Lament of the Slave

Chapter 65: Resolve

My three previous losses were most likely to blame for my bitterness, frustration, and desperate view of the situation. Fatigue and blood loss weren't helping either. It was so bad that even my bestial instincts gave up the effort to urge me to beat this young mossbear I was facing.

It wasn't about fighting anymore, it was about suffering through this hellish training that I was condemned to the bitter end. The end, I could only hope all this had, because the idea of having to endure this for eternity was unbearable.

Still, when I faced the beast, I tried to push these feelings away and do my best. Only my intention differed from reality. My reactions weren't as quick as I needed, skills worked with stiffness I've never felt from them before, and I often found myself not focusing on the fight but lost in thought.

Honestly, it was surprising that I lasted as long as I did before the beast pinned me to the ground. I hit the forest floor so hard I cracked my rib. Still, that wasn't the reason for the anguished cry I let out. It was the stick that pierced my side. Neither seeing it in the domain nor my nimbleness helped me avoid it. The beast hit me too fast and too hard for me to do that.

The trampling I suffered after that was just something I had to endure before Esu stopped this pathetic beatdown. It was hardly surprising that the way young mossbear dragged me by the leg clenched in its jaws to the King of the Woods, felt like a walk of shame I've earned.

What's worse, as the moss started to cover me again, I panicked a little. This time for fear of the stick growing into my body.

"Deckard," I growled in a hurry, only to realize he couldn't understand me, so I used the ring. "Deckard, please get that thing out of me."

Despite the urgency of the situation and my insistence, he looked at me calmly, at my panic-stricken face, at the bloody wound from which the damn thing was sticking out, but his hands remained in his pockets.

"Please," I begged, my voice shaking.

To my utter dismay, he shook his head. "If you want to be stronger, do it yourself."

"But..." I wanted to object, yet he stopped me. "Whether you fight in the labyrinth, a dungeon, a wilderness, or a battlefield, the same thing can happen to you."

He glanced at my wound again. "No, it's a damn sure thing like this will happen to you again, and there may not be anyone there to help you. Do it yourself."

I didn't hold back this time, showering him with insults. Only I wasn't crazy enough to say them through the link. So all he heard was a bunch of growls and whining. Well, he wasn't that stupid either. He didn't have to understand exactly what I was saying to know what I meant. The fact that he only responded with an amused smirk was even more infuriating.

"Bloody hell, Korra pull yourself together," I cursed at myself, realizing I was just wasting time while the moss slowly covered me before it starts to heal my body.

I looked at my trembling, bloody hands. "A dagger has pierced you, even a spear, and now you're afraid to pull the stick out of your guts?" I asked myself, trying to convince myself that my distress was unnecessary and give myself courage at the same time. "Come on, it's easy. Just grab the damn stick and pull it out."

Easy to say. A lot of movies made it look like that. In reality, my hands were shaking so much that I had trouble grasping the bloody stick tight enough to keep it from slipping out of my grip. Even worse, as soon as I started pulling it out, my plan to do it quickly was in shambles. It was incredibly hard not to stop when I was causing myself excruciating pain. Only the spreading moss forced me to continue.