A Moonlight Dance with Death

Darkness splayed across the land like a cloak, falling into the nooks and crannies as if silken in nature and absolute with its coverage.  Sound whispered through the blades of grass, stirring only in the murmuring of leaves upon trees, a ghostly caress that brought to mind the tremors of fear and the unknown. What threats stretched beneath the canopies of Autumn, with its descending cascade of decaying foliage-rain, carpeting the Earth with the future till of soil and nutrient, brought about by the decadence of death? It seemed the only souls present to witness the quiet turn of nature were those born to it, who existed within its embrace and had constant roaming surveillance of the land; but not so.

There were eyes in the darkness, seeking life that did not belong, stranger to land and wind and flowing waters of babbling brooks. It waited in ambush, surrounded by the clinging and outstretched fingers of nature's clustered foliage, those that rose to hug the trunks of trees and crowded along the sequestered and ill-beaten paths of the most lonely hooves. This was not an area known for its hospitality. In contrast, this forest was ever-pressed by the rumors of banditry and caustic intent of creatures who were swayed not by law or morality. Thieves, bands of marauders, and even the eye-closing, life-ending reality of murderers. And despite the lack of warmth and the promise of laceration to either flesh or sanity, so was the creature who prowled silent in its embrace still occupying the quiet employment of observance. Watch, wait. Strike silent, strike fast.

Alas, those of two-legged travel were not the only predators to withstand the noxious disease of cruelty and unadulterated intent to live. The very Earth itself of Atalav seemed as persistent in its desire to choke away life as even the clawing digits of a scowling, laughing criminal. Creatures of sharp fang and slashing claws; growing vines with pretty petals meant to entice and then strangle a cry on frothing blood. Yes, the world here was unkind. A natural epitome of kill or be killed. They were not the Apex this dark evening, though.

Still, the slender shadow, darker than those around it, with glimpses of silvery flash in the rare beam of moonlight - managing only rarely to seep through the clustered leaves, even now in Autumn - and the glowing twins of acidity, gave lie to the lack of uninhabitance that was its den of watchfulness. A hood was pulled up, fastened around a pair of horns which tangled with those outstretching branches, adorned by yet further flora which promised agony upon ingestion. She waited, our huntress, in the embrace of danger and the bowels of debauchery cloaked in nature.

A rustle! Suddenly, light. A flame upon torch, carried by raggamuffin thinness, who reeked of unwashed flesh and likely had the soul to match. At their side was another, speaking in hushed tones of the world around them.

"Ain't no place fit for living, this hellhole." It was raspy, as if it lacked the soft caress of fluid to soothe a throat. The response was just as untamed, just as uncomfortably expressed.

"Don't matter none. Boss says best place to run from law is in the wilds." The creature - who carried the torch - shivered as they looked around.

The thin mistress of the bushes drew back some as they moved by. Nostrils flared. A slight narrowing of those eyes as the torchlight blinded momentarily. No, neither of these was her mark, but they might lead her to him... if she were to follow. Something told her to stay the blade and keep the confidence of shadows, however.

Unremarkable conversation continued in those rasping, hushed tones until the firelight flickered out of sight. The huntress frowned, brows furrowing in the shadowy confines of her hood. Something was not right. Something was amiss. She had been so wholly focused on the pair who picked along the battered pathway, mere inches from the kiss of her blade, that she had not noticed the approach of another shadow, dark as she, at her rear. It was the careless snap of a twig that saw her whirling, blade raised and a snarl on her lips in quiet warning.

But the other shadow only released a low chuckle, the sound raising fur on the back of her neck and promising pain and misery. When it spoke, its voice was like poison more potent than that which lined her blade, and the smaller view of her un furled to crouch in a more suitable posture for defense.

"What's a pretty little thing like you, doing in a dirty old place like this, hmn?" Another chuckle, wheezed over cracked lips as the moon caught and shone on metal-capped fangs. He seemed... nonchalant, but aware. Prepared. Despite his comment, she knew he could not see her face in the embrace of her dark hood. He must have surmised her nature through the slender build, bound tight and snug in her dark wrappings. She cursed herself thrice for allowing him to approach her. For the moment, she did not speak. It mattered not, for he continued onward, dogged in his crass application of verbiage to the broken silence of her vigil.

"You know, I heard that they'd be sending someone to try and end me. Didn't know they'd run out of strong males to fight me and were going to resort to little girls." He sneered then, his tone dripping the acerbic intonation of just what he thought of that.

At last, she broke her quiet, her tone silken and smooth, at odds against both company and scenery.

"Yes, it must be horribly offensive that they'd do that." Not much, no acquiescence or rise to bait. Only a pricking statement. It did the trick.

He stiffened, his gaze once calculating and assessing now haunted by the machismo of toxic male pride and its underlying absurdity. Excellent. Just as she had intended. Still, her heart skipped a beat as he suddenly moved. A strike like a cobra, flying through the air with a snarl on lips that ripped through the air like so much fetid breath. She felt that pumping organ within her chest flutter and rise into her throat, almost choking her as she whipped beneath his flying frame, twisting like a dancer.

Despite his pricked pride and broken composure, however, he was not a male who had survived for folly. He seemed prepared for her movements, his own form contorting almost unnaturally to avoid her blade, which gleamed in another shaft of moonlight. He paused, narrow gaze lighting upon her tool and sneered.

"Ah. I see now. Not just some little girl, but Datura's Gift has been sent to me, eh?" He grinned maliciously, abandoning his station to rush again, without so much as a hint of movement beforehand. She clenched her jaw, legs folding before she leapt in turn, though not to clash, but to avoid. On the defensive. "Let's see if you're as dangerous as they say in the darkness... and if I can cut the crop of your legend before it grows to myth!" Such bravado... such confidence.

She didn't bother to give him application of confirmation. No, focus remained now on allowing him to throw his weight, to thrust the blade he had procured from the folds of his cloak. To let his energy wane as she used the light dexterity of her lithe form to evade and consistently draw him away from the camp of his cronies. He was so focused on trying to land a blow that he didn't even notice.

Suddenly, the trees broke their embrace. A wild-grown field of wheat swayed in the softened breeze of the evening, and moonlight painted across the dueling pair like a caress. Blades glinted, and her hood fell back as she tumbled hoof over head in some agile motion to avoid him once more.

She had never been one to discount the power of her looks; no, her beauty was often as much a weapon as the blade she wielded or the poison she extracted from the mutated flowers which blossomed from her very flesh. And, perhaps, it had been her intent to wield it now. As if she had  somehow orchestrated the hood to fall. Even if it was not by intent, it brought about the end of the battle more swiftly.

Heaving, breath flowing in harsh clouds of mist, the male stuttered in his step as her silvery locks caught moonlight and the full effect of her visage was revealed. He sucked in a breath so sharp it could have lacerated lungs from within, and the sudden bloom of lust in his gaze was a rabid as his apparent desire to cause harm. Her lip started to curl up in disgust, but she halted it with control, forcing a demure and content smirk in its place.

"Imagine, being unable to hit a girl; much less bed one without force." Laughter suddenly pressed from within her chest, which heaved only slightly in comparison to his launching and lunging ribs as he struggled to maintain appropriate oxygen in the wake of his onslaught. Still, the impertinence and daring of a woman unable to be subdued was tinder caught flame, raging inferno in his pride; it laid waste to control as a howl of rage tore from him, ragged and half-breathless. He lunged once more.

She felt the trickle of exhilarated, invigorating fear as he cast that gaze of intermingled desire to harm, but it was more the threat of his lust that caught fear in her veins. She knew was it was to be hurt so, had been victim before she became what she was. Had vowed: Never Again.

So he did not notice, as she stood still and did not attempt to dodge until the very last moment. His blade sliced through the air above her as she dropped like a stone, slicing silver strands from their place of growth that twinkled and fell in the moonlight like spider's web strands. He hardly noticed the soft singing of her blade as it tore with precision through his ragged clock and tattered clothes. He barely registered the sting of pain as it parted flesh and delivered like some awaited package its coating of toxin derived of her flowers. For a moment, all he saw was the absence of her where once she had been.

He twisted and stared in bewilderment as she danced a few feet away and drew herself up into some elegant pose, raising her dagger to observe its length in nonchalance. There, the moonlight caught the ruby glimmer of a strip of his own lifeblood, a telltale sign of who had drawn first blood. She looked askance at him, one brow raised as the corner of her lips tilted upwards.

He stared, aghast, and suddenly, fire, fire, fire in his blood. He dropped to his knees, blade cast down as his digits sought to staunch the flow of his blood. A chuckle which made his blood run cold floated along the breeze.

"It does not matter if you stop the leak, bandage the wound, stitch or rend the flesh closed with fire. Your death is imminent." She moved forward as he wheezed and crumpled into the dirt, her poison fast, expertly weaponized to work with the quick flow of furied blood and frenzied breaths. Yes.. it was all calculated, even the movement of putting him into aggressive offense. All for this moment, this sweet moment.

"Your days of harming women and raiding farms and murdering innocents is over." She shifted, kicking his blade away even as he reached for it feebly. She kneeled down to get level in gaze with him. Had he thought he was dangerous? Surely, he had. But now, all that clouded his gaze was fear... whole and unbridled.

"You.... you're a demon..." he wheezed.

Her head tilted and she seemed to consider that. "Perhaps." She looked up at the moon before her gaze skirted back to him. "Or perhaps I am death itself."

He died before her blade was even wiped clean.