Lost & Found

2: Huntress

                The figure below was stumbling from tree to tree, barely able to remain upright in the spaces between. It was easier to follow him today now that he moved slower and was less cautious of his surroundings. He no longer looked around when she accidently snapped twigs as she jumped through the branches above him.

His clothing was tattered and dirty, but she could see they were made of fancy fabrics instead of the sturdier and warmer materials needed to survive out here. Taking more than their fair share of wear, they had been snagged on branches and torn on the rocks and roots each time he tripped and fell. He didn't have any supplies, and hadn't had any food or water in the three days that she'd been tracking him. But he still struggled on.

Usually, someone trespassing this far beyond their borders would have been killed and left to the wolves two days ago. It could've been the sword at his waist and dagger in his boot that gave her pause. They were overly ornate, and seemed more ornamental than functional. He could barely stand up anymore, much less wield a blade.

It wasn't his weapons, or even the sheer size of him that kept her from ending his life. It was his determination to press on that had ultimately stayed her hand. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and now she just wanted to see how far he'd make it before he got himself killed.

As the sun started to dip behind the mountain range, the forest descended into darkness faster than he was used to. The shadows deepened the chill of the late autumn evening, making it feel colder than it was. She could see him visibly shiver as he moved, and hear his teeth chatter. His steps became sluggish and unsteady as he pushed on.

As the last few rays of light were snuffed out of the sky, he lost his footing and tumbled head over heels on a large root. He landed with a thud at the base of the large tree she was currently perched in. Groaning; he pushed himself into a sitting position, and leaned against the trunk. A moment later, his head tilted back and he stared up at the sky.

Her heart raced and her muscles tensed. For a moment, she had thought he'd spotted her and would force her hand. She stared down at him, meeting his gaze, but poised to end him should he make any sudden movements. After an intense stare down, his head rolled to the side and a muffled snore escaped from his lips.

She watched him sleep while the moon rose above the tree tops. He was so exhausted that he didn't wake from the violent shaking his shivering caused. It was clear he wouldn't make it through the night. She frowned, disappointed that her diversion was coming to an end. But she was also low on water and food, so maybe it was for the best.

His body curled in on itself, trying to conserve what little heat he had left. The skin on his hands looked pale and dirty, clutching at the edges of his cloak. It was so torn that it didn't cover much of anything anymore. She nodded to herself, he was not long for this world and it might be less cruel to put him out of his misery.

Shrugging her small pack off her shoulder and stashing it between two branches, she steadied her perch on the branch hanging over him. Knocking an arrow into her bow, she aimed for his heart. His suffering would be over soon. She inhaled and drew the taught string back; something glittered on his finger in the moonlight.

Her mother had always sworn that her curiosity was her worst trait, and it stayed her hand again. Snaking her way down the tree, she moved in for a closer look. The ground made a dull thud as she landed. The sound made her instinctively crouch and study him for any hint of being aware of her.

Watching the steady rise and fall of his shoulders, she concluded that he was completely unconscious. Keeping a low half crouch, she prowled around the trunk like a mountain lion until she could see his face. She grabbed a stick off the ground and gently poked at his arm. He didn't react, his breathing keeping the same slow rhythm. Moving closer, she poked at his hand with a finger, it was ice cold, but he didn't twitch a muscle.

He was dead to the world. She moved closer still, tilting her head to match the angle of his hand. The gold signet ring was barely an inch from her nose. A signet ring? She felt sick to her stomach. He was a noble? Was he royalty or just an aristocrat? One was more troublesome than the other.

She slipped a hand under his chin, tilting his face up toward the moon. His skin was pale and gaunt. The dirt smudged across his face, blurred his features together into one dark shadow. Dark shaggy curls and a week old beard framed his face, but he didn't look familiar to her.

She tried to brush some of the dirt off the ring and peered closer at it. It was too dark, and the ring was too dirty to make out the crest clearly. Sighing, she rocked back on her heels, unsure of what action to take next. She'd need more light to see it clearly, and he wouldn't survive the cold night. It couldn't hurt to keep him alive one day, could it?

Deciding it wouldn't, she twisted her own wool cloak off her shoulders and draped it over and around him. Using a fallen branch, she cleared a small area beside him of fallen leaves and brush. She used the same branch to dig a shallow pit in the center to build a fire with the small twigs and fallen branches around them. Using a handful of leaves as kindling, she borrowed his dagger to strike one of her flint arrowheads to spark a flame.

Shoving the leaves into the pile of wood, she coaxed it into a small fire. With the trees so close together here, it would have to stay small, and close to him to warm him up enough. Shifting her cloak aside, she fished his hand out of the fabric and angled it toward the flames. The gold shone brightly in the firelight, and she rubbed more dirt off with the corner of the cloak. She could make out what looked like a double headed phoenix, and then her throat closed off.

It was a two headed phoenix, with a flaming crown between the two heads. He was a member of a royal family, a prince most likely; he was too young to be a king. And a king would not have been reckless enough to travel through the wilds. How had he gotten this far beyond the borders? What was he even doing here?

Racking her brain she couldn't remember which kingdom the crest was from exactly. Somewhere up north, far north. Studying his face once more yielded no further clues. All of her references of the kingdoms' royal families were over a decade old. He would have been a young boy in those portraits.

Scrambling back up the tree, she grabbed the pack she'd stashed. Reaching inside, she grabbed the tin of black grease paint she used to sun's glare off her cheeks while hunting. Using the lid as a mirror, she sat back on the branch and applied lines to disguise her facial features. Binding her hair back in a tight braid, she slicked some of the grease over her hair, making it look darker. When she'd altered her appearance enough, she slipped back down to the ground.

Moving quickly and silently, she gently slipped his sword from his belt. The pummel had the same crest as his ring. She ran her hands over his body, looking for any hidden weapons. Then she tucked the sword and dagger under a pile of leaves, behind a tree on the other side of the fire from him.

Dropping her bow and pack out of his reach as well, she worked to wiggle him into a better position to absorb the warmth of the fire more efficiently. He was so exhausted that he barely moaned when she lost her grip on him and his head smacked the ground. Curling him around the fire, she wrapped her cloak tightly around and under him.

There was nothing for it now. If she was going to kill him, she should've done it days ago, when he was closer to the border. This far in, if his body was discovered it could launch a war between his kingdom and hers, ending a 200 year peace that had brokered after the last great war tore the continent apart.