need for sturdy yet fashionable walking boots.
Cold air huffed over him as the stag strode past. Haaki froze. It didn't turn off from the path. Its master must have lost sight of him when he dived into the bushes and was hoping to flush him out, like beating a rabbit from its warren. He gritted his teeth, secured his crossbow to his belt, and crawled forwards slowly on his stomach, going still whenever he came too close to the stump of bone and the smell of rotten meat.
The tracks continued through a narrow passage in the ferns, which suggested someone who knew how to keep themselves hidden, and was reasonably skilled at it, too, had it not been a seasoned hunter on their trail. That ruled out some of the freelance and mercenary mages Haaki occasionally encountered on the road, most of whom considered it a badge of honour to attract the attention of everyone in a five mile radius with their flashy spells. Who did that leave? Not another hunter. Between them, Haaki and Hjolrin knew nearly all of the hunters between Riverwood and Falkreath, and in any case, no self-respecting hunter would make a mockery of Kyne with the shambling, dragging beast.
Another roar from the stag, and as the sound churned around the forest Haaki realised he had been caught between two shelters, the safety of the bushes and the narrow path the footsteps followed. Faced with retreat or darting forwards, he sprinted for the ferns.
It was the wrong decision.
Seconds before he made the cool, shady safety of the ferns, Haaki saw it. A whisper of a shadow, the hem of some robes disappearing behind a tree, the very edge of the boots he had been following. It distracted him. For a second, a vital second, he forgot the danger behind him in favour of the quarry ahead, and a second was enough. As he ran forwards, teeth locked onto his arm and wrenched him backwards, growing tighter with every attempt to struggle free. Blood began to well up around the bone.
A deer's jaws were not designed for attack, but that didn't stop the pain, nor lessen the strength of the hold it had on him. Haaki was dimly aware of Hjolrin's voice somewhere inside his head telling him to be careful. Funny. It hadn't meant anything at the time. Mortality never did feel real, until, suddenly, all at once, it became very real indeed.
He swore, for want of anything more constructive to do, and fumbled with his free hand for the dagger Chira had given him. About as useful as a crossbow bolt in the situation, but it was something. Haaki lifted it more for reassurance than any expectation that it might help. The angle of the beast's grip on him meant he couldn't aim it towards the heart, and he doubted it would achieve much if he did, but he was able to swing it around against the stag's muzzle.
It helped, in a way. Most of the skin and muscle was already gone, which gave him a clear shot where the bone connected. The dagger smashed against the hinge of the lower jaw hard enough to dislodge it from the skull. It wasn't much, but it gave Haaki enough leeway to pull himself free.
So far so good, but he was still bleeding, and although the beast's jaw swung sickeningly around, it still had antlers, which it now lowered, ready for another charge. Haaki barely had time for a prayer to Kyne, to Stendarr, to anyone who was listening, if his soul hadn't been lost entirely to the Void, for some kind of sanctuary and safety, before he launched himself in the direction of the boots.
The chase was short, but it felt like hours. One arm flapping uselessly at his side, the other holding the bloodied dagger, Haaki leapt over brambles and dodged from side to side, trying to keep the stag from a clear charge without losing sight of the trail. Occasionally he thought he saw the flicker of the robes again. Never for very long. Prayers alternated with curses. Finally, when the blood was streaking down his wrist, when his breath was spent, when the deer readied itself for a final charge, everything somehow got worse.
The ground disappeared beneath him. The drop was quick, at least. Haaki thudded over the edge of a small cliff, onto the dirt, and winced at the crack from somewhere inside his chest. No time to worry about it, though. He reached up a hand for support as he forced himself to his feet. His palm fell against stone, carved stone, cut into the shape of bones. His blood dripped onto the cold surface and silence filled his head.
Not silence. Not completely. There was a voice, the one which haunted the darkest corners of Haaki's nights. It whispered,
'What is the blessing of existence?'
The gods had answered his prayers, with their usual twisted sense of humour. Haaki had found a sanctuary. It wasn't the one he had been looking for. With the stag not far behind, however, he realised he had no choice. He swallowed and let the old catechism come to him, all too easily.
'Mortality, my brother.'
'Welcome home.'
