"She heard the rustle of feet in the bushes ahead, and also alongside them as he walked; her heartbeat she feared would give her away, for surely it was too loud and fast for an unconscious woman’s? Still she steadied her breathing as well as she could, now straining her ears to hear more. Were there voices in the wood?" -Psithurism
"The great hood was hanging down her back; she picked it up and draped its wide structure over the crown of her head, the overhanging disclosing any last bit of her pale face within its inky shadow. She ran. Out of the darkness could be heard the distant, low rumble of a lioness, pacing herself for the long night hunt." -Psithurism
"All about her the darkness pushed closer. Why was it so warm, when the sky above was clear and cold? Her muscles ached; her arms were torn all over with scratches and other, deeper markings, and all the time a thought was running parallel to her focus on Kate, a very ridiculous thought, that was remembering another journey she had made, very similar to this, a year past. Was it that the sky then, too, has been full of millions of bright stars very far away above her, making her feel small and insignificant? Was it the odd warmth of the evening, that made her remember how cold she had been when she slept that first night under the open heavens? Or was it perhaps something more - the feeling of being hounded, the hot guilt of fear that made her stomach press up against her ribs and the backs of her ears feel warm as they always did when the reality of her circumstances became, at last moment, unavoidable. She stumbled on a root and took a mouthful of dirt." -Psithurism
"At last, she caught sight of his blonde hair, tied back in a queue at the nape of his neck; dirty but in order, an odd thing to see." -Psithurism
"“Who are you?” she demanded firmly, and the man whipped around to face her. His eyes were dark and brown, his skin lightly bronzed – newly bronzed, it seemed – by time spent in the sun, and a clean-clipped, darkish beard was beginning on his chin and over his lip. He was handsome, after a fashion, though she did not know if it was his own beauty or simply the striking nature of the skin flung over his shoulders that allured her.
He seemed well at a loss for words, too, for his mouth hung open stupidly, and she pulled further the taut bowstring. The arrowhead was aimed for his heart, for though she little supposed it would come to releasing the tail, it had never harmed her to be cautious.
“Your name, if it’s not too difficult.”
“Laurens,” he said quickly. “Is it that I have done something to harm you, madam?” He spoke eloquently; she knew not how the tongue had come to be in the forest, but it was well fit in his slender mouth." -Psithurism
Not a ton this month; I've been busier than usual, but I still got enough creative writing in to keep me sane, and that's what matters.
I must constantly reread my own writing to remind myself of my own style.