The Dark Warrior: An Attack
#2 of The Dark Warrior
The Dark Warrior
What defines a creature of darkness? Is it darkened fur, matted with the sweat of exertion? Is it a state of consciousness, or a presence of mind? I do not know, and perhaps it is better not to know. However, the combination of sinew, muscle and fur of my body as I wander through this desert, not quite sure how I arrived here, or where I might be going, leaves me much time to contemplate such philosophical ideals. It is the only companion to my soul in this beautifully isolated place.
It's been fourteen hours since I was left here, having been taken from my tribe and left in this hot, empty, desolate space. It was a raid, an attack nobody had been expecting. Even the strongest males of the tribe had been overtaken in mere minutes from an unforeseen force. I was taken quickly, serving as a scout for the group. I saw them coming, only seconds before they overran me.
I was dragged along with the entire lot of them, tigers of all shapes and sizes, perhaps tired of the invasions of their territory by the moon dogs, my tribe, canines worshipful of the cosmos and all that rests within them. Carnal, feral beasts, they seemed to be. I had never seen so many before, certainly not in such a combination. All the tiger castes seemed combined, regardless of beliefs or the colors of their fur.
The image is still burned within my memory, even hours later. A rush of thick, strong bodies, covered in fur of shades from the cleanest white, marred only with the dirt and mud of the forest, to the harshest of blacks, much like my own, but with thick stripes of crimson through them. Were it not for the fact that they were a threat to my life, I would have been tempted to stop and stare, licking the tips of my fangs at the beauty of them.
They came as a group, redefining my idea of what a concentrated attack could be. It was quick, but far from painless. I remember one grabbing my bow, which I did not even have time to pull from my back. They seemed to come from all sides of me, enclosing me completely. I could feel my quiver spill its contents onto the ground as the sharp wood of the bow itself dug into my back painfully. It hit the exact combination of nerves that sent me to my knees involuntarily.
The fur on the back of my neck heckled as my head fur was pulled violently, bringing tears to my eyes which refused to fall. I could not even bring my eyes to close as I was forced to stare up into the feline eyes of one of the many predators against my pack.
"Are you the only scout?" he demanded of me. His nostrils flared with the intensity of his anger, and it caused a shiver to run down my spine. The one who had assailed me was dark, his fur more black than my own, without the sheen of cleanliness or good grooming typical of my knowledge of felines.
I could barely breathe in the position I was in. He had to know that. I made an attempt to signal with my eyes. So caught off guard was I that I didn't think my voice would serve me well in that moment, were it usable to begin with. My eyes wandered as far as they could with my head drawn back painfully. I felt my bow poke into the back of my neck, and it caused another quake to travel down my spine. This tiger who had captured me was beautiful, in a unique way. Carnal, not refined and distinguished like those few clans of large cat I had ever dealt with.
Apparently, he was not pleased with my lack of verbal response. Also, he was too confident. He threw me to the ground, and I couldn't help but smile even as my face hit the thick mud covering the bottom of the forest, the dirt turned to a thick soup of mutilated rock and fallen tree debris by the moisture. "Answer me, dog!" he growled.
I may have been outnumbered on all sides, but all my brain and my body could focus upon was the target who had violated my person himself. I turned my eyes up to him, the smile wiped from my face so that he might not figure out my intentions. Expression neutral and controlled, I met his eyes, and the burning fire I saw there was almost equal to my own, and that caused me to tremor with the excitement of battle as well as the fear of defeat. "No," I responded simply.
The next few moments after that response were a blur. He heard the words and snarled, but did not have time to react before my claws became daggers, my form of sinew and muscle covered by dense fur a missile, launched at him. He raised his paws to protect his face, but that was not where I was heading. I could feel his hide give way to piercing points of sharpened talon as I knocked him to the ground, blood spilling from the wounds.
My victory, however, was short lived. The cry of pain he emitted, the arching of his back beneath me in agony, trying to get away, were cut short by several of his compatriots grabbing me from behind as they surrounded me. I felt my bow and my armor ripped from my torso in their anger, and soon found the coat protecting my back from the intense cold covered in the thick clay of the woodland floor.
The next few moments are distorted in my memory. I do not know if it was because of inability to recall the information of those seconds, or simply an unwillingness to do so. Those seconds are filled with sharp claws and teeth, quick movements of hide and silken down, and blood spilled - mine. The worst injury of all, however, was self-inflicted: my elongated incisors digging into my tongue to hold back the anguished wail of agony from being brutalized by my blood enemies.
When my conscious memory returns to me, all I recall is staring up into the face of the one I had attacked, feeling paws restraining my arms and legs, forcing me to sink into the mud as though it were quicksand. I was nearly half involved in it at this point, and balked in disgust at the filth of my normally well-kept fur. "You're going to pay for that," came his only words, and then a foot paw against the side of my head, and all went dark.