Gwen awoke in a panic to pain and cold. At first she thought that she'd fallen, or been thrown from the pass, back down towards the meager town. It was still dark, and the spring air still held a bite to it. Her bonds tore at her skin uncomfortably. She wanted to scream, but there seemed to be something shoved in her mouth. She tried anyway.

Before her squeal could become more than a moan, she felt a pain in her calf and heard a shushing noise. It was then that she realized that she was not falling, and began to make out some of her surroundings. The ground moved frighteningly fast beneath her and she realized that the jostling was because she was being carried, not falling.

Her captor had her slung over his back and was running, and how fast he ran! The ground buzzed by as if she were on the back of one of the northern horses. Sometimes she felt him leap when the ground was not sure footed enough, and she watched as the earth fell away then rush back to her, causing her stomach to squirm. And to her astonishment, he did all of this with less noise than she made bouncing around over his shoulder.

Finally he stopped and began to lower her, thankfully, back to the ground. She tried to speak around the gag, but he clamped his hand over her mouth roughly and gave her a look that froze her blood, and then he spun from her, his attention seeming to be stolen by something behind them.

She took a moment to take in her surroundings. She seemed to be higher into the passes than she'd ever been. There was little soil here, and less vegetation. This area was nearly surrounded by large outcroppings of rock. The demon stood behind one such large stone. His eyes focused down into the passes she assumed, as still and silent as a shadow.

Were they being followed? Could she call for help? Something kept her quite. Perhaps it was the fear that he'd kill her for making any noise long before help would arrive. Or, perhaps it was the way he acted. Had he not killed a demon, was he not one of the beasts himself? What could concern him to the point of hiding from it? And would whatever it is be any more friendly to her?

No, it was best for her to stay quiet for now. Whatever he had in mind, it was better to see if she could escape him, rather than a new enemy that could kill her on sight, or have multiple enemies that could actually muster a full watch on her.

After some time he turned. The tension was still in his body, but he did move over to her and clamped a hand over his mouth letting her know to remain silent. He then threw something over her body. It was warm. She realized that it was the skin; he'd picked it up in his mad dash apparently, thinking about her need for warmth. He then returned to the outcropping and resumed his perch.

She felt the wind whip at the rocks around her, and pulled the skin further up her body. It was only then that she realized that he'd retied her bonds so that they'd be in front of her. Immediately she reached to unbind her feet, but as she glanced at him, she thought better of it. She doubted that she could find her way to safety now, so far from the town. It was likely that whatever he was hiding from would find her in her flight, and he'd probably let it rather than expose himself. She wisely shifted to a more comfortable position, and tried to calm herself.

It didn't make much sense. He'd taken her from the other demon, and now he kept vigil over her. She was no one important, so why did he not leave her, or kill her when she'd struck him?

She pondered this for a long while, determined to let the thoughts keep her conscious, if for no reason other than to know if whatever it was he was looking for found them. Despite her best efforts though, she soon found her thoughts wandering, and it was not until the warmth of the sun found her face, that she awoke to find that she'd dozed off.

* * *

Mikhail heard the girl beginning to rouse behind him. He'd run through the night, searching desperately for a safe place away from the trails. He'd been lucky that the raiding party was already bloated from the night's activities. They probably assumed that his and the girl's scents were merely one of their own having some fun. After such a night, it seemed that none wanted to partake in the chase, but were content to let their companion have his sport alone.

He was glad for many reasons that unnerved him. He'd killed one of his own, which really wasn't all that uncommon, but he'd done it to protect a human, not to prove himself the better. If they'd found him, he didn't know how he'd explain himself, and would likely have to fight again.

Mikhail was confident in his abilities, he'd always been a good fighter, and the priesthood guaranteed a few edges, not the least of which was the mere reputation of Roathian priests to be insane and bloodthirsty. He knew he could take multiple opponents, but not this many. He could have thrown them off enough to flee, but the girl would be forfeit, but was that such a bad thing? He did not know, nor did he welcome the choice.

The main party had moved on but he knew that stragglers might still be on the move. Those that gorged themselves would often sleep with a village burning around them, and there were those who refused to leave before sniffing out every bit of treasure they could find. These did not worry him though, they'd be easy enough to avoid. It was the path ahead that worried him.

Mikhail knew that this was not the only raid happening. There would be other parties returning, and many would meet up on their ways back home. These raids were planned affairs after all. This one in particular was important to any who wanted the blessing of Roathe. The first lunar eclipse of a cycle was said to be when Roathe's blessings were strongest, and this being a blood moon was a decisive event indeed. 

Almost all of his kin would be hunting last night. He'd noted the passing of thousands in the days leading up to the Blaudroch. Traveling with a human at this time was foolhardy.

What are your options then fool? If we take her back there may be survivors to care for her, but if any of us are still there...

The only path left is forward. They won't expect others to be out of the villages, not after last night. The largest group of humans should be to the east, close to the sea, but that is the direction my kin run to as well. To the south are plains and desert, and few large settlements except far to the west. There are mountains to the north, which have probably all been pillaged.

Mikhail pondered this for some time, but eventually decided that east was the best course. After all, it would be easier to avoid his kin if he traveled in the same direction rather than across their own paths. After the Blaudroch his people would want to avoid large communities where numbers could prove more dangerous. The blessings of Roathe were powerful, but did not make one invincible.

His course decided, he finally turned back towards the young woman. She stared at him groggily and he considered her for a moment. Through all the excitement, he hadn't actually taken the time to appraise her.

She was lean and well-muscled, not common of human women, who either seemed malnourished or over nourished. Mikhail had assumed that she'd been a herder's daughter, but now he wondered, could she be a slave? It would explain her build, more akin to a laborer than a breeder.

Her hands were also dirty and seemed worn. He hadn't thought about it the previous night, since what had almost happened to her would certainly show on her hands, but they were not blistered from the struggle, they were likely calloused long ago already. They matched her feet. He'd assumed that she had lost her sandals in the struggle, or had forgotten them in the panic, but she seemed comfortable without them. Perhaps she isn't used to wearing them to begin with.

She wore a loose brown shirt, ripped from the struggle, and made of harsh wool, along with matching britches. The exposed skin was pale and pinkish, whereas the skin on her arms was a light brown. She seemed short, even for a human. She had long matted hair the color of blood, something closer to the shades found on his people than what was normal for hers. Her face was round, with a small upturned nose, and too pale blue eyes.

She looked out of place compared to the people from the village, who were all dark skinned and large of build. Mikhail wondered why the black wanted so bad to mount her. Perhaps she seemed like the most likely to put up a fight. It was their way after all: violence in all things, even in passions of the flesh. A perverse way of life.

Mikhail shook his head. These thoughts were beginning to disturb him. He wondered for the dozenth time as to whether or not the Shakar was sentient, and telepathic. Perhaps it was putting these thoughts in his head. Why should he care who wants to mount the girl? No matter how unappealing she is, it would be an honor for her to be mounted before sacrifice.

He finally turned his head away, and remembered the night before when she'd assaulted him. Perhaps not completely unappealing. He staunched his thoughts quickly and recovered his belongings from the ground.

* * *

Gwen watched the demon gather his belongings, uncertain as to what her fate would be this day. He'd been starring at her as if she were a goat to be slaughtered; it made her insides roil, and it took all her courage to stare back at this beast.

The creature had brought the makeshift sack of meat, and also seemed to carry a satchel that could be tied across the chest for easy carrying. He was digging in the satchel, and finally brought out a water skin. Pulling the stopper out with a quick yank, it started to drink, but stopped itself, and looked at her.

It approached her, and she tried to back away, but forgot that she'd been propped up against a large rock. When it was directly in front of her, it grabbed her chin in its rough hand and put the skin to her lips, letting the cool liquid wet her chapped skin.

She tried not to drink, despite how the cool liquid on her lips immediately made the dryness of her throat more demanding. It wouldn't have it though, squeezing her jaw in a way that forced her lips to part enough to let the cool liquid in. She immediately began to cough, shocked by the forcefulness, she'd unintentionally gasped and inhaled the substance. It pulled back just in time to save the remaining water.

Water. It's just water.

Gwen shook as her body forced it from her lungs. She'd been afraid that it had been some sort of poison, or perhaps a type of wine that its kind drank, no telling what it could do to humans. She felt regretful immediately. She'd seen it ready to drink, so worst case scenario it might have knocked her out, best case it could be water, and give her strength. Now that she knew the latter was the case, she felt foolish.

When she finished hacking, she realized that it'd knelt down and was holding her shoulder to steady her. She looked it in the eye to find a strange emotion there, something akin to hopelessness.

This time he did not try to force the water in her mouth, but instead grabbed her hands, and placed the skin delicately in her grasp. She warily watched him as he let her go, and she slowly drank from the skin, but her thirst soon took over and she began sucking at the skin greedily until he placed his hand firmly on hers.

She glared at him again, and considered throwing the water skin on the ground. Let them both die of thirst. She wouldn't let her anger get to her this time though, wasting the water wouldn't accomplish anything, so she handed it back begrudgingly.

To her surprise though, he did not drink from the skin. Instead he stoppered it and walked back to put it back in his bag, which he slung across his back and secured by knotting the free cloth ends across his front. He then picked up the odd shepherd's staff that he carried and the bag of meat, bringing both of them over to her.

He stared down at her, as if considering. Finally he stabbed the end of the crook down between her legs causing Gwen to close her eyes and jump involuntarily. Slowly she recovered and glared up at him, but he was already moving away. Looking to where he'd plunged the crook, she saw a shallow gash in the stone, leading down her legs, and stopping just past her feet. She had not heard a sound, nor had she felt the rope around her ankles being cut.

He began down a trail between the rocks to the side, but stopped and looked back to her on the ground. He gestured for her to follow and she stood to do so before catching herself mid stride.

Gwen looked towards the way they'd come. She could run the other way. After last night she held no delusions that she could out run him, but nor did he seem to care. Why else would he cut her free and just walk away? She looked longingly down the steep trail, leading to the village. They are probably all dead anyway, killed by his friends. There is nothing left there but perhaps more pain and suffering.

And so Gwen followed her demon, from one life of slavery to another.