On the hunt 4

Jolting awake, he pat himself down to double check his clothing. Shirtless, bandaged, a cold rag fell off of his forehead. He rolled into a low crouch and scanned his surroundings. He was not where he had fallen asleep. Someone had dragged him fully into the brush. Erik placed a hand over his mouth and with his free hand he pressed a finger to his own. After the young sailor settled Erik drew his hand to his side and rummaged through a satchel. He passed Wilkes a water skin and a small note.

Rangpar mentioned wrestling you in the forest by a stream. I came running. Found you asleep in the open. Dragged you here. Leaving so I don’t get caught up in orc nonsense. Good luck with your Right of Testero.

As quickly as Wilkes finished reading, Erik began to sneak off. Part of him started to reach, but the memory of the dream **** his hand back down. He gave a sympathetic glance to his oldest friend, but continued to stalk out of the wherever they were. The dream still haunted him, but he must soldier on.

Wilkes’s throat had been drier than he realized. He felt his body cooling in the shade as he drank. His wounds still ached, but the grogginess of waking up trumped exhaustion. He double checked the nick on his calf, and was pleased to find it still closed. Even if a bit confused. He stared at the healed skin for a moment before finally filing it under demigod nonsense. It was becoming an irritatingly useful explanation. A shame he didn’t know the name of the sea god to make these things simpler.

The water skin ran dry, and Wilkes slapped his face gently. Little choice left, he crawled out of the burrow. The birds had gone quiet in the afternoon heat. Clouds hung in the sky, not quite heavy with rain, but it’d likely rain soon. Scurrying of squirrels was distant but present. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Straining to hear every sound. The whistle of an arrow sang to him. He ducked just in time, avoiding another haircut from Beatrice. He bolted toward the point of origin. No more hiding. Wilkes was tired, hurt, and probably more than a little traumatized. He was playing the role of the hunted sure, but what happens when you corner an animal?

“Finally proving why Rangpar likes you huh?” Beatrice smiled as she came into his view, dropping the bow in favor of a hunting knife. Wilkes dropped into a grappling stance. Chest low, curling his back to be ready to fling with it when possible, arms spread wide with the palms upward. The beggar’s stance as Rangpar called it. Defensive as it was mildly embarrassing to hold. He circled her slowly, she idly twirled the knife while mimicking the motion. His foot kicked against a root, a tripping point if he could circle her too it just right.

However, she was one step ahead. Lunging, arm extended, her knife nicked his cheek. He grabbed the offending wrist and her right knee. Her body was pulled across his body, and he flung her toward the ground. She hooked his leg with her heel as she tumbled, and the two toppled onto the forest floor. The two rolled and struggled through the grass, vying for control of the knife. Wilkes managed to pin her wrist to the ground with one hand, trying to wrench it from her with his other. A swift kick to his groan **** stars into his vision in an unpleasant way compared to his dream.

The sailor deflated, but kept her wrist pinned. She punched at his ribs and stomach repeatedly, cursing at him in orcish as the struggle continued. One blow landed on his stitches and he felt them tear. Tears welled in his eyes as pain crashed like waves.His grip slipped and she regained control of the knife, she slashed at him. A deep cut on his face, from beneath his eye to the right corner of his jaw. She overextended and buried the knife blade into the dirt. Wilkes Punched her elbow with it’s natural bend, toppling her to the side. He flipped them again, back on top. Her chest cloth had been torn and her breasts were moments from bursting out. She continued to struggle with him in the name of the hunt, but she was becoming noticeably less violent.

Wrapping her body to keep him from moving yes, but any onlookers would have thought them to be lovers rather than opponents. The struggle slowed to a near halt. Neither of them had managed to gain much ground. Their breaths mingled between them. Sweat rolled down her brow. His chest rose and fell against hers. For the first time since the hunt began neither seemed interested in the actual sport of it.

Breathing heavily she looked up at him, fire still in her deep brown eyes. She smashed her lips against his amidst their grapple, her tusks poking gently at his upper lip. He stopped pinning her wrist and instead started to hold the back of her head. He deepened the kiss, his free hands beginning to roam her body. Delicately he brushed against the outlines of her toned abs. He broke the kiss.

“Do you kiss every beast you hunt?” He teased, she promptly socked him in the nose and threw him off. He rolled through the dirt, hands fumbling past the knife as his back slammed into a tree. She roared at him angrily, insulted twice. He hit himself mentally for ruining a perfectly good makeout session by being a smart ass.

“WILKES YOU ARE THE SINGLE MOST INFURIATING! ENTHRALLING! STUPID! DESIRABLE MAN I’VE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF FALLING FOR!” She screamed at him while reaching for her brow. Sweat dripping from his brow, he shrugged before diving back into the brush. He heard her screaming more curses while chasing after him. With no plan in mind he simply darted through the trees. He repeated the same old trick, flinging blood from his open wounds to throw the huntress off his trail. The lightheadedness would have to be ignored, even if his vision began to blur while running. As long as he doesn’t-

Tumbling end over end, he crashed to the ground. Twigs snapping, birds scattering, and his general location revealed. He fumbled to feel the stitches on his arms and side. The blood was gushing in dense spurts. Erik had mentioned that hard bursts were far worse than the usual trickle. Something about being from more important veins. He tried to rise from the ground, but his strength fled from him. His arms buckled at the elbow. His chest slammed against the dirt again. With darkness creeping into his vision, he rolled onto his side. Craning his neck, gazing up at the sun. Late afternoon at best, probably another two hours until dusk. He grit his teeth, biting down on his pride for support.

His hands dug into the soft dirt and fallen leaves. He slammed the crown of his forehead there too, a third point of leverage. His knees struggled and slid beneath him as well, more contact points. Grunting from pain, he **** himself to at least kneel. Vision swimming again, his head went careening into a tree trunk. His blood dripped onto its roots. Shaky hands clawed at the bark as he slowly rose further. His feet found their place beneath him again.

“C’mon Wilkes… get up,” he urged himself, labored breaths failing to douse the burning in his lungs “Can’t die… can’t lose.”

A knife had been sunk deep into the bark. He used the newly reached handhold to fully right himself. Beatrice was planning ahead for her boar hunts far ahead it seemed. Enough to lend a hand as he was now hunted. His back leaned against the tree. He could see the sky slowly changing color. There was stomping through the underbrush, something approached rapidly.

“What, come for another makeout session before you make me hang my head in shame?" Wilkes asked drily, a smirk spread on his lips. His face fell immediately when the stomping ceased.

A boar burst into the tiny clearing with Wilkes. He stared at it as it pawed at the dirt beneath it. Wilkes accepted his **** there. Beatrice would at least have just had him leave in disgrace. A true wild animal? What was the point?

It lunged at him, and he thought about his mother. About how she used to look at him with such pride. He wondered what she’d think about him being gored about a boar? As the tusks pierced his calf he thought about Daisy. He could almost hear her barking. Feel her soft fur as the boar trampled him. The boar did weirdly smell like her too. That sorta old dog smell. His eyes opened half lidded and Daisy stood between him and the boar. She barked up a storm, stance wide and back bristled. The boar rushed again, four arrows sunk into its hide in rapid succession, all the way down to the fletching. The boar squealed louder, rushing to gore Wilkes again. He caught it by the tusks, sinking as low as he could. It’s jaw snapped at him, the last of his strength held the thing at bay. He pushed downward, driving the boar’s snout into the dirt. He began to punch at the thing’s neck, trying to stun it or at least scare it enough to run enough. It continued to squeal and seek his blood. He locked his eyes on the hunting knife, specifically for hunting boars.

Daisy yelped and was flung into the brush. White hot rage burnt through Wilkes’s body. He stood, ripped the knife out of the tree, and lunged for the boar. Shards of bark scattered behind him, and the knife sunk into the beast’s flank. He hacked wildly at it, grappling it using the tusks. He kicked at it’s stomach and screamed with a primal fury. The knife sunk into the beast’s jaw and face. He blinded its left eye. He continued to stab as it thrashed and struggled. The tusks cut into Wilkes’s arms anew. His blood began to soak the clearing and mix with the boar’s. A swift kick shattered the boar’s rear leg. It toppled and began to scramble and thrash harder. He pushed with all he had left and toppled the beast onto its back. Knife clenched tightly, he stabbed wildly at the soft under belly. His hands and chest were soaked in blood. The knife bent and chipped, he continued to stab. Every ounce of rage that had been boiling deep inside came screaming out.

Wilkes dropped the knife and crawled towards where he heard Daisy whimpering. She’d landed funny, but as he checked over her nothing was broken. She was stunned more than hurt, and began to lap at his wounds. He coughed something of a chuckle out and began to pat his beloved dog down all over her body.

“That’s my girl, My brave lil daisy.” he spoke softly, the excitement of a hunt flushing out of his body. She continued to clean his wounds, and he flopped onto his back. The sky he could see between the trees was multiple shades of purple and orange. He sighed in relief. Dusk had come.

Soft steps approached. Beatrice stalked towards him. He was too hurt and tired to move. It wasn’t fully night yet. He’d fallen short of the goal for dawn to dawn. A voice deep inside of him denied it though. No. Not yet. One last time, he **** himself to rise to the occasion. Daisy scampered off into the distance as Beatrice stood ten feet from him. Her bow in hand, without an arrow knocked. He knew she wasn’t here to kill him, but damn did it seem like she wanted to.

“So… you gonna make the first move again? We’re tied up right now.” Wilkes attempted to joke. A loud hmmph was the only response. She was out of knives, he had destroyed the only ones he’d found. They were probably one land mile from the one Rangpar knocked into the stream. She looked at the boar then back to his wounds. A sparkle in her eyes.

“Did you kill that boar? In your current state?” She questioned him, she was half accusatory, half intrigued. He nodded slowly.

“It hurt daisy.”

“So you stabbed it until my knife was ruined?”

“Well not like I could kiss it to get a breather in.”

“Sh-shut up! You’re impossible!”

He smiled, and gave her a slight shrug. His left arm was entirely limp at his side. The cuts from pirates, stab from Bea, and then finally being lightly gored by a boar had him incredibly worse for wear. He took a few shaky steps forward, raising his good arm in a half hearted fighting stance.

“Sun’s down, but you said dawn to dawn. Are we finishing this or what?” His expression turned serious as he studied her. His legs ached, even just dropping into a striking stance would’ve sent him crumbling to the ground. She could tell it. Her tusks poked out again as she smiled, eyes glinting in the dying light.

“I just love feisty prey Wilkes. I’m glad you’ve proved to be such. I’ll give you a slight headstart.”

“... no.” He responded flatly, fighting to keep his eyes open. If he passed out like this he’d be down for at least the night, if not permanently. He was running on fumes, but fumes would be fuel enough for this. “I ain’t backing down, I’m done hiding. Gimme everythin’ you got sugar tusks.”

She closed half the distance slowly, eyeing him nervously. She could see his wounds, his ragged breathing, and further she could see his resolve. He turned his head and coughed. A tooth came out with it and he smiled at her with the new gap. He wiped blood from his cheek, hissing when he rubbed the fresh cut. She stepped closer, her grip loosening on her bow. Her eyes sparkled in the dark again. Must be the night sight Rangpar had boasted about.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” She asked somewhere between flustered and angry. She pulled the hair tie loose from her braid. Black hair spilling messily out.

He raised an eyebrow at her letting her hair down. He could feel his body relaxing, sleep was clawing at the back of his mind. His body wanted to shut down, but he was forcing himself upright all the same. His fighting posture drifted, his hand falling back to his side.

“Think we can keep the right going through the night if I sleep in your home?” Wilkes asked, she stared at him wide eyed. The deep green flush on her face came back.

“Well… you are already familiar with how rangpar snores, and how dad drinks…” She began to rationalize it. Wilkes smiled, he hated doing this to her. He needed an opening to buy some more time, even if it were just a few minutes to get the hunt back on. Part of him urged to just bed the gorgeous half-orc and be satiated. So what if he’d be her social lesser? His pride clamped down on that part like a rabid dog. Shaking it violently and tearing the notion to bits. His good arm circled her waist as he leaned in further. The huntress let out a small eep.

They kissed again. Gently this time. No rolling through grass, twigs, and stone. No punching before or after. His manhood prodded her thigh as it stood at attention. She moaned into the kiss, before pulling back for a second.

“I know how we can accomplish both things… the hunt and tending to this.” She stroked him gently through his pants. “Just lemme stitch you back up first, yea?”

She trotted off into the wilderness, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Watching her toned legs and large ass disappear into the night he finally crumbled back to the ground. He just needed a bit more rest. His breathing was slow and even. Dark clouds blocked the openings in the canopy. He could hear rain beginning to fall.