The natural
light from the high sun clawed at Norvin’s eyes, forcing him to squint and use
his hand as a shield. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the new, free, light, and when they did it was
worth the momentary pain. The trees and shrubbery that surrounded him were a
vast array of greens, all thriving with life: the grey walls had housed Norvin
for the last eight hundred and fourteen
days were dead and cold. Norvin spread out his arms, tilted his head back and
gazed through the clearing in the over-head trees, whilst spinning around and
around. A slight breeze ran its fingers through his long, matted hair and beard
making him feel alive. All of a sudden, he became all too aware of where he had
just come from. After all, he is still on
the run. Norvin crouched, low and ready with his ear scanning the air. He
reached around to his back with his right hand but found nothing, strange, and then he felt around his
surroundings and grasped a small rock, cocked his arm, and launched the missile
through the clearing above him. A painful cry pierced the air that was swiftly
followed by the dull thud of dinner.
Norvin
quickly pushed his way through the over-grown shrubbery to find feathers and
blood. He stooped down and swept his index finger through the blood and sucked
off the blood. Screwing his face up in perplexity and cursed the Gods for
depriving him of a decent meal. Norvin followed the blood trail through the
trees, which had now become sparse. Approaching a huge fallen, blood stained
tree, he stopped, inhaled deep and smelt something other than blood, damp
leaves and rotting wood – dog.
Norvin
grasped the top of the fallen Razorwood, taking care not to alert the beast on
the other side and taking extra care
not to pull any of the bark off (the sap underneath is deadly to those who don’t
know how to handle it). On reaching the top, Norvin slowly poked his head over
the tree and bore witness to his dinner, the bird he had so skilfully killed
earlier, locked in the bloody jaws of a wolfhound. Oblivious to her audience,
the wolfhound ripped into the large bird with frightening force. Norvin lost his grip on the bark and slipped
a few inches and pulled a chunk of bark away in an effort to regain his hold on
the tree. The wolfhound must have heard Norvin slip. As he poked his head over
the top again he was met with a pair of fiery, orange eyes and bloodied, razor-sharp
teeth. She did hear me. Before she
had time to open her jaws, Norvin grabbed the hound by the scruff of the neck
and threw her over his head towards the ground. As she hit the ground, Norvin
leapt off of the tree and buried his knee into her spine. She let out a yelp
and quickly spun around so she was all teeth and claws on the offence. There’s
only one thing worse than a wolfhound in a bad mood; a wolfhound in a bad mood
that’s backed into a corner. Norvin had done just that and she was pissed. Without
warning she attacked with unbelievable speed, but she wasn’t quick enough.
Norvin had already guessed her move and stepped to the side, making her miss.
As she tumbled clumsily along the ground, Norvin slammed his fist down onto her
head crushing her skull. She was still, not even a whimper. The final blow had
caused massive head trauma and killed her instantly.
“How did I
just kill a wolfhound with my bare hands?” Norvin questioned aloud. Exhausted,
Norvin slumped to the ground and propped himself up against a nearby tree,
repeating the question over and over again with no success of finding an
answer. His eyes became leaden and his head was rocking back and forth trying
to fight off the tiring effects of navigating the forgotten tunnels and fighting
for his life. In a matter of minutes he was bouncing around on clouds with
twenty young, beautiful women feeding him grapes and drinking wine. His
slumbering lips curved into a slight smile.
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