So Mireyah Wolfe began a blogfest that allows writers to post their best fight scenes! No kissing here, people!
I guess a fight scene could be numerous things, like a verbal fight or a physical fight. My scene is sort of like an avoidance of a fight. I really wish I could post an awesome scene I have, but it gives too much of my story away.
Anywho, this happens towards the very beginning of Jane's Air. Jane has run away from home and, when she is riding through the woods looking for signs of civilization, she runs into something unexpected.
Oh, and Rosie is the name of the horse, by the way. I suck at naming horses.
Then, there was an opening in the trees. “Is there a town over there?” she questioned the horse. “There’s only one way to find out,” she began to steer towards the clearing.
Things all happened very fast after that.
Jane saw a man running towards her. He burst through the undergrowth and ran like he was being followed, like he knew his life was at stake. As he grew closer, she recognized him as an Indian. Before she could wonder what to do, he was upon her, and she could hear his ragged breath.
Then she saw his spear.
The man aimed for her, assuming she was somebody else. He poised the weapon on his enemy, pulled back his arm, and sent it through the air, running towards her all the while.
At the same moment, a gunshot rang through the air. Rosie, afraid, stood up on her back legs and brayed as loud as her body would allow her. Jane, still in a state of shock, lost her grip and fell off her saddle, crashing into the ground. Both Rosie and Jane were spared as the spear hissed by them, but the Indian was not so lucky. He stumbled to a stop in front of the agitated horse, and was struck on the head when it brought its legs back to the ground. He died instantly.
Rosie ran off somewhere into the woods, leaving Jane writhing on the ground. She had landed on her left arm, breaking it in the process. As she looked to the dead Indian, she knew she was lucky to have only suffered such a fate.
She knew she couldn’t continue to lie there, suspecting there were other treacherous men about. A realization struck her: there was a battle going on in the clearing. But between whom she couldn’t be sure.
Jane crawled on her uninjured arm and knees towards a low lying bush on the opposite side of the path. Once hidden, she tried to steady her breathing so it wouldn’t give her away, should someone come nearby. Seeing the dead Indian across from her didn’t help calm her nerves; his face was still twisted into fear, his body remained in a lifeless lump. Guilt hovered over Jane like death hung onto the dead man’s body.
The Indian had dark skin that she had only seen the like of one other time in her life. His hair was the same black color as the braid wrapped under her hat, but his hair was cropped right above his shoulders. Moccasins, a bandanna, and a skirt-like piece of fabric that hung over leggings were the only items he wore. Jane had truly seen an Indian for the first time.
Muffled cries and gunshots continued to come from the clearing that she couldn’t see. She cursed herself for blindly wandering into a skirmish. Now she was hopelessly alone, without her horse or a weapon, and she knew not what to do.