After a week of wondering, having lost count of the days after initially leaving Solaris, Ayron’s journey had initially progressed unabated. Yet, as the cycles of day and night continued to rotate like clockwork, he grew progressively tired. Slowly hindered by the encroaching sand storm and forced to withstand the baring heat and dry course wind; as it seemed to mindfully face him head on despite any change direction he faced. His strength was waning, unable to find adequate game to hunt among the rocky strolling hill side, let alone not having the proper tools to even do so he was only able to collect the odd edible root or grub; all of which he would save in a cloth bag made from a stretch of his own tattered clothes.
The Kinship of Paladins survival training afforded Ayron enough to get by, even though had no previous call to utilise them until now. With distant screeches in the distance he instinctively took to making spears from just about any sized branch and flint he could find. Evenings were spent hunkering down in front of a small crude fire, and when possible, tucked away inside an alcove. Nights were spent trying to satisfy his hunger on his daily finds but not quite enough to realise his strength; only just enough in order to prevent staving death. He soon started to lose hope. He doubted his prayers to the Trinity were ignored, let alone even heard.
Further days kept counting by and one in particular saw Ayron hunted by a small pack of roaming Cervairas; their screeches were what he had heard days before. As they grew closer to the sounds became more piercing to the ear. The vicious little beasts had elongated bodied and narrow heads, with twisted jagged horns. Their foul scaly skin was bleached like sand and they had sticky long tongues that ended in razor sharp barbs; all of which adapted them well to the climate and for ganging up on prey. Before he could be their next meal, still having enough sense to not desire that outcome, he managing to gain some distance further down the long road. Or so he thought.
Before Ayron knew it, they were upon him. They charged at him while emitting their distracting screeches and were successful a few times in nipping and lashing at his legs with their barbs until they started to become raw and bloody. His strength sought only to fend them off but managed to successfully kill a few in the process. It was enough to see the pack retreat beyond the hills with their dead, no doubt seeing them with a more savoury outlook.
The adrenaline of being near death was enough for now but he new it would only be temporary before he passed out. On edge and desperate to not hang around, he noticed the terrain had bled into woodland. Walking further down the road, now reliant on his toughest spear as a walking aid, he limped towards the trees. Smoke could be seen bellowing beyond the canope and where the greenery was carved out by the road, evidence as clear as any of more civilized souls inhabiting the area. He continued through with straining limbs and aching bones, and was more than ready to collapse, until he could clearly see built structures.
Reaching the outskirts of the hamlet Harenamsil Ayron collapsed at the gates. The town guards, who noticed him, but dared not open the gates unnecessarily, rushed down from the log ramparts to aid him. They brought him inside and away from the dangers that lurked beyond. His exhaustion had beaten him but for now he was safe.
Laura Steel ©2015