Stray

Laria had never found herself in such an awkward situation. She had woken up with a mild headache, while her whole body protested against any kind of movement; her right shoulder, above all. Not only that, but her bladder was demanding relief, one she was not able to offer at that moment. Her neck had some kind of collar attached around it, and her paws were tied to each other, long enough for a short stretch; but no more. She was lying on her left side –something she was grateful for- and everything was deathly silent. Laria was secluded from the rest of her abductors, the fire’s heat unable to reach her chilled body. The air carried the stench of the scourge, and she feared that they had ventured too far into the vile forest.

She tried to move, but her bladder wailed in protest. She could not move, without risking the chance of taking a piss on herself. But, did it matter? She was tied and her shoulder was searing with pain; her magic levels were startling low, as well. And just like that, Laria decided to give her bladder some relief. She curled up, enjoying the sensation of warmth that suddenly engulfed the lower half of her body. It was ridiculously cold, and Laria had no intentions of dying with hypothermia. The smell was something she would have to deal with, but it made no difference. She already reeked of filth, and piss would make no difference. In the long run, it was better; actually. Her abductors would have to be around her and suffer under her stink. Yes, peeing on her own self had never been so gratifying.

But, as many plans, she had forgotten the consequences. After she reveled in the warmth of her own pee, she felt the temperature drop and everything was suddenly freezing again; even more than before. She hissed with displeasure, trying to understand what the hell just happened. Laria tried to drag herself away from the puddle she’d created with her urges, but found her paws to be useless. At that same time a body stirred, less than 4 feet away from her. Growing desperate and cold, she huffed and clawed at a tree root. It made no difference, and now her lower half was drenched in pee and mud; pee-mud.

The body that was near her awoke, and she was shocked to see that it was some kind of zombie. An Undead, she corrected herself, trying to figure out what smelled worse; her own scent, or the man’s rotting flesh. She was about to come with a conclusion, when the undead started to cackle like a maniac. Soon, every horde member that was present stirred awake; some even unsheathed their weapons. They all glared at the undead warrior, which was laughing like a maniac. His index finger pointed at Laria with accusation, and she felt her tail twitch with indignation. He was laughing at her.

It wasn’t long before more laughter joined the chorus of mockery, some of them approaching Laria to witness her small ‘accident.’ They hollered words at her, most of them sounding like cackles which made no sense. Laria kept a straight face, staring at them as if they were all insane. Peeing was natural, what was wrong with that? Still, the abominations –except the Blood Elves, they were quite charming- laughed at her. All she could do was stare at them.

Then they started to spit on her, and this time Laria did react. A roar of disgust ripped through her throat, as she tried to squirm away from her aggressors. The undead warrior approached her, and she hissed at him in a dangerous way. He ignored her warnings and gave her a kick in the ribs. Before she could even blink, she was being pelted with kicks and punches. She was helpless, and she hated it. The only thing she could hear was hollering voices and foreign words. Her lungs were about to burst.

A voice barked above the others, and their constant attacks came to a sudden halt. Everything was eerily quiet, the only thing audible being Laria’s ragged breaths. Her headache had erupted into a migraine, her shoulder throbbing with ever-growing pain. She couldn’t twitch; as such action would inflict enormous amounts of pain in her bruised body.

How much could her cat form take? She was not sure. She’d been in her cat form for a week, at most. Her body had its limits, and being in certain animal form had its risks. First, she would relapse back to her primal instincts; then, she’d lose her memory. At that exact moment, revenge was boiling inside her guts, but she knew better than to disobey those who were stronger. These were her instincts speaking, and she hated it. Her rational self was losing its battle for dominance. If her magic levels were not stabilized in the next week or so; she’ll lose her rational side altogether and those were risks she was not willing to take.

Be patient, she reminded herself. But patience is what she lacked most, and she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. After the blood elf spoke, the rest left her and scattered away. Laria did not bother to see what they were doing; instead, she pitifully laid there. For a second, she considered suicide, but pushed away the thought. She would not give in, and anyway, in her cat form, such thing would prove hard to accomplish. Feeling more pathetic than ever, she decided that dying wasn’t such a horrible option. There were a vast amount of fates that were more terrible than death. The thought alone made her tremble with disgust.

Whispers sliced through the silence that comforted her. Laria didn’t bother in listening, as they spoke in a language she couldn’t even comprehend. Heartbeats later, the hunter Blood Elf approached her. He squatted down to her level, an emotion like pity gleaming in his green orbs. He glanced at her from head to tail, clicking his tongue. He muttered things under his breath, and for a moment she thought he was speaking Darnassian.

Swiftly, he straightened up, glancing at the nearest being he could find. Barking some gibberish, a troll lamely walked towards Laria. This time she was going to put up a fight. So, when the troll tried to lift her up –while baring his tusks in disgust- Laria tried to claw his nose. She received a smack on the head, and was promptly thrown sideways. She wailed in agony, her right shoulder making contact with the ground. Whimpers soon followed, such as snickers that came from her enemy. The only person that did not utter a word was the hunter, who watched Laria with an assessing look. She quickly snarled at him, baring her fangs for all to see. Moments later, they forced her to her stand and walk, tying a leash to her neck –as she tried to bite off their fingers- and tied her to the undead’s mount. Of all reeking beasts, they chose the undead horse. Laria had no doubt that she was dealing with the biggest sons of bitches in all eternity.

They rode mounts, while she struggled to keep up with three functioning limbs. Injustice did not cover it. Laria took only four steps and exhaustion took a toll on her tired system. She could already foresee the journey before her.

~*~

After travelling for an endless amount of distance, Laria was not able to continue. She stubbornly stopped walking, a tiny amount of her magic back in her system. She could sense the Blood Elves stare at her with hungry eyes, craving for more magic; but the hunter would not let any of them touch her. He was adamant with this, as an argument had ensured when a female Blood Elf tried to suck Laria’s magic. For this, she was grateful, but she still hated the man. The reasons behind her capture were still a mystery –although she could make an accurate guess-, and the language barrier was not helping.

The troll tried to yank Laria to her feet, but she simply sat there. Her shoulder had begun to heal quickly, even more when magic was poured over it; but it was still misplaced. She would have to shift back to her human self and fix it, but then she’d be jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. They would undoubtedly try to take advantage of her, this she was sure of. Albeit, they couldn’t torture her for information, as none spoke Darnassian – to her knowledge.

The undead warrior dismounted its rotten mount, approaching Laria with agitated steps. She tensed, flinching from the pain it caused her shoulder. A blink later and she was being lifted by the walking corpse. The stench of rotting flesh infested her snout and she hacked relentlessly. The undead ignored her, tying her to his mount. Laria was spitting, hissing and snorting with noticeable disgust. The warrior grabbed an extra strip of cloth, shutting her trap.

They continued their journey with glee.