Alla nodded, still unable to meet his piercing gaze. “Yes, sir.” With that, she took Minx's shoulder and guided her silently out of the tent, toward the fire.
Minx was urged to take a seat on the ground, and the chain linked to her shackles was attached to a thick stake, which was them hammered into the earth. She had limited mobility as a result, and would only be able to take a few steps in any given direction before she ran out of slack. Testing the chain and finding herself unable to pull the stake from the ground, she chuckled darkly. “You're pretty committed to making this as convincing as possible, huh? You didn't have to hammer it in that hard, you know?”
The half-Fae drew away from her, glancing at the tent nervously. “I'm sorry, Minx. I have to go for a bit. I'll be back, though.” She spoke under her breath, in a whisper that was barely louder than the stirring of the breeze or the popping of the fire.
Sitting in the grass with her knees tucked up against her, Minx studied the shackles on her wrists, searching for vulnerabilities she could exploit. Finding them well-made, she lowered her arms and sighed. You know, this may just have been the stupidest idea ever, in retrospect. It doesn't feel like I'm any closer to winning this war. It feels like I just walked into an obvious trap.
Alla slipped out of the camp, doubtless on her way to complete the errand the hunter had tasked her with. Would she really go out and hunt a dragon on his orders? Alla, despite being half-dragon herself, didn't seem to share Minx's attachment to the stubborn creatures. A chill ran down her spine as she wondered whether Alla would run into Kaleb in the wild—and whether the half-Fae would seek to hunt him down. She put the thought out of her mind and tried to soak up the heat of the fire, instead. It would do no good to worry; she'd put her own trust in Alla, after all, and Kaleb could take care of himself.
She spent several minutes staring into the raging campfire without a word, and only looked away from it when she found the hunter exiting the tent. The barefooted savage, armed with a bow and full quiver, looked to her immediately and whistled at his men to get their attention.
The entire camp fell silent, turning to the steely-eyed chieftain.
“Alla brought us a gift—a Fae huntress, of all things!” The hunter motioned to his Zuscha henchmen with a grin. “I'm sure you remember her, don't you? She was quite the thorn in my side.” Taking an arrow from his quiver, he gingerly nocked it and took aim.
At Minx.
Without warning, he fired the arrow, which swept past the tongues of flame and whipped the campfire into a momentary frenzy of sparks. The shot streaked toward her, and Minx only avoided it by rolling aside. She dove onto the ground and fell into a barrel roll—though she didn't get far because of the chain keeping her tethered to the stake. Stopped violently when she ran out of slack, Minx's eyes shot wide open and her heart skipped a beat.
“We're going to play a little game with this new friend of ours,” announced the hunter. “Place your bets, lads! We're going to make the Fae dance and see if she can avoid every shot!”
The mass of ruffians all around her clapped and clamored, gathering around the fire to watch.
Minx gained her feet, ready to spit a torrent of insults at him.
The hunter, though, brought a grotty finger to his lips before seeking out another arrow and taking aim. “I wouldn't speak, if I were you. You'll need to focus all of your mental energies on moving those little feet of yours!”
The Wuffs and Zuscha hollered and laughed, breaking into claps, stomps and bawdy songs while the hunter took his next shot.
With no alternative available to her, Minx staggered to the left, her wrists still bound, to avoid it. The arrow sank into the still-warm grass where she'd been seated only a moment ago, meeting the ground with a jarring thwack. Another arrow came flying before she had time enough to find her bearings, and it was through sheer clumsiness that she fell to her knees and avoided being pierced in the neck. Every shot brought with it great hoots and peals of laughter from the assembled warriors, though she could scarcely hear them for the pounding of her pulse.
The hunter, for his part, was very careful in his aim. If he wished to kill her outright, Minx presumed it was within his power. She'd fought against him before and knew he was more than capable with the bow. Even so, his shots proved again and again to fall just short of their mark. He seemed to allow Minx a modicum of wiggle room, knowing which way she would dive to avoid his attacks, and would then delight in seeing his predictions come true. He did not join in the singing or mockery, but simply took one arrow after another from his quiver with an eerie calm. His stony eyes never seemed to change—to blink, even—and his movements remained unhurried.
Minx was panting, wrists raw for the friction of the shackles, by the time the hunter had gotten his fill of this cruel game. She watched as he lowered his bow, the quiver now empty, and leveled a wicked smile at her. “What a good sport!” he announced. A few of the Wuffs complained loudly that the huntress was still standing, and he quelled them with the promise of more entertainment in the future.
