Branches tore at her clothes as she ran through the undergrowth, but her breeches and tunic gave them no purchase. She sprinted between small trees, arms and legs pumping, mounting small rises on the broken ground, slipping through forest with a whisper of leaves. The noon sun dropped blinding shafts of light through the canopy. This did not slow her. Her face showed only a resolve made more severe by her brown hair gathered into a tight bun.
As she ran, she tried to keep her mind blank, letting her body run the long practiced path. She tried not to think about her goal and allow her eagerness force a misstep. Blast it, this time she would win!
Father showed that concentration when working iron. Your senses had to bypass thought and course along channels of instinct and reflex. Father knew by the glow, the flaking and crackling of the cooling metal, exactly when to work and when to quench.
She ducked a low-hanging branch and scrambled up a small grade. Almost there! She didn't even hear any sign of the boys, usually so loud and boastful. Now, down the other side and...
The earth rose up and slammed into her face. She heard her own yelp and grunt as she hit, trying to roll. When she came to a stop all she could do is lay and stare up through the leaves. Her head roared. Finally the rush of fear faded and she began to take stock. Any pain? Can I still feel everything? Anything broken?
Completing a first inventory, she lifted herself up and cried out with alarm. Deep red smeared her foot and leg. She folded herself and carefully palpitated her leg searching for the wound. Thoughts of stitches and tourniquets chased away her hopes of winning. Infection. "I've got to find some bearbane," she muttered to herself pushing her loosened hair out of her face.
But there was no gash or white bone sticking out. Puzzled, she carefully got up. Leaf litter dropped from her clothes and hair. No stabbing pain. She looked back up the small hill.
A deer lay just below the ridge. Its black eye stared blankly at her. She walked towards the animal and saw that it was actually half a deer. The hindquarters were missing, entrails splattered on the ground. She could see the smeared gouge left by her sliding foot. Among the blood-flecked leaves overhead, broken twigs told her that something large had torn this deer in half. It was a fresh kill. The something large could still be near.
She fought to slow her breathing and strained to hear... nothing. The silence pressed against her ears. Dread settled on her like a cloak. The hairs on her neck tingled. She turned slowly and looked down. Curiously lobed tracks dented the earth. They were huge, two hand spans across. Her eyes followed them down the gully to a dense bramble.
She focused on the vegetation, scanning for movement, a shape, anything that could tell her which way to flee.
Suddenly a shadow was an eye, large, deep, and black. Fear tightened across her chest.
The eye blinked, a cloudy membrane sliding horizontally across its surface.
The silence trembled like low thunder, felt more than heard.
Some part of her brain screamed "Run!" but her feet were planted, frozen.
A distant crash and a boyish shout broke the spell.
The shadow under the brush shifted and was gone.
She let out a ragged breath and began to run
Pakeha