Abigail Fredrickson

Tigress

I resist the urge to tug at my clothes uncomfortably.  I never enjoyed formal wear.  Someone else may, but I was never comfortable in a floor length skirt and crop top, let alone slippers, face paint, and jewelry.  Luckily I was always able to get away with just a simple gold necklace band or bracelet.  I inch out of the crowd of people wearing forced smiles, laughing fake laughs, and sniffing drinks to be sure of no poison, hoping to get to the edge of the large room without being spotted.  But there’s a fifty-fifty chance, I mean, orange and black stripes are…a bit noticeable here, no matter how convenient they are in the jungle.

Thankfully, neither Saber, nor his wife are anywhere near me, and their backs are turned.  I recall what the ruler had said at the beginning of this particular celebration.  ‘Tigress is now one of us.’  I fight to keep my face expressionless.  Shooting a guard a sideways look as I approach the door, he stiffens and quickly bows his head, letting me pass.

Once he’s past, some other words come to mind unbidden, ‘She is my special pet, and you shall treat her as such.’  As if I didn’t already hold respect among the samurai, court, and servants in Contra, even if it was only because they feared my temper.  He just seems to enjoy emphasizing at every chance he gets that I’m his pet, his slave.  I allow myself to send a silent snarl at a particularly fancy pillar before smoothing my face back over.  I silently make my way to my room.  Whenever I hear footsteps, I let my eyes droop just a little and my shoulders slip only slightly, knowing that if others assume I am weary, they will not question my absence from Saber’s little party.

As soon as I reach my room, I slip inside and lock the door.  No one ever comes in when it is.  They just didn’t realize that I learned how to lock it.  I smirk just a bit at the thought, then turn to the mirror in my room.  I grab a rag, resisting the sudden urge to tear it to fragments of fabric, and dunk it in a bowl of cold water.  I turn to my reflection in the mirror, glaring at it.  The face paint resembles the face of a tiger.  Truly, Saber goes overboard trying to make me remember that to everyone I am nothing but an animal and a monster.  The only thing the face paint is good for is enhancing my hostile glances.  That usually aids in being able to keep from socializing at his tiny get-togethers.

I viciously wipe away the paint, not caring that some of my hair gets wet in the process, then yank the gold choker off.  I then remove my cuff bracelet and toss it at a wall, not caring if it makes a noise.  The walls are soundproof.

I slip behind the changing screen and pull out a pair of black leggings, an orange top with one long sleeve and one double strapped sleeve, and a black belt.  I switch the striped formal wear for the more comfortable clothes.

I take my claws and slip them over each finger.  Then I go to the door’s lock hole, press my ear to it, and listen.

Nothing.  No feet in the halls, no far off laughter or eerie dance music.  I wait for another moment, glance at the window, where the moon is beginning to rise, then I slip out and lock the door behind me.

I steal along the corridors, keeping to the wavering shadows.  I make it to the samurai training grounds.  I consider taking a knife or another small weapon, but decide against it.  Weapons are carefully kept stock of, and if one is gone, suspicions will rise before it’s discovered that I’m missing.

So I just grab the knapsack and bandages I came for and head to the kitchens in the same manner.  I snag dried food that’s at the back or bottom of their containers and plop each in the sack, grab a full waterskin, then pull the drawstring tight and sling it over my shoulders.

Slipping out and through the dark halls, giving the corridors and rooms where I can hear footsteps a wide berth, I head to the arena.  Or, well, the wall by the arena.  I wait until the guards at the top of the wall are a safe distance, then I climb up, dash across the couple feet to the other side of the wall, hop over, and dig my claws into the stone.  My arms strain, and this position is a bit hard to keep, but I stay close to the wall as is physically possible until I can tell that no one saw me.  Then I deem it safe to adjust my position into one more comfortable and begin to climb down, every muscle tensed to spring down if I hear a shout.

But I manage to reach the bottom of the wall without any alarms raised.  I then run along the wall till I reach the door to the outside where they toss the dead bodies out.  Lucky for both him and me, I hadn’t killed anyone for a couple months.

I spot the young blond easily.  And now comes the hard part.  I kneel next to him and let out a breath, then grab his arm and sling it across my shoulders.  A second later, I’ve managed to hoist him up and across them, holding him in place as firmly as I can.  I pause for a second to get myself used to the extra weight, then start climbing out of the small valley.  I can only pray the dappled shadows and sliver of moon will cover for me until we’ve entered the trees.

They seem to at the least, but I’m not willing to say we’re safe yet, and break into a smooth run through the woods.

The moon is high above the trees and beginning to sink by the time I reach a river.  I slide down the bank and trudge along it until I reach a large hollow in the side of the bank.  I crawl in, dragging the boy in after me, then sit there for a moment, catching my breath.  

I pull off the knapsack and open it, pulling out the waterskin and gulping some down.  I put the cap back on and sit up in the small space, scooting over to bend over the stranger, studying the head wound I’d given him.  Like I’d thought, it clotted easily enough, he didn’t lose too much blood.  However, there is dried blood all over the side of his forehead, and wow, no wonder there’s sand on my clothes and hair, this guy is covered in it.  Makes sense though…cause, well, arena.

Ignoring the pinprick of guilt at having caused his condition, I remove my claws, putting them in the knapsack, take the waterskin, and use the rest to rinse the dried blood off his head, carefully rubbing it off where I have to.  The wound starts bleeding again at the touch, but only a tad, and I easily wipe it off and start bandaging his head to keep any more dirt or sand or the like off the cut.  It’s probably going to scar though, considering it wasn’t treated immediately.  Hopefully the guy won’t mind when he wakes up, but it’s not like I’d blame him if he does.  I move to sit in the opening of the cave, so I can hear if there’s any pursuit.

Rowan

The first thing I feel is a sore pain on the side of my forehead, then like my head was stuffed with cotton.  Then the first comprehensible thought that comes to mind is: Am I dead?

I sense light behind my eyes, so I try to open them.  It takes a minute, but they finally open a crack.  The light that shoots into my pupils as a result sends a jolt of pain into my head, so I hurriedly squeeze them shut with a slight moan.  After a few moments, the pounding in my head lessens, allowing me to attempt at opening my eyes again.  This time my pupils adjust a bit easier, and I can see that the light is actually rather dim.  I stare up at an earthen ceiling, vaguely wondering if I’m buried.  But then, I can breathe, and the ceiling isn’t right up against my face.  Also there is light.

I spare a moment of deliberation to decide if it would be a good idea to risk looking at the light source, or if my head would mind that much.  Curiosity wins out.  I’m in some kind of low roofed, hollow dent in the ground.  Someone is sitting in the entrance/exit to the place, blocking most of the light.  A girl, it looks like.  I can hear water outside.

I close my eyes, trying to remember how I got here.  A blurred image of amber eyes bending over me and the feel of something wet on my forehead springs to mind, but the thinking gave me a headache.  I grimace and turn my head, raising it a little to try to see the person better, but the headache returns so I let it back down again.

“So you’re awake now,” comes a soft voice.  I start slightly, not having expected the person to actually talk.  It’s definitely a girl, though.  The voice is still soft as she continues, but I quickly realize that there’s something strange about it, “I was wondering how long it would take.”

Emotionless, it clicks.  Her voice is completely void of any emotion.  It’s soft, sure, but only because owowow she was probably trying to not aggravate my head.

I slowly lean upwards a bit, “Ugh…where am I?  And…how’d I get here…and who are you?”

“You’re relatively safe at the moment, you are in a hollow by the river in the woods, and I carried you here.”

“You…what?” I blink, glancing at her again.  There is absolutely no change in her position.  She carried me here?

“What’s the last you remember?”

“Uh…”  The amber eyes shimmering in the dark and the wet sense of something on my head springs to mind again, but I don’t even know how to explain what that is to her since I don’t even know what it is myself.  I search for the last clear memory instead.  “Arena…in Contra.  I’m…supposed to be dead?”  I hadn’t intended for it to be a question.

Her shoulders seem to tense ever so slightly, “Yes…you are.”

“Who are you again?” I reach up to my head and realize with a start that there’s a bandage on it.

“I am called Tigress.”  The girl turns her head.

I do a double take, staring at the amber eye and auburn mane, a stab of fear making my head wound throb.  The girl from the arena.