And suddenly the guards at the exit were reeling.
Rahsik-ba hefted a spear as they tried to recover from
Wank’s charge and subsequent retreat from the cavern.
The old chieftain hurled the weapon in frustration,
impaling one of his own orcs who was trying to regain his
feet and pursue.
“I want his hide!” Guttural orders followed but
were lost to Wank’s ears in the twists and echoes of the
tunnels as he ran. The slap of pursuing footsteps spurred
him faster.
Cursed as no orc could be, Wank ran long and
hard, deeper and deeper into the caves, his trail orced
mercilessly. Rahsik-ba would not last the full hunt, he
knew, nor would the seeress. They were old, nearing
decrepitude, and would have to turn back, leaving only the
guileless warriors to follow.
The half-orc finally stopped to rest, all sounds of
pursuit lost, his longer legs and smoother gait having
served their purpose over the hours’ long retreat. The dripdripping
of an underground pool, its natural faucet a
leaking crack in the cavern’s roughly domed ceiling, rang
clearly through the damp cell, mesmerizing Wank.
The echo of droplets pinged off the water, invaded
his mind, reverberated his insignificance, gained a voice in
his head that spoke of Rahsik-ba, of the tribe. Ping.
Worthless thief. Ping. Filthy half-orc-that-is-mostly human. Ping.
Run for your life, boy.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pain lancing through
his right temple. His life down here was useless, worse
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