[Open] Shoot Anything That Moves

[rhiannon]

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The best way to keep something is to never let it go
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The dark forest was still in the early hours of the morning, silence enveloping it like a thick fog. The trees stood like sentinels, straight and tall, with their branches bare as a newborn infant. The sky was as gray as ash with bleak, dark storm clouds rolling in. A chill hung in the air, freezing the morning dew as it condensed on the forest floor. The leaves carpeted the hard ground of the forest floor in hues of gold, bronze, and crimson, and as the dew froze it adorned them in a layer white, lace-like frost. The woodland animals dared not to venture out into the crisp morning air, not wanting to leave the security of their cozy dens, for something else was on the hunt this morning.

In the part of the forest near the Saxon camp, Rhiannon sat tall and proud on her black Friesian stallion, surrounded by her fellow Mercian warriors. A slight, but glacial breeze blew through the bare trees and wrapped around the fierce Saxon beauty. However the elements would have to send something stronger than a breeze to stop the daughter of the late Mercian chieftain. She had lived all her life in Britain; she knew how to prepare for the cold. She had survived every brutal winter, and she would do so again. Rhiannon was dress in her usual grayish brown tunic with a pair of unbleached wool pants. Underneath her pants, she wore plain linen breeches to save her skin from the itchy wool, and around her ankles, she had wrapped a layer of wool cloth to keep her legs warm. Her silver torc, her only adornment, rested around her neck hidden by a large shawl of white fur that she wore over her cloak.

As she stood there in the stillness of the woods, Rhiannon scanned the trees for any signs of life, but she saw only trees, shrubs, and fallen leaves. It seemed as if all of the animals had learned how to disappear. Her warriors’ eyes flickered from the forest to her, awaiting their orders. However her warhorse, Aelle, was not as patient as the men standing around him. The dark stallion pawed at the hard ground, loosening the soil with his strong hooves. A few times, the equine stepped to the side, sometimes running into one of Rhiannon’s men.

“Éaðe, smæl geloda,” said Rhiannon, gently to her horse, leaning forward and patting his thick and muscular neck. Sitting straight up in her saddle once more, she squeezed her legs and urged Aelle to walk on. The large warhorse was more than compliant to move forward and immediately responded to his mistress’s command. As Aelle’s body moved with his gait, Rhiannon felt the wooden pole of her father’s spear that rested horizontally beneath her right calf. She rested her left hand, which held the reins of her bridle firmly, on her horse’s black withers while her other hand rested upon her right thigh.

As Rhiannon moved through the trees, her men followed behind her bows that the ready. Rhiannon did not possess a bow. No, if she wanted to kill something, then she would use Caena, her sword that rested in a sheath fastened to her hip, or her father’s spear. Those were her weapons of choice.

As Rhiannon continued to scan the forest, she thought, ‘We are not going to find any game here.’ Then she looked back at her men. Rhiannon knew that they would follow her anywhere, but she would not have them follow her into the dark woods while she was on horseback. ‘They would never be able to keep up with Aelle,’ thought Rhiannon, looking back at her men, having decided on a course of action.

Then, taking up the reins in both hands, Rhiannon stated in an authoritative voice, “Ic áríde forþ! Aetsitteaþ hér! Áscíetaþ andweorc þæt ábregdan!”

With her command given, she faced forward once more and spurred her warhorse into a canter. Aelle took off through the trees, his powerful muscles propelling him forward. As his hooves struck the hard ground, Rhiannon counted out the beat of the graceful gait, timing her breath to it. Her wool cloak flew behind her in the created wind, and her curled, ebony locked bounced around her shoulders as her body rocked in her saddle. Her face was hard as she concentrated on weaving her warhorse through the sturdy, tall trees. Poised in her saddle, Rhiannon looked like an ancient war goddess, prepared to go into battle at any moment.

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Éaðe, smæl geloda – easy, little brother
Ic áríde forþ – I ride ahead
Aetsitteaþ hér – stay here
Áscíetaþ andweorc þæt ábregdan – Shoot anything that moves

[jacob]

I've been roaming around
Always looking down at all I see
Painted faces fill the places I can't reach

A glacial breeze made the naked, leafless branches sway lightly. The autumn air was prickly and icy, the ground solid and frozen. Droplets of frosty water fell from the dull gray morning sky, jabbing and stinging the soil, slicing invisible incisions at the trunks of the barren, rugged trees. The harsh, merciless season was taking its toll on nature, forcing it to go through a horrible and raw transformation, before it could begin to heal and flourish again as spring and summer would wash over the sodden and ancient landscape.

The western region of Britain looked severe and inhospitable, as it took in the timeless beating of the gruesome weather.

Jacob tightened his hold on the reins, pulling at them slightly to make the horse halt. The leather felt stiff and rigid in the grip of his numb hands. The skin of his fingers had a bluish tone, his lips were white, and he could hardly feel the muscles of his face. His horse, a dappled stallion, did not seem to cope with the weather any better than he did; the animal was anxious and restless, chewing on his bits, its nostrils flaring and breath rising into the cold in fumes of smoke. Jacob rested his hand on the horse's muscular neck and patted the animal reassuringly. It whinnied nervously, stomping the smooth, flat ground. Jacob slid off the saddle, threw the reins over the stallion's head, and pet the horse's muzzle briefly, before turning and starting to walk down the hill, leading the horse onward.

The hill was gently sloping downwards and the descend was not steep, but walking around a bit would grant the horse a break and allow him to warm up, get his blood flowing again. A moment ago, it had felt like as if his veins were filled with ice. He began to feel better, stronger, not influenced by the cold weather as greatly as he had before. On each breath, the chilly air dived into his throat and made it ache, but filled his lungs with fresh, brisk air. Breathing was painful, but as he pulled the black scarf wrapped around his neck to cover his mouth, it became easier, even if it now felt like that the cloth pressing against his lips was suffocating him. He was wearing a black cape draped around his shoulders, hiding his usual attire underneath. His sword was attached to the saddle, but his bow was flung over his shoulder and his arrow holster was secured on his back, where he usually carried it.

Below the great hill, the wind did not blow as badly as it had on the top. A sigh of relief pushed past Jacob's lips. He could establish a temporal camp and shelter on the edge of the woods, and ride to Hadrian's Wall tomorrow morning. There were things he needed in the south, and Hadrian's Wall was probably swarmed with wealthy Britons, Roman nobility, and knights.

A light smirk rose on Jacob's lips as he began to prepare the camp, removing the saddle and his equipment from the horse, leaving the animal tied to tree where it was sheltered from the icy rain, munching on rusk and dry bread - that was all Jacob had to offer to the animal that had been his loyal servant for the past two months. He'd probably have to steal proper feed for the poor creature - or just steal an entirely new horse. And he barely even had any food for himself. He would have to hunt a rabbit or a deer once he managed to get the fire burning.

Jacob snatched a few twigs from the ground and snapped a couple of branches from the sickly trees, gathering them into a pile. He tore a scrap of fabric for ignition and began to scrape two pieces of flint together. Luckily, he was sheltered enough from the breeze that it only took one spark to light up the campfire. His grin widened as the flames began to eat away the wood and the cloth. He adjusted the fire slightly, throwing a few more branches into the fire, preventing it from burning out, and sat down by the blazing makeshift fire, warming his hands by keeping them above the flames and rubbing them together. His hazel blue eyes swept across the eerily silent territory.

[rhiannon]

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The best way to keep something is to never let it go
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It seemed as if all of the game had evacuated the woods of Western Britain. Rhiannon had ridden for a few miles into the forest; she should have at least come across some sort of animal by now. She was about to turn around and return to her men when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. A young buck with a great rack of horns had wandered out in search of food. Dismounting her horse, Rhiannon landed lightly on the ground and removed her father’s spear from her saddle. She crept closer to the tawny buck, preparing her spear. Then the deer suddenly stopped his search. Rhiannon halted and stood perfectly still, not wanting to frighten it away. However the buck perked up his ears and then bolted away.

Rhiannon started to chase after the deer when the ash gray sky unleashed its icy droplets that fell to the earth, stabbing anything in their path. Rhiannon stopped in her tracks and looked up at the sky. The bare trees did not provide any shelter from the elements as the frozen rain pelted the pale skin of her face. The miniscule drops of ice felt like needles as they pricked Rhiannon’s exposed flesh. The precipitation was light at the moment, however Rhiannon knew that the frozen rain would soon fall faster. This was no time to be standing around. The Saxon warrior sprinted back to her loyal steed and quickly mounted him with her spear still in hand.

“Time to bring honor to your noble breed, my friend,” remarked Rhiannon to Aelle, giving up on the hunt. Then Rhiannon spurred her horse into a swift gallop. The loyal equine took off without hesitation, racing against the wind. If there was any animal that could outrace a storm, it was Aelle.

The dark warhorse practically steered himself as Rhiannon tried to shield her eyes from the frozen water droplets. The duo traveled deeper into the wood, searching for shelter. Rhiannon cursed the timing of her homeland’s weather. It always had a way of sneaking up on travelers.

Suddenly the horse and rider came upon the gentle slope of a hill. Rhiannon was about to veer her speeding stallion away from the slope, however Aelle had other plans. Like he had done so many times before in battle, Aelle charged down the hill without missing a beat. Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, Rhiannon slowed her faithful warhorse to a walk. Looking around at her surroundings, she asked her horse, “Where have you taken us, little brother?”

Aelle snorted in response and continued to move forward, guiding his rider along the edge of the forest. Even though Rhiannon did not know exactly where she was, she was grateful that Aelle had run down the hill. The wind was not as bad as it was at the summit. She could not deny that her stallion was smart.

As they moved closer to the edge of the woods, Rhiannon spotted the glow of a newly made fire. ‘Who else is out here?’ thought the Saxon woman, glaring in the direction of the fire. Rhiannon then dismounted Aelle, landing lightly on the ground, and attached her father’s spear to her saddle. Drawing her sword, Rhiannon snuck slowly towards the fire, careful not to make a sound. As she drew near the campsite, the Saxon woman made out the figure of a man, however she could not tell if he was friend or foe.

Silently, like death, Rhiannon crept behind the man. She noticed his horse and was glad that Aelle had stayed in the tree line, or else the horse might have caused a ruckus. Rhiannon also saw the bow and arrows strapped to the man’s back. Then when she was right behind him, Rhiannon pressed the edge of her sword against the man’s neck, and asked in a demanding, threatening tone, “Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

[claudia]

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every creak, every minute sound that could catch the keen hearing of Claudia’s ears forced her to turn her head quickly to the source. within this unnaturally muted forest, any sound of movement could be the first warning of something lurking close in the trees with malicious intent. she knew exactly where she and her party was; they were ever so placed here in the western side of Britain accordingly by the gods’ crude humor. Claudia and her party were just on their way from a visit in Rome; it was in their schedule to arrive back at Hadrian’s Wall where her new home resided. yet these past numerous of days made clear to the Roman woman that her traveling would be troublesome.

the gods created obstacles for them to turn back to other more perilous routes. they could not land safely in port in southern Britain due to the fury of a storm. so they were forced to travel around and land in port on the western side; from there, they would travel by horse and wagon to the south instead of taking the seas. unfortunate and haunting whispers have told of these roads within the ominous forest to be the last seen place of the lost souls that were claimed by the barbaric style of the Saxons. only the poor, unfortunate souls and the gods know their last whereabouts and their final resting place. who knows, screams and cries of survivors could still be begging for help from anyone passing by or the pleas to the gods.

such a menacing thought created a mortal chill up Claudia’s spine that made her flesh crawled with a bit of fear for that is what was in her heart. her placid façade and tall body language displayed the confidence and courage she tried to show to those around her, even though inside of her she was shaking with trepidation. her clear, slate hued eyes were Claudia’s only weak spot in her defense, and so she placed her eyes to work as she scanned the forest edge and the upcoming winding, dirt covered road for others not to see her fear. only briefly she would catch a glimpse of one of her guard’s faces as they displayed the false courageous look similar to her own. a fierce howl of the wind swept through the opening of the road and blew a bone-chilling coldness toward the party.

Claudia shivered as she pulled her black cloak closer around her. her attire was in the fashion of the roman women; she wore a deep red and black layered chiton, a long tunic-like dress that draped down her legs close to the floor. over her chiton, a thick, black wool palla with fringes draped over her dress and pulled over her head to prevent her from the cold. today was one of those days that the Roman woman would not adorn herself in jewelry. the only pieces were golden chained earrings that dangled freely, a golden headpiece the clip-clop of her own equine and the droning, creaking sounds of the wagon filled her ears. suddenly her head snapped to the sound of her higher guard to another. the speed of the party dropped to a halt.

Claudia pulled on the reigns of her brilliant white mare as the animal whinnied softly in protest. surely the andalusian equine too did not want to stop within these dangerous woods as she perked up her ears, swiveling side to side. from what Claudia could make out by the men’s conversing was that there were voices picked up by the wind either ahead of them or within the forest itself. within her chest, Claudia could feel the beat of her heart increase in tempo. ‘Do not worry, mi’lady Claudia, no harm shall come to you.’ reassured one of the Britain guards close to her right side. Claudia turned her head to him as his façade turned from worried to protective and a state of bravery in his tone.

with a nod of her head, Claudia turned her head away to scan the dark tree line. in an instance, arrows started raining down from the canopy of the trees. the high guard yelled at orders to the other guards as the attack of arrows continued. ‘Quick, mi’lady! Head for the shelter of the trees!’ ordered the guard as he wheeled his own dark brown steed into Claudia’s to push the white mare into the direction of the forest opposite of the attack.

”But, what of the others?”
Claudia’s voice full of concern and panic as she started to turn the andalusian mare; she could feel the beat of her heart within her throat. ‘We are here to protect you; you need not worry about us. It’s just a bunch of bandits.’ answered the guard as he followed right behind Claudia. Claudia dug her heel into the mare’s side as she bid the equine to move toward the forest line just as an arrow whizzed past on the left side of her head. the mare’s hooves dug into the loose earth under the shelter of the trees.

Claudia kicked the mare into a canter as the beat of the equine’s hooves and Claudia’s own heartbeat within her own ears was the only thing she could hear. She didn’t bother to notice that she was alone and the guard was not following her. Weaving through the trees, the Roman woman led her mare and herself deeper into the forest. Claudia had the audacity to pull her mare to a stop to peer over her shoulder after unknown amount minutes. finally she realized that she was alone as the silence of the forest deafened her ear. she couldn’t follow the noise from the calamity to find her way back; it was dead silence. a stake of panic stabbed Claudia’s heart.

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TAG Rhiannon & Jacobus
WORDS 976
NOTES very long, SORRY!
TUNES diamond eyes - shinedown.
CREDIT template by MUNZTAR * of caution 2.0[/center]

[jacob]

The fire sparkled and crackled, its flames licking and burning away the branches and cloth, spilling glow and warmth into the icy, rainy morning. Jacob's eyes raked the silent horizon. The only audible sound was the howling of the wind, as it raved behind the great hill and made the bare trees bend beneath its wrath. Nature could be such a cruel and overpowering element. Humans thought they could tame and control everything, but no one really mastered the elements, not even the gods themselves. Humans thought of themselves as the lords of anything they claimed, but in reality, all men were merely the servants of nature. To Jacob, it was a daunting idea to sit alone in front of his petty campfire, that was barely kept lit under the weather, at the mercy of nature and its aimless, unbiased ire. It didn't seem very significant to whom or what the elements were directed at. All he knew was that nature was very badly pissed off.

The weather itself was frightening, but truthfully, it was the setting that made him feel vulnerable and exposed. His position offered little coverage from prying eyes, and the hastily scribbled fire was bound to attract wanderers. The last thing he needed was to get discovered. He wanted to maintain a low profile prior his arrival to the south and Hadrian's Wall. The less people were aware of the presence of a thief - and a wanted outlaw - among them, the easier and better it would be for him to try to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

Jacob's breath shuddered as a shiver ran up his body, as cold and as piercing as the wind. His attire wasn't exactly the best to suit this kind of crude, harsh weather. He wrapped his black cloak tighter around his shoulders and pulled the hood up to cover and protect his face. Silently, he cursed his own misfortune and thoughtlessness. How could such an experienced and skillful thief be so utterly inconsiderate and unthinking? He should have stolen proper equipment before heading toward the west during the autumn. He should've known that the temperatures were going to drop in this region of Britain, and that the western wind wasn't exactly going to be a light summer breeze. Mumbling swear words under his breath, Jacob glanced over his shoulder at his steed. The dusky stallion had its muzzle lowered close to the ground and it was standing stock-still. At times, a quiver rippled through the equine. "I'm sorry, mate," Jacob called to the horse, his dark brows furrowing in concern for the animal. The horse did not lift his head, but swivelled one of its ears into Jacob's direction, registering his owner's voice.

The young thief turned his attention back to the makeshift fire, his blue eyes following the feeble dance of the bright orange flames. He leaned towards the furnace to throw in the last remaining branches, but instantly stopped as he felt something flat and sharp-edged press against the soft flesh at the back of his neck. It was the edge of a blade.

Jacob swallowed, his heart skipping a beat, his pulse quickening. Fear shot through his system like the stab of a knife. His heart thudding at a rapid pace, he recognized that the demanding and bleak voice coming from behind him had a distinctively feminine tone. Without hesitation, Jacob's fingers fumbled for his sword, that lay sheathed on the cold ground beside him. As his fingertips tenderly brushed the hilt of the weapon, he maneuvered his body sideways and lunged for the sword, drawing it out of its sheath. The handsome outlaw scrambled to stand up, turning to face his stealthy assaulter, holding his blade against hers. He cocked his head and gazed at the woman before him. She was tall and slender, but by no means did she come across as fragile or defenseless. In fact, she was nothing like the blithe and thin noblewomen he'd been used to seeing - and charming. She was raw and high-spirited, an incarnation of the forest goddess herself, the epitome of brutal, untamed beauty. A wicked thought crossed his brain. He would have to work his arse off to get this woman into bed with him. But, then again, he'd always relished a challenge.

"I'll tell you who I am and what are my purposes as soon as you stop pointing that blade at my face," Jacob replied, his tone assertive and confident. The angle of his own sword slackened a bit as he lowered his weapon calmly to show the fierce woman that he meant no harm. "Just relax, all right?" he added, completely lowering his blade, its tip pointing toward the dark, frozen soil. It was probably a mistake, but he just couldn't bring himself to point a sword at a woman, no matter how dangerous or unpredictable she seemed. His attention wavered slightly as he realized that the wind had brought up distant sounds, a flurry of incoherent voices and shouts. The voices passed as the breeze whistled through the territory once more, but left his mind confused and perplexed. The thief blinked and his gaze sought the face of the wild woman before him, his eyes concentrating on her features.