Anthony Brennan ჯ Tristan (ofmisadventures) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-04-02 01:28:00 |
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Entry tags: | !event #018, !mini-log, tristan |
thirty-four.
He'd be in the middle of work when he had been taken. His first fear was that it was false world again, that he and Gawain were done for now. But the surroundings sank in and he realized it was a different kind of game now. Not that it made the matter more pleasant.
Not that what was about to happen was going to improve his health. Arrows whizzed by his head and he dove to get close to the ground. Feeling for whatever was on him (a compass, a knife and a phone), he cursed his lurk and tried to listen for steps. An unmistakable crunch of a branch toward his left came and he was up, running for shelter. Something slipped past his head, encouraging his speed. The next one that slit through his pant leg and through flesh encouraged prayer.
I will not be hunted. I am no fucking prey. Flashes of being pursed by Queen Helen's men hit him, inspiring and pushing him. And by the time he was somewhere southwest of the maze (he didn't even know there were two sides to the damn thing), the once-knight realized he'd lost his hunter. But this wasn't good. Especially not for many of the less capable around (he couldn't phrase it any better than that right then).
Tristan of Cornwall was going to need to do some serious knight work. After the blood stopped running so freely from his body.