Instinct: Ch. 2

Chapter 2
Tears of Hope
By: Chris Moore

         Genevive ran through the prickly grass that grew near the ocean. She held her face with one hand, not paying attention to where she was going. She didn't need to, as she often escaped to this place. The grass whipped at her bare feet, now striped with irritation, as she slowed down with both hands on her face. Tears escaped her barred fingers as she wept, collapsing to her knees. Genevive wept for minutes, her thin frame shaking. She was far from the small village. The grass poked at her legs and the sand cushioned her. Her body was still, but you could hear her deep shuddering breath escape from under her crimson hair and shaking hands.

         The air was salty and moist. The sea breeze, reaching her at her haven. Genevive lifted her face from her hands as they quickly wiped away the tears. Her soft hands bore scars crossed the tops of them. Her hair blew in the wind as the overcast sky highlighted every strand. Pulling back her hair with one of her scarred hands, she revealed a bruised eye and a split lip. Her stunning beauty contrasted with these crimes on her glowing skin. Her full, pink-red lips quivered slightly as a small trickle of blood ran onto her bottom lip.

         She took another deep breath as she pressed her palms against the sand and grass. Genevive gathered herself, furrowing her eyebrows. She would not go back, she had concluded. She would simply disappear and not come back. Her father would not miss her, he wouldn't even notice.

         With a last shuddering breath, Genevive leaned forward, pulling herself up, her hair just missing the sand. Standing her full height, being of average stature. She wiped her hands off on her skirt. The wind kissed her face gently, her hair dancing in the breeze. Eyes closed, she soaked in the euphoria.

         Genevive opened her eyes to the beautiful sandy surroundings, the ocean waves whispering comfort. She drank in the landscape. She meandered down the small path to the beach when her eyes widened with fear. Laying at the pinnacle of the hill she was on just a few yards away was a mangled carcass. The wind changed course, bringing about the foul rot of flesh. The corpse's stench made Genevive’s eyes tear once more as she turned to retch. Once she recovered, she wiped her mouth and looked again at the pile of charred flesh. The beast's hairy body lay torched and it's legs seemed to be torn from it. She had heard of these beasts among men before, but never had she seen one. They were mostly very isolated and would not come into contact with other races unless absolutely necessary. This is bad news, very bad news, Genevive thought, “these were Lykos, here! Which only meant that they were bounty hunters. They must belong to a guild or faction, which also meant if these didn't return they would send a search party for them. This is bad!”

         Walking slowly around it, Genevive eyed the deadly blade that pinned the body to the ground. Her hand clenched her mouth as she kept her wide eyes on the remains of the Lykos. Coming over the top of the dune, she spotted another body nearly fifteen yards away. It looked more gruesome than the first. It bobbed in the water, its arms appeared to be clawing at the shore, the waves creating the illusion that it was still living.

         The sand shifted under her feet as she continued to survey the wreckage on the beach. Scattered wood and debris were sticking out of the sand all along the shore. There was more, though. Something caught Genevive's eye and startled her. There was a man out by the water; he laid there lifeless and still. He was armored lightly with dark leather, and had a head full of raven hair.

         Genevive made her way down the steep incline towards the man cautiously, knowing that he was the reason they were here and... dead. The ocean waves were receding into their girth as the tide went out, the light was fading slowly, just reaching across the oceans surface once more. Her chest was pounding as she neared the body, her breath came in short heavy bursts. Genevive stood a yard away, searching the body with her eyes, her legs unstable beneath her. Genevive's heart leapt and she let out a scream. He was breathing! Just barely, small weak breaths sputtered out of his lips.

         Genevive stood in shock, hands still pressed against her mouth. What should I do? she thought. Her hands were shaking a little as she began to pace around the body. Her mind was racing, finally it came to a halt.

         His skin, as she got a better look at the man, was fair and his ears were pointed in a familiar fashion, wait that was… “impossible!” He was a member of the Lost Race, they were extinct! More than that they had a high bounty on them set by Lord Pravus. That explains the Lykos, at least. If she were even seen with him at all, she would be hunted down too. Conflict raged inside Genevive. She stepped forward quickly, dropping both knees into the sand. “I care not of the bounty, I'm leaving here anyway,” she thought coming to a decision as she placed one hand on his forehead. He was cold, His breathing, shallow. She searched his body over, inspecting it with speed. A large wound was found on his left arm. Genevive grimaced and positioned it where she could see it better. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she retrieved a small flask. Pulling the cork out, she washed the wound. Genevive knew very little of magic weaving, but what a kind, hunched elderly lady taught her while visiting in a caravan. She believed no one could survive in a world such as this without it's secrets, and was astounded by the little redheaded girls ignorance. She showed her how to mend wounds; by weaving magic into the flesh and closing the wound.

         After the wound was clean and inspected very closely, she closed her eyes, drawing upon the small well of magic within her. She opened them once she grasped a steady stream of energy and began to weave it into the wound. Small, bright green threads began to make their way through the skin and across the visible muscle and tendons. Her mind focused narrowly on the flow of magic and keeping it steady. Her hands were hovering evenly over his arm as the bright threads closed the wound. The glow from the magic faded as the bright green patch blended into skin, healing completely. There was a pink scar left behind, as her knowledge of magic weaving was inadequate for healing without scars. Genevive felt the pull on her energy release, she was slightly fatigued. She placed her palm on her forehead, resting for a moment. The days exhausting events and now this were wearing her out. The waves almost lulled her but she opened her eyes once more.

         A sound startled Genevive, a deep breath, sharp and swift. She gasped and her eyes widened when she saw the young man stir.