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Ik ben wel benieuwd wat mensen hier van vinden. Er zitten waarschijnlijk nog wel wat spel-foutjes in, maar ik ben vooral geïnteresseerd in stijl- en beschrijvings advies.
Citaat:
Exhaustion. Pure and simple exhaustion was slowly overcoming me while I ran from the wolves. I had travelled many lands, but this menace was unknown to even me. The leader of the pack, his fiery eyes, unnatural size and strength. This was no ordinary wolf, but a wolf man, a lycanthrope, a creature of stories and fear all abound. I know that I can not go much further before I collapse, as long as the chase has been going on. They know it too and ventured closer to me, their jaws snapping at my light feet.
I turn the corner and know my end is near. The path I had so faithfully ran stops dead in a sheer rock face. I see my breath forming clouds of vapour in front of me. The snow is thick here and I turn around to face my death. My back against the wall, I draw my feeble dagger to defend myself as good as I can. It feel sheer fear subside as I reconcile myself with the inevitable and take my stance before I turn to food. I think of my mother, far away from here, crying about her lost daughter, but she will carry on. She always has.
There comes their leader. I now see clearly the human-like features in the wolf’s coat and the evil that burns in its eyes. It rises on both hind legs and looks down with satisfied menace. He licks his lips as to show how much he will enjoy my flesh. For a moment, I feel even glad that food will be the only defilement of my corpse, but what little solitude can be gained from such knowledge?
Then, a battle roar from the deepest reaches of the earth, the eerie sound of the snow filled wind and the warmth of a warrior’s boiling blood slams the air. A shadow comes over and past me, snow falling heavily on both sides of me. I look on and see only how a gigantic ball of metal, fur and brawl smashes into the leader, slamming him on his back. A moment’s shine of a gigantic battle axe swinging through the air followed by the thunderous explosion of lightning swarming all the wolves and their leader. I scramble back to the face of the wall as I see the green-brown skin filled with muscles that uses this weapon. Another smash, faster than I would ever imagine hammers home on the leader of the pack and cleaves his skull.
The wolves, injured and frightened by the loss of their leader retreat, yapping their fear back at my saviour. When I look back, I see the man retreat behind the trees, as if he were shy. I stand again and see how two gigantic wounds have snuffed out the life of he who was both man and beast. Now, in death, but a young man remains. Yet I feel no regret for his death, his evil was plain and all-present. I say a brief prayer and then look up. He spies on me from behind a tree, I can see him plainly.
“Come forward, please. Let me thank you, my saviour,” I call out to him. His eyes, like blue sapphires, look away as if ashamed. He tries to hide, but his bulky body cannot be shielded by the yearling he is behind. “You have saved my life, how can I ever repay you?”
“If Kotra comes from tree, pretty lady will run,” comes the reply, a dark, unsure voice, like a youngster asking me for a first dance during Springfest. “Kotra scares humans.”
“I am not scared of you!” I call, and I know I am not. How can I be scared of someone that had just saved my life? Dangerous he might be, but no matter how ugly his face, or how evil his race, I simply cannot imagine that spark present in a creature that hides behind a tree afraid to scare. “I will not run, no matter what you are.”
“Pretty lady promise Kotra not to run?” the voice comes again, the form slowly shifting from behind the tree. His armour is black and heavy. A strong shield rides his left arm and a bloody battleaxe is held in his right. Lightning crackles around the head of this magnificent weapon. His visor is closed, so I cannot see his face. Steam rises from his armour, showing the thrill of battle did burn plenty of energy.
“You are Kotra?” I ask, knowing the answer. “I am pleased to meet you. My name is Lady Jennifer of Askon, and I owe you a great debt.”
“Janniper,” comes the reply. “Jenn… i… fer…,” his voice reminds me of a toddler trying his voice. “Jenny.”
“Yes, Jenny,” I reply and I feel like I am baiting a pup to come to my treat. “Can I see your face?”
Again, the pause, the fear, so obvious that even a halfwit would recognise. Then the axe is slid in the socket and a gigantic, gloved hand slowly takes off the helmet. Underneath are broad, strong jaws, curly black hair, tusks that would not shame a boar and again his eyes. He looks away immediately, trying to hide his features. “Kotra ugly,” he apologises. “Humans said Kotra ugly.”
I feel like laughing. Slowly, I approach him. He shies away from my touch, but I managed to hold his jaw and turn his face to mine. I feel that over rough, brown skin and scars of battle is a clean-shaven chin. He dares not even look, and uses a hand to cover his right tusk. I kiss his cheek and whisper in his ragged ear. “Kotra, thank you for rescuing me,” I say. “And I don’t think you’re ugly: you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen” He is silent, but then I feel his body shake. I realise that this proud, powerful warrior is crying and as we sit down in the snow, I hug him like he is a small boy.
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Altijd nuchter
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12-04-2009, 17:41
. Ik schrijf normaal past tense.
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