In Dreams of Trees : Friend of My Enemy

Wordcount: 660
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Blue and Horn are rescued, of sorts.

NOTE: This is a very rough draft with no editing at all (per National Novel Wiriting Month rules) and is presented for amusement value only. Think of it as a periscope into my writing process rather than a coherent story!

There will most likely be spelling and grammatical errors afoot as well as flat out bad writing, info dumps, plot holes, contradictions/retcons, uneven characterization and pacing. These snippits are also posted out of order, so please refer to the Outline to figure out where it’s supposed to fit.


Friend of My Enemy

Blue tripped over the threshold, long years of training had taught him how to fall and Horn was tucked safely against his chest as his shoulder hit the dirt. No, not dirt, wood? Blue blinked furiously, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness.

The poison from Horn’s spines and the long fight had left him weak and woozy, but Blue wasn’t about to let Black get away. But even his best wasn’t good enough and he barely reacted as Black stepped back into view. Horn was faring even worse, now that the adrenaline rush of the frenzy had worn off and was too out of it to do more than hiss.

“Well this is unexpected.” Black poked Blue in the side with a boot, ignoring Horn’s protests. “I’m honestly not sure what to do with you now.”

There was sudden nose from down the tunnel that the tree had turned into. Black frowned, looking down into the darkness and then back at Blue. “Looks like I’ll have to leave you to your own devices, I’ve got company.”

Black turned and took off the down the corridor at a jog before Blue could react, leaving Blue and Horn alone in the dark.

A moment later there were shouts and flashes of light, but other than a few distant curses there was nothing to give Blue hope that the killer was dead, or even wounded.

The poison from Horn’s spines was finally wearing off by the time the sounds of conflict died out, replaced by cautious footsteps walking down the hallway towards them. For Blue the poison left him with only a slighty headache instead of full paralysis. He’d spent a dozen painful years building up immunity to Horn– although he wouldn’t be as immune to other elves, he wouldn’t die as quickly.

Horn recovered before Blue did, but the elf simply curled up in an unhappy ball against his chest making faint chirping barks that younger elves used when they were calling for a parent. Blue had rarely heard Horn this upset, the other humans servants had always ushered him quickly out of sight.

Horn had large eyes, like a bird, the pupils flared wide in the dark leaving just a ring of mottled blue and green cirling them in the dark. They flashed with reflected green as the those walking down it came in sight with their flashlights.

Blue was awake enough to curl protectively around Horn as they drew near. The elf snarled at them, spines half-heartly inflated. Feral humans were dangerous, but at this point they were heavily outnumbered and outgunned, even if Black hadn’t already worn them down.

“Hey, I think this one’s alive.” The light was too bright and Blue flinched, hugging Horn tigher and making the elf hiss in alarm. “Eh, watch the pet, s’got spines or something.”

“Betcha it bites too.”

Blue protested weekly, but they took Horn from him, wrapping the elf who had gone passive in terror in some sort of blanket.

“There now, shh, silly little thing, we aren’t going to hurt you.” The girl who held him stroked Horn’s head and the elf whistled for Blue, but he couldn’t get up.

“Hey, hey, down boy, he’s safe. You, now, you’re another problem, eh?”

Blue could feel the hands as they turned him over, searching out wounds and testing the strength of his torn clothing. There was a short hushed discussion and then the rest of the small group rigged a quick carry sling for Blue. They looked like older teenagers, younger adults, but he couldn’t tell in the darkness.

They were feral, that much he knew, they wore no carry vests and had no house colors on their arms.

They also seemed to have no clue what Horn was and that scared Blue more than anything else. But he didn’t have long to worry, moving him onto the sling was enough added pain to send him into unconsciousness.

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!

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