except she can't keep teasing him because a pig comes flying her way :( ]
The horse she’s riding veers to the left as she pulls the reins. The horse snorts and gallops past another rider, and Nahri tugs at the reins again until the horse skids to slow its pace, ending in a bumpy walk. It snorts in what can only be described as horse irritation. Nahri swears at it. “I think it hates–”
She stops, focused on a large bird off in the distance.
“Ya, Dara… have I gone mad or is there a bird the size of a camel flying toward us?”
The other rider - Dara - who had been clearly enjoying Nahri’s struggle with her horse stops laughing and closes the distance between them, taking the reins away from her. “Suleiman’s eye. I don’t think it’s seen us yet, but…
There’s no place to hide.”
He is clearly worried.
“Hide? Why? It’s just a bird.”
“No, it’s a rukh. Bloodthirsty creatures; they’ll eat anything they find.”
“Anything? You mean like us?”
Dara nods. Nahri groans. “Why does everything in your world want to eat us?”
Her question goes unanswered, and he pulls a silver bow from his back. “I think it’s found our camp.”
“Is that bad?”
“They have an excellent sense of smell. It will be able to track us.” Dara inclines his head towards a forest clustered around the base of the mountains far on the horizon. “We need to reach those trees. Rukh are too large to hunt in the forest.”
Nahri looks to the bird and then to the tree line. “We’ll never make it.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist. I have an idea. Something I heard about in a story.” He nocks a silver arrow. “Just stay low and hold on to your horse. Don’t look back, and don’t stop. No matter what you see.”
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
He smacks the back end of her horse and it takes off like a shot. She grips the saddle with one hand and the horse’s mane with her other, holding on for dear life so she doesn’t fall off as she bounces wildly. The ground beneath her is a blur. She closes her eyes tight.
An unholy, piercing screech rings out. Nahri cracks her eyes open and looks straight ahead, but the forest doesn’t appear any closer. Her horse is panting heavily as it continues to gallop for the trees.
The rukh screeches again, and she can’t help but look back.
“God preserve me.” is all she can whisper, taking in the sight of the massive, dark crimson bird. Her initial size assessment was considerably off; this thing could eat a camel in one bite. Its eyes were jet black, as was its beak: razor sharp and curved down to a deadly point. Dara and his horse zip along under the bird as it gets closer to the ground, and he looses an arrow towards its eye. It hits just under the target, but the rukh flinches and screams again. There’s at least a dozen pricks of silver embedded between the deep red feathers. Dara looses two more arrows, and they hit the rukh again in the face. It stretches its talons and dives towards him.
“Dara!”
He’s way too far to hear. His horse jerks to the side, running parallel to the bird’s massive wings. The only thing ahead of him now is a flat plain.
“You’re going the wrong way!” She screams, desperate, knowing that he can’t hear her.
The rukh closes in, unaffected by the arrows Dara continues to shoot. He throws his bow and quiver away, squatting low in the saddle.
The rukh closes in, snatching the horse and its rider as easily as a hawk would catch a mouse. The horse whinnies and kicks as the rukh ascends.
“No!”
The rukh is veering, heading back in the direction it came
“Yalla, go! Go!” Nahri kicks the horse in the sides, yanking on the reins to turn it around. The horse protests and tries to throw her off. Nahri keeps pulling on the reins until it finally obeys, racing after the rukh.
With it in her sights, the bird tosses the horse and Dara into the air, opening its beak wide. It catches the horse again in its talons, but in the blink of an eye, Dara vanishes. Nahri’s eyes dart around, looking for any sign of him - but there’s nothing.
Her eyes start to water, and she kicks the horse again. And again. But the horse’s pace only slows as the rukh starts to get further and further away.
Suddenly, the bird jerks upwards, screaming and failing as it tries to correct its course. It tumbles and weaves, as if fighting an invisible enemy, until it finally spirals into the ground. The impact sends a shockwave through Nahri.
She fights with the horse, urging it towards the cratered ground where the now dead rukh lay. Blood pours from its mouth and oozes from its multitude of arrow wounds. Its crumpled wings tower over her. She keeps fighting with her poor horse, startled and refusing to get closer.
She chokes back a sob as they circle the rukh, taking in the gory scene. There’s no sign of Dara. She pulls a small dagger from her waist, shaking from grief and rage. She’s going to tear its eyes out, she’s going to rip its throat open she’s going to–
The dead bird’s neck twitches.
That causes her to jump, and her horse startles again.
The neck twitches again then bulges, like something is trapped inside.
Nahri dismounts just as a dark blade pierces through the rukh’s flesh, tearing a gash just large enough for Dara to stumble out of. He collapses to his knees.
“Dara!” She runs to him and kneels at his side, embracing him and all the blood and gore that came with him.
“I…” He’s shaky, his voice raspy. “Fire. I need fire.”
She looks around. “What can I do?”
Dara collapses into the dirt.
“Dara!”
She tries reaching for him, but he protests. “No. Don’t touch me.”
“Let me heal you.”
He slaps her hand away. “No. The ifrit–”
“There are no damned ifrit here!”
There’s beads of ash rolling down his face, and she slowly reaches for him again. He cries out. His body flickers like smoke, and his hands turn translucent. His expression quickly turns to panic. “Creator, no. Not now…” His gaze turns from his barely visible hands to Nahri, scared and sad. “Oh, little thief, I’m so sorry.”
His entire body shimmers and he falls against the ground. He’s dying. He is clearly dying.
“Dara!! Dara, talk to me! Tell me what to do!” She begs.
She tries pulling open his robe, and the hem crumbles to ash in her hands. She can’t see anything other than the dim, ashy figure of Dara’s.
His faint form gets just solid enough for her to pull open the layer under his robe, and she presses her hands against his chest. There’s nothing but the sensation of cold. No heartbeat, no breath, nothing. She closes her eyes in desperation, pressing her fingers against his bare skin until they’re just as cold as the rest of him. She presses harder.
There’s a sensation of wetness, like steam, tickling against her wrists. The frigid feeling in her fingers recedes only slightly, like maybe he’s getting warmer. She can only hope this is working. Her head hurts, nausea and dizziness making her head spin and working against her focus. Her nose starts to bleed from straining so hard.
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[ also i, nu, launch a piggy -- give me a mem too ]
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except she can't keep teasing him because a pig comes flying her way :( ]