Current mood:	lethargic
Current music:	Beck - Follow Me
Entry tags:	fic, kinked, original, saya

Kinked Entry 5: Enigma
Well, this was a rushed piece of work. ^^;;;

This is actually a sort-of spinoff from an original story idea I've had sitting around in my mind for a few years. This is the first time I've actually written anything about it, though, because the original work is supposed to be a novel of sorts. (Haha, maybe for when I actually have the time to do NaNoWriMo.) In any case, writing this helped me get a feel for the characters (who I didn't name in this work, although I actually have the girl's name already); it didn't turn out how I wanted, or expected, it to, but at least I've managed the Kinked challenge this week.

Thank you, no-school-day.



He pretends he isn’t watching her, face impassive as she dances only too far ahead so that the gods won’t worry. He can’t find their mark on her, no matter what he’s been told – a mercenary escorting a child is shame enough, and fairytales won’t make it better. Her limbs are long and skinny, fringed with bruises and scars from a playful childhood she has yet to leave; her hair is short and dark, and her eyes are plain woodbrown, with none of the magic one would expect from the daughter of Mother Earth.

He scoffs at the title, deciding it’s only the cuter term for orphan, something concocted by the hirer assigned to him to make him take on the mission. Well, he won’t be fooled so easily next time. He consults their map, wondering when they’ll get to their destination – he wants his pay already, and a chance to take on an adventure more suited to his skill. She turns back and calls at him to look at these cool mushrooms she’s found, and he has to stop himself from cringing.

“I don’t care,” He nearly spits.

Her smile falters a little, but she tucks them into her shorts, anyway. “We could have them for dinner, in case there’s no place to start a fire.”

The woods are dark and dripping when they stop to rest for the evening – he settles down under a tree and tells her not to bug him, he’s going to sleep. She shrugs and wanders away, singing something tuneless as she goes. He leans his head against the tree trunk and closes his eyes, feeling lighter as her footsteps fade away. He hopes that she won’t return until later, and takes comfort in the idea that once they’ve left the forest, there’s only another town left, and he’ll be free.

His thoughts are cut off by a sharp pain in his wrist and around his shoulders.

The tree’s vines are biting into him, their roots snaking around his legs so that he can’t pull himself upright – the trunk is pressing his shoulders inwards, and he would cry out in pain if his mouth wasn’t bound by a long droop of leaves – it’s a spelled tree, he thinks in horror, but he could have sworn it wasn’t enchanted until a moment ago. Something’s after him. He tries to twist his hand and reach for his sword, but it’s too far with the roots ensnaring his arms.

He hears frantic rustling behind him, and something rushes close. Suddenly she’s standing before him, a look of horror in her face, dripping from head to toe. He tries to tell her to move away, with his eyes – get out, dammit, the roots will get you too – but the stupid girl moves closer instead, edging around him so that she can get at the trunk. He watches her, crazily, out of the corner of his eye.

She’s talking to the tree, even as the vines wrap around her arms, pleading with it in a tongue he can’t comprehend. She’s nearly begging as the tree winds itself over her legs, but by then he’s weakening from the crush and strain and he can hardly keep his eyes open. She shoots a desperate look at him, then, with tears in her eyes, she leans into the tree and sort of pushes.

The vines go limp around his throat, the roots uncurl themselves around his legs, he breathes loosely as his mouth is set free. The leaves die before him, the tree crumples and bends into itself, its great old branches smashing to the ground as it creaks and groans, dying. He tries to get up, but his body’s too weak, still. He watches her stagger away from where she pressed herself against the trunk, and her face is pale and tired as she sits across him.

“Are you all right?” She asks, her voice quaking.

He nods, still dazed, in reply.

“They tried to get me too, making the river swallow me – I’m glad I was able to get out of that, but this!” She seems to be fighting back tears, but she’s too fatigued – they spill out anyway. She creeps forward to lean against the thing she destroyed, the roots and leaves crumbling beneath her movements. “It’s me they’re after. I’m sorry,” She says, but he doesn’t know if it’s mean for him or for the tree.

He’s worried that she’s died, but when he gets enough strength to check, she’s only sleeping, although there are still clear tracks of tears in her face, which suddenly doesn’t seem so young anymore. He moves to a different part of the forest, somewhere far from the tree – carries her and both their things, walking slowly so that she won’t wake. He settles down, takes his sword, and keeps it in one hand. The other he uses to pat her head. His eyes stay open until the sun starts smiling up again from behind the trees.

She wakes up while he’s making breakfast, and it’s like nothing has happened.

She greets him good morning, and he’s too ashamed to return it.

They resume their journey after eating her mushrooms, and there’s nothing magical about her, not in the way she trips on a stone, not in the scrape of her knee, not in her dark eyes as she sucks on the wound. “That’s not how you treat it,” He mutters, breaking the silence at last.

“Sorry,” She says, and this time he knows it’s for him. She notices his pause, and answers his unspoken question. “That last one was for my mother.”

“Oh.” He takes out a pack of paper bandages from his bag and leans down to patch her knee up. She laughs and pats his head as he does so, teasing him that they ate the mushrooms after all, then crying out as he puts on the stingy dressing.

He lets it slide, just this once, without grinding his teeth or sighing.
She doesn’t know better. She’s only a child, after all.



You can kill me for the nature-princess-ness of it all, I probably deserve it. ^^;;; Ah! When I actually write this story, it won't be quite so stuffed with cliches. Dont worry, Pocahontas-y stuff make me cringe, too.