FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Flora caught their scent a mile off, the sharp odor of silver stinging in her nose. Her nostrils flared as she turned away from her fresh kill and let the still warm body in her hands flop to the cold ground. The tang of bandit blood and human flesh lost its appeal, the frosty smell of fresh snow and dense pine faded from her senses as she focused on what most of her kind would run from in fear, even with an entire pack behind them. She heard them. The clank of thick plate armor. The crunch of metal boots in the snow. The march of the enemy. The Knights of the New Moon.

True to their name, they hunted on a black night, the stars unobscured by even the faintest sliver of moonlight. But she didn't rely on the phases of the moon for her change anymore.

The scent of silver grew stronger, and unlike the bandit camp she had just torn apart, these men made no attempt to hide their tracks nor their movement. Their goal was not desperate survival, nor to prey upon the fortune of others. They sought the extermination of her kind, and so their deaths would be far sweeter than the bandits'.

Flora felt the tight braids in her black hair yanking undone as they caught in the branches. Her lupine ears and tail did the same, the fur pulled and pinched, and the branches tore at her skin—unprotected save for a tattered loincloth, a strip of dark leather about her chest, and a broiled leather pauldron on one shoulder. She'd lost the other somewhere. But still she kept pace, unbothered by the intermittent tweaks of pain. It was nothing. Senses sharp, instincts quick, she jumped and ducked any branch that would've slowed her down, rushing through the rest. Her feet pounded, thumping the snowy ground, a beat that met the intensity of their march. She could already feel the rage swelling inside.

She briefly considered slinking through the trees, taking advantage of how her darkened skin tone matched the bark of the thick trunks around her, and letting the darkness cloak her. It would have been so easy to hide, prowl, wait. Free them of their weapons first, and then strike. But their march was a beat that drove nails into her heart. The wolfblood pumped through her. She had to strike. She ran, and let the change take hold. Thick, dark fur spread over her body, muscles growing, teeth sharpening.

"Shh. Wait." The voice of one knight caught her ear and she saw them through the trees. They all stopped. Their march halted, while her thundering gait kept pounding louder as her form grew. She was getting closer. Closer. The one who had heard her turned in her direction as she erupted from the forest, her shoulder slamming into him and buckling his chestplate. He cried out and sprawled back in the snow, and with the grinding sound his broken ribs made and the weight of his armor, he wouldn't be getting up any time soon. Not dead. But suffering. Good.

The others were on her not a second later, and she saw the mirror-like flash of their tall shields a moment too late, gleaming golden sun designs in the center. Sunlight shields. She growled and stumbled back as the flash blinded her, and she felt her form wither and shrink down again, back to how she was before, and no different.

She found four long silver spears pointed at her from all angles as the knights circled her, still cowering behind the sheer size of their spell-casting shields and long pointy silver sticks. But they didn't drive them forward and skewer her. They waited, hesitating, caught off guard. Whether it was because she still had her wolfish ears and tail or because they knew her human features, she didn't know, but she didn't care.

"Wait!" one shouted to the others, his heart faster than theirs. He'd recognized her. "She's… That's—!"

She would only have the element of surprise once. She grabbed the spear of the one who had spoken and wrenched it from his grasp, leapt up and over him, landing behind him and slamming a fist into his helmet. She doubted that would keep him down, but it always made such a satisfying clanging noise when she did that. The shaft of the spear started to sting and she dropped it with a hiss.

The Knights of the New Moon were intimidating in their solid, shining, silvered plate armor, not an inch of them visible except their eyes between the visor of the helmets. Those eyes watched her, all wide, and she let it sink in that it was indeed truly her they saw. Flora Silvercrest.

She must've looked a damn sight different from when they'd last seen her; her once smooth, lotioned, dark skin broken by scars, wounds from silver weapons that had never healed. Not that anyone would have seen this much of her back then, with the flowing dresses she'd once worn, a far cry from the hides and tatters she wore now. Her arms and legs, once elegant, waxed and shaved bare, were now thick with muscle and covered in curling hairs. Her eyes had been… blue? She'd all but forgotten now. She'd never been human enough for them to be anything but yellow since she changed, and the only glimpses she got of herself were in the reflections of still lakes, or the polished armor of knights like these. No mirrors out here.

But undoubtedly the most shocking feature to the knights had to be the wolf-like ears and tail, stark contrast to her otherwise human form—she couldn't get rid of them. Not that she'd tried. She smiled, listening to their panicked hearts, letting them feel the shock of betrayal, knowing its sting would hurt more than anything she did to them next. Their breath blew from the slits in their helms and the night was silent, waiting for them.

"Why didn't the sunlight spell work?" one asked, the undertone of fear hidden from his companions, but not from her. "She's supposed to be completely human, right?"

"Again," one on the left ordered, female, commanding. They slammed their shields down in the snow and frozen dirt, forming a wall of silver and gleaming gold, and again the suns in the center of each shield glowed bright, but this time Flora just let the warm sunlight pass over her. When it dimmed, she remained unchanged.

The one she'd knocked in the head got to his feet, grabbing his spear.

"It doesn't matter. Take her," he said, metal fingers clenching around the shaft of his spear as the tip began to crackle with lightning. "Back to Argenta. She has to be purified."

He thrust the spear and she swatted at the shaft with the back of her hand, the pointed tip missed her, but a jagged finger of bright lightning lashed out and hit her square in the chest. She growled, baring fangs, as the energy crackled over and through her, and her own muscles fought her, holding her in place. But it only lasted a few seconds.

"No," said the one on the left. "We put her down, like any other."

From her tone and the way the others squared up, this one was the leader.

"It's Flora Silvercrest!" the first protested. "We can't just—"

"Flora Silvercrest is dead," the other knight growled, thrusting her spear toward Flora's throat. Flora tilted her head, letting the spear slide over her shoulder, and then turned and bit down on the shaft. Mistake. The wood was imbued with the infernal metal as well—silverwood. Because of course it was. It burned like hell, but it still snapped like a twig.

The knight tossed the broken spear aside with no hesitation and brandished a gleaming sword. The other three were spurred into action, jarred out of their stunned silence by the fight, and Flora winced as she felt three more jolts of lightning magic. Her arms screamed, but she managed to grab the knight's shield, ripping it from her grasp and hurling it into the chest of another, then catching the elaborate crossguard of her sword to stop her mid-swing.

"H-how is she still moving?!" one of them blurted from her left. Apparently, their little lightning trick was supposed to have stopped her cold.

She was surprised when the next strike against the knights' leader came from one of their own. The flat of a long blade came between her and the ruthless leader, interrupting a second swing.

"The Royal Code demands—" he started, but the leader cut him off.

"The Code??" she yelled. "The Code was written by an old man on a throne! One who never saw what's outside the Silver Citadel's walls!"

The knight slashed with a scream of fury and her blade was fast, too fast. It cut a wide gash across Flora's shoulder. She was thankful for the one remaining pauldron.

Flora tried to move in and get close enough to tear her helmet off and maybe her head with it, but the knight drew a second diagonal slash across and Flora had to step back, barely dodging fast enough. The knight behind her took this as her cue and yelled, and Flora spun in time to narrowly sidestep a thrust from her spear. She grasped her wrist and freed the woman of her weapon—and her arm. The knight screamed and fell to the snow.

She turned to the final knight, but this one was too stunned by the brutal dismemberment to act, so Flora let them cower and spun back to face the remaining two. The honor-bound knight who had insisted on sparing her stood stunned as well, giving the merciless one time to act, driving her blade forward with a yell. Flora stepped aside, but felt the edge of the gleaming sword cut a deep gash in her side. Her growl was equal parts pain and fury, and she bashed her fist into the back of the knight's helmet as the warrior charged past. The woman groaned, stumbling and dropping to her hands and knees.

Flora kicked her helmet off and a curtain of brown hair fell across the woman's scarred face, three ancient slashes carved over one eye, which glowed with arcane light.

"Don't you see?" the knight said to her remaining compatriot. "Flora Silvercrest is dead. This thing is all that's left."

Flora lifted her foot over the knight's skull and brought it down with a crunch that was more than just snow. She let out a sigh of deep satisfaction, her breath billowing out of her flaring nostrils, then turned on the survivor, yellow eyes burning with rage. But his eyes held no fear.

"Fine," he said, gripping his silvered greatsword. "Then your family name dies with you."

A low growl rumbled in her chest and rose to her throat. His courage faltered at the sound.

"My family name died a long time ago," she said, her voice an inhuman snarl.

A silver-tipped arrow whistled by and she caught it, her eyes following its arc into the trees over his shoulder. Its make was not of Argenta—crafted by smaller hands than elves or humans, and the gleaming arrowhead was slick with poison. Lightscale Hunters. She sneered, her fury burning at the distraction. The cowering knight she'd let live had called for backup. She cursed her mercy.

She rushed forward. The knight did the same. She shoulder-checked him, left him sprawled in the red snow, and lunged for the real target. The halfling was dressed in leaves, hard to see, but they were not leaves of this forest—easy to smell. She picked him up in one hand and he drew a pair of tiny silver daggers.

"Where's the rest of your pack, wolf?" the little thing mocked.

"I killed them," she answered, and squeezed. He dropped the daggers and squished like rotten fruit.

Something slammed into the back of her head and she groaned, staggering away. She thought the last knight was back with a mace or morningstar, but when her vision cleared, all she saw was the spiked sphere that would have been on the end of one such weapon. The little ball opened, growing legs and arms, and a tail—a kobold, clad in spiked armor, probably mythril-silver alloy. This was the scale part of the Lightscale Hunters. She knew better than to kick or stomp on these fierce, tiny warriors, but then remembered she was still holding the arrow the halfling had fired at her, and thrust it down like a tiny spear. The kobold hissed, but didn't die, so she stabbed its armor chinks a few more times until it went still.

The last knight was still alive, and back on his feet. She was getting tired of all this, but a part of her still wanted to draw it out. The Lightscales' were survivors—not the desperate and huddled kind, nor were they the morally bankrupt sort, like the bandits she'd feasted on earlier that night, but still not the sort she liked to kill unless need be. Their affiliation with Argenta and its knights was mostly one of employer and mercenary.

But the knights were born and raised under the bigotry of the Silver Citadel. She would get no mercy from them, and she would show them none in return. She stepped forward, bloody, bruised, and seething. She eyed him—all thick, silvered armor. There was a healing potion at his belt. That might come in handy to rid the annoyance of her cuts and bruises when this was all over.

Her eyes found his, two pinpoints of green gleaming between the slit in his helmet. Whatever compassion had once shone in them was gone, replaced with cold hatred, a thing so unlike the raging fires of hate that burned in the rest of them. He said not a word and swung his sword. She growled and charged.

She dodged the first swing and got behind the blade, her face inches from his helmet. She grabbed his throat and squeezed, and he choked and dropped the blade. She pulled his helmet off.

"Wait!"

His voice was strangled, but it was out in the open air now, and his fair face glistened with sweat, blond hair matted to his forehead. His dark, forest green eyes were different. Softer.

She let go and watched him land on his knees in the snow, armor clanking like a cabinet full of pots and pans.

"Wait," he said again, hands held up with the palms out. At first, she thought he might try to cast a spell on her, but his voice wasn't that of a desperate man, begging for his life.

"Let me join you."

His eyes filled with something else. Hope. She remembered. She remembered the glade, falling to her knees before her would-be pack, asking them the same. And then she remembered her parents' screams as the ones she thought she was safe with betrayed her. Hatred boiled in her heart again and the moment of softness was gone from her mind.

"Why?" she asked.

The knight looked around, as if his dull senses could tell him anything about their surroundings. But she knew they were alone.

"I'm not like them," he said, glancing around at the armored bodies. Was it just because he knew now that the armor did no good? Or was he really asking…

He looked up into her eyes. She looked down into his.

"I want to know what it feels like," he whispered.

She sighed, an almost growl. His heart beat fast. But was it fear, or a hidden eagerness unearthed?

"Please," he said, his voice no harsher than an autumn breeze. She saw her eyes in his.

She sank and her knees hit the snow, cold but soft. She put a hand on his shoulder, gripping, and bit gently into the flesh of his neck.

It burned. His blood was like fire on her lips and tongue, stinging her gums and dripping molten heat down her chin. She drew back with a hissing snarl. It had been purified, probably by a priest. Or maybe he'd been infused with silver himself. Silverflesh? Silverblood? Was that a thing now?

She was about to push him away when she felt a cold sting in her chest. His fingers gripped the hilt of a silver dagger with the stench of sweat and leather—hidden in his boot. Damn it.

"A shame," she groaned as the blade buried deeper in her heart. "I didn't know knights of Argenta could lie... You would have made a good werewolf."

"Damn you, monst—"

He didn't get more than halfway through the last word as her claws slashed his throat open, but she got the point. He fell back with a gurgle, eyes empty.

She pulled the dagger free and felt a river of blood run down her front. She had been good as new after the scuffle with the bandits, but silver wounds didn't heal like the others. Was this how it ended? Tricked by a Knight of the New Moon? Well, she could think of worse fates.

Her blood pattered in the snow, and she looked at the fallen knight again. He wasn't gone yet. Not breathing, but his heart was weak and fading. Flora wasn't about to let him outlast her. She had to hold on until—

Her eyes settled on the bottle at his waist, red liquid sloshing inside. Yes! She grabbed it and pulled the cork free, then tilted her head back and downed the contents. The wound in her chest closed before the potion was half gone, but she kept gulping down the sweet-tasting liquid until every visible bruise had vanished. She parted her lips from the bottle with a sigh and a smile, then stood, and left the knights behind.