animal darts through the underbrush — something soft-pawed and curious, ducking out of sight just as quickly as it appears, leaving behind nothing more substantial than a glimpse of brown fur or lashing tail. Vol starts each time, thinking it's the danger awaiting her.
Her game objective.
That man.
When Vol's purported assailant turns out to be a rabbit, she lets out a laugh that sounds too high and thin to really be hers. What has happened to that fearless girl running laughingly through the trees? Fake. Just like everything else around here. A paragon. An ideal.
The rocks are larger now, more like boulders. The river is more violent now, too, resembling rapids more than a gentle stream. Long platforms of shale jut out over the riverbank, partially eroded where weathering has caused the brittle stone to break off and be carried downstream.
Her side of the riverbank grows too steep and unstable to traverse. She's forced to retreat a little way back down the river and cross over to the other side via a fallen log. The log is partially rotted. Panic seizes her when her boot splinters through wood. Luckily, the log was being held in place between two large rocks, and she manages to grab onto one of them as she goes down. She scrapes both knees but manages to avoid being swept away.
She tears her nails in an attempt to right herself. The stones are sharp and slick with algae, cutting and repelling at the same time.
When she finally manages to get to dry land, her cloak is plastered to her body like a slimy second skin. She peels it off distastefully, slinging it over her arm to better assess the damage. She is cold, and bitterly so. Her entire body is tingling with the pins-and-needles sensation of simulated pain. Her knees have been injured worse than she thought; in keeping with the reality matrix of the game, she probably won't be able to run.
Let's hope I won't need to .
But what she sees an instant later changes her mind.
Sprawled on one of the rock plateaus is a man. His eyes are closed, hands folded behind his head, one knee up as he basks in the sunshine. His long coat fans out behind him like the wings of a hawk. Beneath it is a pale green shirt, and fitted pants tucked into a pair of boots not unlike her own. A bow and arrow are propped against the bank of rocks beside him, and knives are strapped to his legs. Vol swallows hard.
It's him.
“ Hmm. I was right. The bandit look suits you.”
He hasn't opened his eyes, but the smile on his face wasn't there before.
He has a bit of five-o'-clock shadow she didn't notice in the darkened ballroom. It gives him a half-tamed appearance that makes his harsh face look that much fiercer. Vol remembers the dagger at her hip and grips it. “Why are you following me?”
He cracks open an eye and props himself up on his elbows. His eyes drop to the knife — she hopes it's the knife he's looking at — and he shakes his head. “Come here. Then we'll talk.”
That sounds like a bad idea to her. “I can hear you fine right here.”
“ Is it the arrows?” He kicks bow and quiver into the stream and grins a grin that puts the devil to shame. “There. Now I'm harmless.”
“ No?” He tilts his head, shifting to his side so he can lean his stubbled chin on his hand. “Well, harmless enough. Don't you think?”
“ No.”
He lifts his chin and half-sits up, spreading his empty hands. “I can't hurt you here.”
He has a point. She's only making a fool of herself.
Warily, keeping one eye trained on him the entire time, Vol climbs up the small pile of rocks and sits cross-legged near his feet, setting the soiled cloak beside her. “Don't get any ideas. I came here for answers.”
“ You have to ask a question first.” He smiles. “That's usually how it's done.”
“ You kissed me.”
“ Not exactly a question, Vol.”
“ Why did you do it?” she grates.
“ You say that as if it's the first time.”
A chill goes through her. “With me, yes. I'm
Her game objective.
That man.
When Vol's purported assailant turns out to be a rabbit, she lets out a laugh that sounds too high and thin to really be hers. What has happened to that fearless girl running laughingly through the trees? Fake. Just like everything else around here. A paragon. An ideal.
The rocks are larger now, more like boulders. The river is more violent now, too, resembling rapids more than a gentle stream. Long platforms of shale jut out over the riverbank, partially eroded where weathering has caused the brittle stone to break off and be carried downstream.
Her side of the riverbank grows too steep and unstable to traverse. She's forced to retreat a little way back down the river and cross over to the other side via a fallen log. The log is partially rotted. Panic seizes her when her boot splinters through wood. Luckily, the log was being held in place between two large rocks, and she manages to grab onto one of them as she goes down. She scrapes both knees but manages to avoid being swept away.
She tears her nails in an attempt to right herself. The stones are sharp and slick with algae, cutting and repelling at the same time.
When she finally manages to get to dry land, her cloak is plastered to her body like a slimy second skin. She peels it off distastefully, slinging it over her arm to better assess the damage. She is cold, and bitterly so. Her entire body is tingling with the pins-and-needles sensation of simulated pain. Her knees have been injured worse than she thought; in keeping with the reality matrix of the game, she probably won't be able to run.
Let's hope I won't need to .
But what she sees an instant later changes her mind.
Sprawled on one of the rock plateaus is a man. His eyes are closed, hands folded behind his head, one knee up as he basks in the sunshine. His long coat fans out behind him like the wings of a hawk. Beneath it is a pale green shirt, and fitted pants tucked into a pair of boots not unlike her own. A bow and arrow are propped against the bank of rocks beside him, and knives are strapped to his legs. Vol swallows hard.
It's him.
“ Hmm. I was right. The bandit look suits you.”
He hasn't opened his eyes, but the smile on his face wasn't there before.
He has a bit of five-o'-clock shadow she didn't notice in the darkened ballroom. It gives him a half-tamed appearance that makes his harsh face look that much fiercer. Vol remembers the dagger at her hip and grips it. “Why are you following me?”
He cracks open an eye and props himself up on his elbows. His eyes drop to the knife — she hopes it's the knife he's looking at — and he shakes his head. “Come here. Then we'll talk.”
That sounds like a bad idea to her. “I can hear you fine right here.”
“ Is it the arrows?” He kicks bow and quiver into the stream and grins a grin that puts the devil to shame. “There. Now I'm harmless.”
“ No?” He tilts his head, shifting to his side so he can lean his stubbled chin on his hand. “Well, harmless enough. Don't you think?”
“ No.”
He lifts his chin and half-sits up, spreading his empty hands. “I can't hurt you here.”
He has a point. She's only making a fool of herself.
Warily, keeping one eye trained on him the entire time, Vol climbs up the small pile of rocks and sits cross-legged near his feet, setting the soiled cloak beside her. “Don't get any ideas. I came here for answers.”
“ You have to ask a question first.” He smiles. “That's usually how it's done.”
“ You kissed me.”
“ Not exactly a question, Vol.”
“ Why did you do it?” she grates.
“ You say that as if it's the first time.”
A chill goes through her. “With me, yes. I'm
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