Lynesse

To the Fjord - Part Seven

It’s been a very long time since I’ve had to actively consider my mortality. Standing in a walled pit with a knife that might have well have been a short sword in my hand, shackles still on my wrists, a myriad of Vrykul runes burned into my skin preventing me from accessing my magic, and staring down a very angry Shoveltusk apparently triggers that in me. 

This didn’t strike me as a particularly survivable situation; I was out of it and trapped. The Vrykul had spent time riling the bull up before putting him between me and the gates. I was going to do my level best. In theory there were people waiting on me and wondering where the fuck I was. 

Honestly, the whole thing went on too long. The thunderous yells and jeers of the Vrykul that lined the “ring”. A handsome woman stood near an ornately carved seat, watching. I assumed that was Bruna. We locked eyes and, for as savage as most of the world considered her race, I understood her. I’d want me fucking dead, too. 

An arrow pierced the beast’s flank and it charged. There’s only so much dodging one can do before one gets tired, especially if one hasn’t exactly been eating or kept in the most restful state. There wasn’t much space in this little arena either. 

I can safely say, as someone who’s been doing a lot of medical things lately, that internal organs and bones are not particularly fond of being slammed into wooden siding by an animal that weighs well over a ton. The pointy bits of their tuskelers (that’s tusks and antlers) are also not terribly kind to flesh. Adrenaline was a really helpful buffer here but I knew it wasn’t going to last terribly long and I had to do something. I was dying and I was going to take this fucker with me so they couldn’t torment it more, at least. 

In a last ditch effort (and terrible idea) I stood as stock still as I could and waited. At the last second I dropped, jamming the knife up to catch the animal in the neck, holding on as it kept running. I was dragged underneath, the blade caught in thick muscle. Hooves slammed down on my thigh and clipped the side of my chest. Hot blood ran down my arms in a furious gout. I couldn’t breath. With a hard jerk I pulled the knife free and jammed it up into the belly, slicing down and through as it continued to run past. 

I don’t remember a lot after that. One of them dragged me out, all broken and bloody. I think that meant I’d won, if sustaining at least two internal injuries and at least six broken bones and however many external lacerations counted as winning. Maybe they thought I was dead? I was going to go into shock soon, regardless, if I wasn’t already. Not to mention the part where I was absolutely going to die of blood loss or a collapsed lung in the next very short little while if I didn’t get any medical attention. 

There was something I’d always wanted to think about at the end of my life. Did I regret anything? Nah. If I wanted something, I took it. I generally told people what I thought of them. I imagine there were a number of things I could’ve done better, but shit, nobody’s perfect. 

Lucas shuffled back in. I do remember him. The poor man, apparently I’d made him question his motives and purpose. I remember telling him I didn’t want to die in Northrend. I told him about my brother and his family. How there were people I wanted to handle my shit but they were going to need my body to burn at least so just fucking send me home please and thank you. I probably wasn’t even understandable at that point. We might’ve talked too long. Time’s a weird concept when you can’t focus on it. 

He wasn’t practiced with opening portals to Silvermoon. Normally they dump you off in the Spire, at least, the legit ones do. I thought I dreaming or worse when it was suddenly late-afternoon warm. I could smell the spicy bite of Silvermoon’s florals and greenery mixed with the metallic tang of my own blood.  I think I tried to kiss the cobblestones in the street as red and gold boots manifested in my limited field of vision. 

The guards voices were muffled. They were guards, weren’t they? They had to be. That was nice. The only word I caught was “Clinic” before I knew no more.