Once in a while, in a bad winter, a flock of very hungry wherries might attack a runner in the open but the instances were rare enough. Snakes were the most likely danger encountered. Particularly mid-summer when there were newly-hatched clutches.
Her father had had injuries two summers back with such a hazard. He’d been amazed at how fast the adult tunnel snake could move when alarmed. Mostly they were torpid creatures, only hunger quickening them. But he’d stepped in the midst of an ill-placed nest and had had the hatchlings swarming up his legs, pricking the skin in innumerable places and even managing to get as high as his crotch. (Her mother had stifled a giggle and remarked that it had been more than her father’s pride that had been wounded.) But he’d scars from claw and tooth that he could show.
Moon-lit nights like this one were a joy to run in, with the air cool enough to dry the sweat on her face and chest, the trace springy underfoot and clear ahead of her. And her thoughts could wander.
There would be a Gather shortly after she reached her destination: she knew she was carrying some orders for Crafts displaying at Fort Hold. Pouches were invariably fuller going to or coming from a Gather: orders from those unable to attend, wishing to contact a MasterCraftsman. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could stay over for the Gather. She hadn’t been to one in a long while and she did want to find well-tanned leathers for a new pair of running shoes. She’d enough money to her credit to give a fair price for the right hides: she’d checked the books her mother kept of her laps. Most Halls were quite willing to take a runner station chit. She’d one in a belt pocket. If she found just the right skins, she’d a bit of leeway to bargain, above and beyond the surface value of the chit.
A Gather would be fun, too. She loved dancing, and was very good at the Toss dance, if she could find someone who could properly partner her in it. Fort was a good hold. And the music would be special, seeing as how the Harper Hall was right there in Fort. She ran on, tunes of harper melodies flitting through her mind even if she’d no breath to sing them.
She was running along a long curve now, around an upthrust of rock most traces were straight as possible – and brought her mind back to her directions. Just around this curve, she should find a trace turning off to the right, inland, towards Fort. She must pay attention now so she wouldn’t have to break stride and backtrack.
Suddenly she could feel vibrations through her feet, though she could see nothing around the vegetation banking the curve. Listening intently, she could now hear an odd phuff-phuff sound, coming closer, getting louder. The sound was just enough of a warning for her to move left, out of the centre of the trace, where she’d have just that much more of a glimpse of what was making the sound and the vibrations. This was a runner track, not a trail or road. No runner made those sounds, or hit the ground that hard to make vibrations. She saw the dark mass bearing down on her, and flung herself into the undergrowth as runnerbeast and rider came within a finger span of knocking into her. She could feel the wind of their passing and smell the sweat of the beast.
‘STUPID!’ she shouted after them, getting branches and leaves in her mouth as she fell, feeling needly gouges in the hands she had put out to break her fall. She spent the next minute struggling to her feet and spitting bitter leaves and twigs out of her mouth. They left behind an acrid, drying taste: sticklebush! She’d fallen into a patch of sticklebush. At this time of the Turn, there were no leaves yet to hide the hair-like thorns that coated twig and branch. A nuisance which balanced out their gift of succulent berries in the autumn.
Nor did the rider pull up, or even falter, when the least he could have done was return to be sure she hadn’t been injured. Surely he’d seen her? Surely he’d heard her outraged shout? And what was he doing, using a runner’s trace in the first place? There was a good road north for ordinary travellers.