Another shriek, weaker this time, left her as the light hit. It forced her illusions back within less than a trill, but not before she dug into his bandaged wounds. The higher functioning part of her mind might have remarked at this. Had he gotten into confrontation prior to this for the same exact reason? Did he make it his business to piss others off enough to want him dead? Of course, that part of her lay dormant, slumbering while baser instincts worked at keeping her alive. The man drove his dagger into her side, causing her to still. He took that trill as the moment to flip them, his hands soon on her throat.
To her luck, it would seem she could remember a little unarmed combat in the heat of the moment. Her small size made it easy to maneuver her knee up and into his groin. Once off her, she rolled away. His retaliation was to wrench the offending weapon from her side. Her response was a raspy cry. For not the first time in her life, everything hurt. It was dulled only by adrenaline and the vestiges of rage. If only he'd just gone back. Neither of them would be in this mess, but most importantly, Yndira would not be in such jarring pain. Her pain threshold might have been something spectacular before, but now it was not so. A life of luxury had left her void of torture or malicious acts upon her person such as this one.
Getting to her feet alone was a difficult task. The world would not remain still enough to stand straight, nor would the pain radiating through her side. Like a feral beast, she shuffled away from the light. His words, which she could process very little of, were met with broken laughter. Her hands, which had gravitated to the wound in her side to shield it, pressed harder into flesh. Blood trickled over her fingers, mingling with that of her meal and the man's already on it. Her laughter picked up, hysterical to the point that it might have been tears. Was whatever he was saying supposed to mean something to her? It was likely just more pointless poetic words.
Her laughter did not turn to tears. It was the recessional hymn that followed as she retreated to the shadows. Her dark framed her bloodied face and bright eyes, a picture of madness. Lifting one hand, she slid a finger over her throat before a step took her into the dark and obscured every but her eyes from sight. Should he chance coming after her, she could not guarantee her victory. Her legs trembled under her weight with each step she took, a hand out to steady herself against the wall beside her. But if he did follow, she would not hesitate to retaliate. While her will to live had been stronger than her pride, her body was weaker than both. Even if she tried to run a second time, it was likely he would catch up with her and finish the job.
The Naer would reprimand herself for her actions later, when she was far removed from this man. What she needed now was healing and cover. Surely, he would inform any nearby guards of what he saw. She would need to disappear for a short while, hide out.
To her luck, it would seem she could remember a little unarmed combat in the heat of the moment. Her small size made it easy to maneuver her knee up and into his groin. Once off her, she rolled away. His retaliation was to wrench the offending weapon from her side. Her response was a raspy cry. For not the first time in her life, everything hurt. It was dulled only by adrenaline and the vestiges of rage. If only he'd just gone back. Neither of them would be in this mess, but most importantly, Yndira would not be in such jarring pain. Her pain threshold might have been something spectacular before, but now it was not so. A life of luxury had left her void of torture or malicious acts upon her person such as this one.
Getting to her feet alone was a difficult task. The world would not remain still enough to stand straight, nor would the pain radiating through her side. Like a feral beast, she shuffled away from the light. His words, which she could process very little of, were met with broken laughter. Her hands, which had gravitated to the wound in her side to shield it, pressed harder into flesh. Blood trickled over her fingers, mingling with that of her meal and the man's already on it. Her laughter picked up, hysterical to the point that it might have been tears. Was whatever he was saying supposed to mean something to her? It was likely just more pointless poetic words.
Her laughter did not turn to tears. It was the recessional hymn that followed as she retreated to the shadows. Her dark framed her bloodied face and bright eyes, a picture of madness. Lifting one hand, she slid a finger over her throat before a step took her into the dark and obscured every but her eyes from sight. Should he chance coming after her, she could not guarantee her victory. Her legs trembled under her weight with each step she took, a hand out to steady herself against the wall beside her. But if he did follow, she would not hesitate to retaliate. While her will to live had been stronger than her pride, her body was weaker than both. Even if she tried to run a second time, it was likely he would catch up with her and finish the job.
The Naer would reprimand herself for her actions later, when she was far removed from this man. What she needed now was healing and cover. Surely, he would inform any nearby guards of what he saw. She would need to disappear for a short while, hide out.
