[ He frowns a little, glancing up through the tree tops. The light is fading, and it's a little too soon to think about stopping and setting up camp for the evening. ]
[ One of those smaller, tentative smiles tugs faintly at her lips. ]
Then I guess I will take you up on it. I really don't need much, though.
[ She's apparently determined she can hold out – mostly, because she doesn't want to take more than Peter is already doing for her. They may have reached some tenuous understanding, but Yan doesn't want to push it. ]
[ He offers up another little hum, somehow both acknowledging and skeptical. It seems to say, “Sure, if you say so,” only without so many words.
After a while spent hobbling, Peter peers up at the darkening sky and determines that this is the best time to try and set up camp while there’s still a bit of daylight. He finds a small clearing surrounded by bushes and tall trees – relatively private and hidden, which is the best they’re likely to manage without any additional work, physical or magical.
He helps Yan to sit before slipping off his pack, digging through his supplies and producing some jerky and dried fruit carefully wrapped in cloth. He holds it out to her, and once she takes it, he works on stringing his bow. ]
[ Yan can't help being frustrated with how far they don't manage to get, but she has to remind herself that trying to travel on a broken foot isn't any shade of easy. When the sun is finally starting to set, she allows Peter to select a location; funnily, it's a complete opposite from what Yan would have chosen, but that's mostly because she would have looked for cover to fit a fox, not a clearing big enough for humans to rest.
Racial differences.
She only winces slightly when Peter helps her to the ground, and she readjusts to find the least painful way to keep her foot. She looks up when Peter offers her the little wrapping of food, and she considers it, looking from the cloth to his face. She's reluctant to take it, but not out of distrust.
A moment of hesitation more, and then she accepts the food. She unknots the cloth—
—and is almost immediately tearing into the jerky ravenously.
So much for not being hungry.
She's mid-chew as she glances back at Peter, speaking with her mouth full of the dried meat. ]
Mmmn— d'you think you can bring me a couple of small sticks on your way back?
[ He asks it with a bit of effort as he's getting the bowstring in place. It doesn't take long, however, thanks to practice, and he carefully plucks the string to ensure it's sitting properly. ]
[ He casts her a slightly smug look when she scarfs down another bite, almost like he's saying, Thought so. Fox spirits are clever, or so the stories say, which means that if Yan was foolish enough to stumble into a magicked cage, she must've been desperate.
He looks like he's about to set off, but he pauses. Then, ]
[ She gives him an unimpressed look as she’s taking a bite from some dried fruit; of course she knows to stay quiet and keep a low profile. In some ways, she’s every bit the wild animal she looks in her other form, and she’s stayed alive this long. She knows how this works.
She genuinely does her best not to eat all of Peter’s food; she saves a chunk of the rations for him, rewrapping them in the cloth and setting them aside as she waits for him to return with a fresh kill. She feels— well, useless, if she’s honest. She’s been taking care of herself for so many years that being this hurt, this reliant, this vulnerable on any other person sets her on edge. She doesn’t know much about the human, and that makes her trust tenuous at best, but she also doesn’t think he’s going to kill her.
Which is largely the only guarantee she needs right now.
Time passes as the light continues to dim, and Yan keeps her ears open and her eyes peeled for signs of unwelcome company. She makes note of the sounds of the forest, the other animals going about their lives, and it’s… peaceful. Comfortable.
Until the fall of boots makes her head snap around to stare at the distant trees. At first, her instincts tell her it’s Peter, but—
It’s more than one pair stomping through the brush.
Her heartbeat thunders in her ribs, and she looks rapidly for cover. She first starts pushing herself up, only to fall back with the slightest weight on her ankle. Adrenaline makes the decision quickly for her, and her form immediately begins to shift and morph into the familiar fox. Peter’s jacket falls in a puddle on the grass, next to the cloth of food.
It’s not as easy, but hopping around on three legs lets her keep somewhat balanced as she starts to dart for the bushes, but—
She stops when she realizes she can’t just leave Peter’s coat in the open.
Fuck.
She rushes back, clamping her teeth around the leather collar as she starts to drag it into the bush with her, out of sight, away from prying eyes—
She only gets it mostly concealed when she hears men’s voices approaching the clearing.
As much as she wants to keep trying to hide the coat, she makes the desperate decision to let it go, turning to crawl as quietly as she can into the deeper brush.
She watches from behind branches and leaves, pressed low to the ground, as two men in leathers, one with a drawn bow and one with a sword, come into view. ]
You sure that sorcerer knew what he was talking about?
[ The low drawl of one of the hunters sounds annoyed. ]
He said she wouldn’t be able to get far. [ The other points out as he lowers his bow. ] If she’s injured, she’s going to wear herself out trying to run. One of us is bound to stumble onto her when she can’t keep going.
[ Yan’s breathing stops. ]
Well, fuck it, it’s gettin’ dark now. We’re not finding much until sun up.
Head back or stay here?
I’m bloody tired. We can just lay out here for the night.
[ Only the fact that Yan is plastered to the ground keeps her from shaking. ]
All right. Dig out some of that meat, would you? I’ll see about a fire.
[ The hunters put away their weapons, and they start to drop their packs. ]
Oy… [ The broader one pauses, before he starts walking towards where Yan had been sitting. ] The hells is this?
[ And he picks up the little cloth of rations she left behind.
Shit. ]
Someone’s been here.
[ Shit.
Both of the hunters straighten, and instead of starting to settle, they begin pouring over the clearing. Yan takes minuscule steps backwards, but it’s so hard not to drop too much weight on her only good rear paw.
She doesn’t make it far before one of the hunters is approaching where she’d mostly hidden Peter’s jacket. He lifts it up, frowning as he considers it in what’s left of the evening light. ]
[ All things considered, Peter isn't gone for very long. Most of his time is spent trying to track down something suitable. They hadn't made very much noise during their trek, but apparently it was enough to spook off the local wildlife. Peter ventures a little further than he likes before he's able to track down a rabbit, killing it with a well-aimed arrow.
He's bringing it back, along with the requested sticks – sturdy, but relatively light – and as he's returning to camp, he hears the noise of shuffling, hears unfamiliar voices. He pauses, tucking himself behind a tree as he listens. Two men, it sounds like, and not particularly happy, given the tones of their voices. At best, they're two wandering hunters. At worst, they're the ones that set the trap that captured Yan.
Peter knows which one he's likely to bet on, but he hopes he's wrong.
Still, if it's the latter, he doesn't hear the noise of struggle, and neither does he hear the familiar sounds of satisfaction at the end of a hunt – relieved laughter or boisterous crowing or the familiar patter of, "What are you going to do with your share?" It tells him they haven't found her yet, if that's what they're here for, and if they're making that much noise, they don't seem to be actively looking for her.
Good signs, he guesses. Though after a beat, he corrects himself by thinking, It's still not my problem.
His problem or not, though, he takes a gamble but moving into the clearing, dead rabbit in tow. Yan doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight, after a quick glance around. His posture is relaxed, easy, though it's a struggle to maintain that demeanor when he sees one of the men holding up his coat, praising it.
[ The man admiring Peter's coat is a stone's throw away from Yan. If he kept moving forward, she'd have to try and scramble back, and then she'd be heard, he'd see her, she doesn't know how she'd get away—
But her panicked senses hear something else – someone else.
The hunter turns with Peter's jacket in his hands, and Yan can see past him to see Peter stepping into the clearing.
She chastises herself for how relieved she immediately is.
Run. Run. Run.
But she doesn't run.
The hunter with Peter's coat straightens, looking Peter up and down. ]
Looks like it's mine now. Something here on the ground – looks pretty abandoned to me.
[ He looks the two men over – nothing particularly remarkable, if he's honest. About the standard fare, when it comes to your run-of-the-mill mercenaries. Sturdy-looking men, maybe a little more weathered than average, a little more grizzled and lightly scarred – both of which comes with the territory.
Two on one aren't the worst odds Peter's ever faced, but he'd still rather avoid a confrontation.
He makes an effort to keep his voice light: ]
I think we both know red isn't your color.
[ Peter nods towards the guy, then gestures toward his own face. ]
[ Peter is quiet for a long second, jaw clenching as he watches the guy slip on the coat.
Well, says a dark, vindictive little voice. It’s gonna be hard to get the blood out once you kill him.
He tries to shake it off, though, because he’s always preferred talking his way out of conflicts. And a small, reasonable part of him reminds him how ridiculous it would be to throw down over a coat, of all things. (Though he would throw down over smaller, seemingly more mundane trinkets, which are currently tucked away in his pack.)
Still, anger starts percolating in his gut, sour and cold, but he manages to keep it off his face. It takes him a couple of breaths before he trusts his voice to maintain an even tone. ]
This is getting ridiculous. Just take off the coat, and I’ll be on my way.
[ Yan is already starting to feel like she owes Peter a serious apology for leaving his coat behind; she'd tried to hide it in the time that she had, and she hadn't just left it in the open. But still, it's in this stranger's hands, on his back, and Yan feels a strange sense of guilt for that. ]
What's ridiculous is you still being here, arguin' with me.
[ And now, the hunter is drawing his sword. ]
You want it so badly, you come and take it.
[ And again, Yan curses her luck and her broken ankle. She'd be so much more useful if she wasn't injured, so much better in a fight—
But there's that guilt, that reminder that Peter helped her when he didn't have to. He got her out of that cage, out of the snare, and he's helping her along after sharing his food and his coat and—
Godsdamn it.
Despite her broken ankle, she can still move quietly forward, slowly. The adrenaline in her system makes it easier to ignore the pain, too, and she's able to get to the edge of the bush. With one leg curled close to her body, she coils down, readying her muscles, before she sends herself hurtling out of the bushes with enough force to reach the hunter in Peter's coat.
Before he can even react, Yan's jaws open wide, and she clamps her teeth down into his achilles tendon, effectively shredding it.
The other hunter shouts in shock, while his companion screams in agony. ]
[ Peter lets out a low sigh. Part of him knows that he ought to just leave it alone. It’s not a big deal, after all. It’s just a coat. He can just get another one.
He grits his teeth, taking a rallying breath to shore up his fraying patience. He thinks of what he can say that wouldn’t involve this conversation coming to blows, but then he sees the smallest flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. It takes a great deal of willpower not to turn toward her, to see what Yan is doing, but he has to figure she’s trying to make her escape. Which is smart. If these are some of the men coming after her, then it stands to reason that she should be very, very far away from them.
It's why he straightens a little, forces himself to slap on his biggest, most infuriating grin. ]
Didn’t realize you and your friend had such a strong death wish.
[ Which is a bluff, of course. An attempt to keep their eyes on him. Peter doesn’t actually want to kill them, but—
Apparently that choice is taken out of his hands, because instead of darting away, Yan leaps out of the brush, and Peter jerks to attention. Peter is in the middle of shouting, No, don’t— except she’s already clamped her teeth around the hunter’s ankle. He falls to the ground in pain, and Peter reacts, then, turning to the other hunter, who’s fumbling with his quiver to nock an arrow.
So Peter flings the dead rabbit at the guy’s face
The archer yelps, batting the game away. The guy recovers after a few moments and redirects his attention, but Peter has already drawn his sword, slashing at the man. The first swing severs a portion of the bow’s top limb, rendering it useless, and the hunter scrambles back, drawing his dagger. Apparently this man wasn’t built for close-quarters combat, however, and Peter quickly dispatches of him, driving his sword through the man’s gut.
He plants his boot against the man’s stomach and shoves him away, freeing his sword, and he turns toward the other hunter. ]
[ Admittedly, Yan completely expected everything to turn into a fight mere seconds before she darted out of the bushes. If she knew that Peter was considering walking away at all, she probably would have slunk off to join him.
But here they are now, with one hunter bleeding in a heap on the ground, as the other tries to jerk Yan off by the scruff of her neck. He tears through his own tendon when he pulls her off, and he drops to his knee with another howl of pain. ]
You— fucking—
[ He snarls as he lifts his sword, and Yan has enough time to think dazedly, This feels familiar.
She twists against the fist clenched tight in her fur, yipping and snarling as she turns her head to clamp down on the man's wrist. He screams as he bleeds, and the position is awkward enough that when he brings down his sword, he can only manage to use the hilt in a desperate attempt to beat her off. The metal connects above her eye, and she's suddenly forced to release his wrist. At this point, he's bleeding pretty profusely, so at least Yan has that in her favor, but as she lets go of him, he drops her to the ground; she lands on her bad leg with a yelp of pain.
Breathing raggedly, the bloodied hunter doesn't even seem to be paying attention to his downed friend as he raises his blade in his good hand. ]
No fucking wonder they want your hide, you little cunt—
[ Peter darts in, then, grabbing the collar of his own coat and yanking, throwing the hunter off-balance. The hunter falls onto his back in the dirt, and when he tries to rise again, Peter plants his boot on his chest, rests the tip of his sword against the hunter's throat. ]
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[ She confirms it with a sigh.
All of this, and she still didn’t get her meal. ]
I haven’t eaten since I left Neverwinter.
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Think you can hold out a little while longer?
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I'm fine. We can hold out for a while, in case hunting becomes scarce.
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We'll start setting up camp at sundown. It's not much, but I've got some rations you can have while I track something down a little more substantial.
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You don't have to share your food with me. It's yours.
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And you’re just gonna sit there watching while I eat?
I may be an asshole, but I’m not a total dick.
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Then I guess I will take you up on it. I really don't need much, though.
[ She's apparently determined she can hold out – mostly, because she doesn't want to take more than Peter is already doing for her. They may have reached some tenuous understanding, but Yan doesn't want to push it. ]
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After a while spent hobbling, Peter peers up at the darkening sky and determines that this is the best time to try and set up camp while there’s still a bit of daylight. He finds a small clearing surrounded by bushes and tall trees – relatively private and hidden, which is the best they’re likely to manage without any additional work, physical or magical.
He helps Yan to sit before slipping off his pack, digging through his supplies and producing some jerky and dried fruit carefully wrapped in cloth. He holds it out to her, and once she takes it, he works on stringing his bow. ]
Help yourself. I’ve got more.
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Racial differences.
She only winces slightly when Peter helps her to the ground, and she readjusts to find the least painful way to keep her foot. She looks up when Peter offers her the little wrapping of food, and she considers it, looking from the cloth to his face. She's reluctant to take it, but not out of distrust.
A moment of hesitation more, and then she accepts the food. She unknots the cloth—
—and is almost immediately tearing into the jerky ravenously.
So much for not being hungry.
She's mid-chew as she glances back at Peter, speaking with her mouth full of the dried meat. ]
Mmmn— d'you think you can bring me a couple of small sticks on your way back?
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[ He asks it with a bit of effort as he's getting the bowstring in place. It doesn't take long, however, thanks to practice, and he carefully plucks the string to ensure it's sitting properly. ]
Making a splint?
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Mmhmm. So I don't move it as much.
Do you mind if I borrow cloth for it?
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[ He casts her a slightly smug look when she scarfs down another bite, almost like he's saying, Thought so. Fox spirits are clever, or so the stories say, which means that if Yan was foolish enough to stumble into a magicked cage, she must've been desperate.
He looks like he's about to set off, but he pauses. Then, ]
Human-sized sticks, right?
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Food is more important than being indignant. ]
Mm. [ Mouth full, whoops. ] H'man-sized.
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It's why he nods, hefting his bow. ]
Human-sized sticks. Got it.
Stay quiet and out of sight till I'm back. [ He doubts it needs saying, but there he goes, saying it anyway. ] I'll try to be quick.
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She genuinely does her best not to eat all of Peter’s food; she saves a chunk of the rations for him, rewrapping them in the cloth and setting them aside as she waits for him to return with a fresh kill. She feels— well, useless, if she’s honest. She’s been taking care of herself for so many years that being this hurt, this reliant, this vulnerable on any other person sets her on edge. She doesn’t know much about the human, and that makes her trust tenuous at best, but she also doesn’t think he’s going to kill her.
Which is largely the only guarantee she needs right now.
Time passes as the light continues to dim, and Yan keeps her ears open and her eyes peeled for signs of unwelcome company. She makes note of the sounds of the forest, the other animals going about their lives, and it’s… peaceful. Comfortable.
Until the fall of boots makes her head snap around to stare at the distant trees. At first, her instincts tell her it’s Peter, but—
It’s more than one pair stomping through the brush.
Her heartbeat thunders in her ribs, and she looks rapidly for cover. She first starts pushing herself up, only to fall back with the slightest weight on her ankle. Adrenaline makes the decision quickly for her, and her form immediately begins to shift and morph into the familiar fox. Peter’s jacket falls in a puddle on the grass, next to the cloth of food.
It’s not as easy, but hopping around on three legs lets her keep somewhat balanced as she starts to dart for the bushes, but—
She stops when she realizes she can’t just leave Peter’s coat in the open.
Fuck.
She rushes back, clamping her teeth around the leather collar as she starts to drag it into the bush with her, out of sight, away from prying eyes—
She only gets it mostly concealed when she hears men’s voices approaching the clearing.
As much as she wants to keep trying to hide the coat, she makes the desperate decision to let it go, turning to crawl as quietly as she can into the deeper brush.
She watches from behind branches and leaves, pressed low to the ground, as two men in leathers, one with a drawn bow and one with a sword, come into view. ]
You sure that sorcerer knew what he was talking about?
[ The low drawl of one of the hunters sounds annoyed. ]
He said she wouldn’t be able to get far. [ The other points out as he lowers his bow. ] If she’s injured, she’s going to wear herself out trying to run. One of us is bound to stumble onto her when she can’t keep going.
[ Yan’s breathing stops. ]
Well, fuck it, it’s gettin’ dark now. We’re not finding much until sun up.
Head back or stay here?
I’m bloody tired. We can just lay out here for the night.
[ Only the fact that Yan is plastered to the ground keeps her from shaking. ]
All right. Dig out some of that meat, would you? I’ll see about a fire.
[ The hunters put away their weapons, and they start to drop their packs. ]
Oy… [ The broader one pauses, before he starts walking towards where Yan had been sitting. ] The hells is this?
[ And he picks up the little cloth of rations she left behind.
Shit. ]
Someone’s been here.
[ Shit.
Both of the hunters straighten, and instead of starting to settle, they begin pouring over the clearing. Yan takes minuscule steps backwards, but it’s so hard not to drop too much weight on her only good rear paw.
She doesn’t make it far before one of the hunters is approaching where she’d mostly hidden Peter’s jacket. He lifts it up, frowning as he considers it in what’s left of the evening light. ]
Well. Isn’t this nice?
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He's bringing it back, along with the requested sticks – sturdy, but relatively light – and as he's returning to camp, he hears the noise of shuffling, hears unfamiliar voices. He pauses, tucking himself behind a tree as he listens. Two men, it sounds like, and not particularly happy, given the tones of their voices. At best, they're two wandering hunters. At worst, they're the ones that set the trap that captured Yan.
Peter knows which one he's likely to bet on, but he hopes he's wrong.
Still, if it's the latter, he doesn't hear the noise of struggle, and neither does he hear the familiar sounds of satisfaction at the end of a hunt – relieved laughter or boisterous crowing or the familiar patter of, "What are you going to do with your share?" It tells him they haven't found her yet, if that's what they're here for, and if they're making that much noise, they don't seem to be actively looking for her.
Good signs, he guesses. Though after a beat, he corrects himself by thinking, It's still not my problem.
His problem or not, though, he takes a gamble but moving into the clearing, dead rabbit in tow. Yan doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight, after a quick glance around. His posture is relaxed, easy, though it's a struggle to maintain that demeanor when he sees one of the men holding up his coat, praising it.
He hates when people touch his stuff. ]
That would be mine.
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But her panicked senses hear something else – someone else.
The hunter turns with Peter's jacket in his hands, and Yan can see past him to see Peter stepping into the clearing.
She chastises herself for how relieved she immediately is.
Run. Run. Run.
But she doesn't run.
The hunter with Peter's coat straightens, looking Peter up and down. ]
Looks like it's mine now. Something here on the ground – looks pretty abandoned to me.
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[ He looks the two men over – nothing particularly remarkable, if he's honest. About the standard fare, when it comes to your run-of-the-mill mercenaries. Sturdy-looking men, maybe a little more weathered than average, a little more grizzled and lightly scarred – both of which comes with the territory.
Two on one aren't the worst odds Peter's ever faced, but he'd still rather avoid a confrontation.
He makes an effort to keep his voice light: ]
I think we both know red isn't your color.
[ Peter nods towards the guy, then gestures toward his own face. ]
You're more of a winter.
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(In any other moment, Yan might snicker.) ]
Then maybe I'll give it to my mum. [ The hunter snarls back at Peter, as he proceeds to put the jacket on. ]
Piss off.
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Well, says a dark, vindictive little voice. It’s gonna be hard to get the blood out once you kill him.
He tries to shake it off, though, because he’s always preferred talking his way out of conflicts. And a small, reasonable part of him reminds him how ridiculous it would be to throw down over a coat, of all things. (Though he would throw down over smaller, seemingly more mundane trinkets, which are currently tucked away in his pack.)
Still, anger starts percolating in his gut, sour and cold, but he manages to keep it off his face. It takes him a couple of breaths before he trusts his voice to maintain an even tone. ]
This is getting ridiculous. Just take off the coat, and I’ll be on my way.
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What's ridiculous is you still being here, arguin' with me.
[ And now, the hunter is drawing his sword. ]
You want it so badly, you come and take it.
[ And again, Yan curses her luck and her broken ankle. She'd be so much more useful if she wasn't injured, so much better in a fight—
But there's that guilt, that reminder that Peter helped her when he didn't have to. He got her out of that cage, out of the snare, and he's helping her along after sharing his food and his coat and—
Godsdamn it.
Despite her broken ankle, she can still move quietly forward, slowly. The adrenaline in her system makes it easier to ignore the pain, too, and she's able to get to the edge of the bush. With one leg curled close to her body, she coils down, readying her muscles, before she sends herself hurtling out of the bushes with enough force to reach the hunter in Peter's coat.
Before he can even react, Yan's jaws open wide, and she clamps her teeth down into his achilles tendon, effectively shredding it.
The other hunter shouts in shock, while his companion screams in agony. ]
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He grits his teeth, taking a rallying breath to shore up his fraying patience. He thinks of what he can say that wouldn’t involve this conversation coming to blows, but then he sees the smallest flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. It takes a great deal of willpower not to turn toward her, to see what Yan is doing, but he has to figure she’s trying to make her escape. Which is smart. If these are some of the men coming after her, then it stands to reason that she should be very, very far away from them.
It's why he straightens a little, forces himself to slap on his biggest, most infuriating grin. ]
Didn’t realize you and your friend had such a strong death wish.
[ Which is a bluff, of course. An attempt to keep their eyes on him. Peter doesn’t actually want to kill them, but—
Apparently that choice is taken out of his hands, because instead of darting away, Yan leaps out of the brush, and Peter jerks to attention. Peter is in the middle of shouting, No, don’t— except she’s already clamped her teeth around the hunter’s ankle. He falls to the ground in pain, and Peter reacts, then, turning to the other hunter, who’s fumbling with his quiver to nock an arrow.
So Peter flings the dead rabbit at the guy’s face
The archer yelps, batting the game away. The guy recovers after a few moments and redirects his attention, but Peter has already drawn his sword, slashing at the man. The first swing severs a portion of the bow’s top limb, rendering it useless, and the hunter scrambles back, drawing his dagger. Apparently this man wasn’t built for close-quarters combat, however, and Peter quickly dispatches of him, driving his sword through the man’s gut.
He plants his boot against the man’s stomach and shoves him away, freeing his sword, and he turns toward the other hunter. ]
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But here they are now, with one hunter bleeding in a heap on the ground, as the other tries to jerk Yan off by the scruff of her neck. He tears through his own tendon when he pulls her off, and he drops to his knee with another howl of pain. ]
You— fucking—
[ He snarls as he lifts his sword, and Yan has enough time to think dazedly, This feels familiar.
She twists against the fist clenched tight in her fur, yipping and snarling as she turns her head to clamp down on the man's wrist. He screams as he bleeds, and the position is awkward enough that when he brings down his sword, he can only manage to use the hilt in a desperate attempt to beat her off. The metal connects above her eye, and she's suddenly forced to release his wrist. At this point, he's bleeding pretty profusely, so at least Yan has that in her favor, but as she lets go of him, he drops her to the ground; she lands on her bad leg with a yelp of pain.
Breathing raggedly, the bloodied hunter doesn't even seem to be paying attention to his downed friend as he raises his blade in his good hand. ]
No fucking wonder they want your hide, you little cunt—
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You really shouldn't have touched my coat.
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F-fine! You can have the damn coat back! At least— let me take that thing and go.
[ His breathing is ragged, his eyes huge as he jerks his chin towards Yan as she goes about trying to push herself up. ]
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