Medieval Adrenaline

Stealthily, I walk forward, making sure that my feet ease between the twigs. I can't risk them snapping, alerting them to my presence. I allow myself a sigh of relief as the ground meets the soft leather of my boots. Looking up, I see it. Dangling from a high branch less than twenty metres away, is a small hammock filled with the greatest of treasures: Beef Jerky. My mouth begins to water just thinking about it.

Quickly I assess the situation. Three of them are lying under it, but their thick, guttural snores don't deceive me. They are known for being the lightest sleepers in the realm, amongst other things. One snap of a twig beneath my boot would ensure my death sentence. Right, I think to myself. There is a tree just in front of me, use it. So I deftly pick my foot up and find purchase on the broad trunk. One hand holds the quiver on my back so the arrows don't clink together, I use my other hand to grab a sturdy looking branch just above me. From there it's easy. I climb halfway up the trunk in a matter of seconds, my feet doing most of the work. When I am suitably perched on a thickly leafed branch, I look down to see if I have been spotted. I haven't. I sigh in relief again, feeling perspiration on my brow.

Now for the fun bit. From my quiver I retrieve a little oilskin pouch. Inside it are a few somewhat random objects: a length of string, a couple of arrow heads, a small stone ball, a handful of wood chips, and my most prized object; a wooden ring set with an amethyst stone. I touch it briefly for luck, but it is the string I take out.

Soon, my wooden bow is strung with a quill, the one I write with. An arrow would make too much noise. The quill has a delicate but strong metal head. The feathered part is bound with string, the end of the length is coiled around my little finger. If I get this shot wrong, losing my little finger will be the least of my problems.

Breathing in slowly, I sight down the quill's shaft, pulling it back until my thumb rests at the corner of my mouth. I take my time, conscious of the movement below. Then I adjust my aim to account for the wind and the weight difference. Smoothly I release the bow string, sending the quill speeding silently to its target. When its tiny arrow shaped nib thuds deeply into the hammock's cloth, I remember to breath again.

That's when the creatures awaken. Damn, I curse silently to myself. My arm is stretched right out, keeping the string taught. Any movement now will alert them to my presence, so I force myself to ignore the growing discomfort. I see one of them blundering around, kicking its companions roughly awake.

My eyes widen as I take in their height. If one were to look up, I would be well within reach. I had wondered how they'd managed to get the hammock into that tree. They are not exactly known for their climbing abilities.

I note that the first creature doesn't kick the last of the seven awake. Instead he nudges its arm with his boot before jumping back quickly. This looks so ridiculous that I have to stop myself from laughing. Barely a few seconds later, the same creature flies past me into the hammock tree, where he slides sickeningly down the bark until he lies broken at the base of the tree. Smoke rises from where his blood seeps out from his slack jaw. My mouth goes dry. I can't look away. The strength it must have taken to throw the beast that far, and with that much force is unimaginable. Why didn't I just run as far as I could away when I had the chance?

My attention snaps back to the present when I hear the barbaric sound of their voices. It sounds like metal being crushed and grated against rock. The harsh noises make my flesh crawl. I can make out a subtle formation in the beast's stance. Five of them seem to huddle together, leaving the last one, presumably the leader, to stand threateningly in front of them. One of the five gestures towards the still creature to it's left. The leader barks something in retort and advances menacingly towards the challenger, who then hastily backs down. I watch in fascination as this takes place. Then I remember my arm which no longer has any feeling in it. The makeshift arrow is still embedded in the hammock. A part of me hopes to the Gods that the beasts don't decide to get it down, as I am still attached to it.

My heart starts to thud heavily in my chest as I notice the change in movement below. The leader strides into the forest, leaving the rest of them to stumble away from each other and begin to pack up their camp. Heavy boots kick filth over the cold fire. Clumsy hands gather up the rough grey sacks dotted about the camp. One of them drops a sack, causing the contents to spill across the churned floor. Immediately a small bag catches my attention. I see a few brightly polished orange and red stones peeking out from it's opening. Something about it makes me want it badly. All of my attention focuses on it. I will it to be forgotten, to blend in with the earth below it. I will it to go unnoticed. It belongs to me, it is mine, I think over and over. The creature's huge hand passes over the bag and grabs a small, dull goblet which he shoves angrily into the sack. He then gets up and hurries to catch up with the rest, who to my surprise, have already gone.

For over a minute I sit in the same position, not moving a muscle. That bag was in plain sight. There's no way he would have ignored it. Unless... No. He must not have seen it, that's the only explanation. I strain to hear any sound that might mean their return. There are none. I look towards the hammock tree. Then I begin laughing. The jerky is still there. My shoulders begin to shake, and I let go of the string to hold my aching sides. Tears run down my face as I gasp for breath, whilst still laughing uncontrollably. I am the luckiest son of the Gods to have ever walked this earth.

Quickly, I scramble down the tree's trunk and fall to my knees. I roll over onto my back and start kicking my legs to get the blood pumping there again. I don't even care what I must look like. When the feeling has returned, I run over to where the small black bag lies. Hastily I pull the drawstrings together and stuff it in my pack. I then nimbly climb the hammock tree, unhook the hammock from the branches and sling it over my shoulder, after winding the string around it a few times. I don't bother to put them away properly, because I want to get out of there as soon as possible. When I am safely back on the ground, I walk cautiously over to the fallen creature. I examine it's slack features for a short while, so that I can give a good description when I get back. Then I run into the forest, heading south-west towards home. I know that I still have a good few days of travelling before I will get there, but for now I let the pounding of my feet release my adrenaline. My face splits into a grin as I realise that I have taken the Beef Jerky back, and that I am alive. Thank you to the Gods.