The Twelve Kingdoms: Shadow of the Moon

hopeless thoughts, Youko drove the dogs back with the stones and set off at a run. Once Jouyuu had been roused to action there was no stopping him. The best she could do was get out of his way and pray that the end would be quick and painless.
    She ran, sharp shocks of pain radiating down her legs and arms and back.
    Looking back over her shoulder for help she saw the driver running towards the forest in the opposite direction, madly flailing about with the knife. Just as he plunged into the undergrowth he was dragged down into the shadow of the trees.
    She asked herself why he had headed off like that and immediately understood that he had intended to use her as a decoy. While the dogs were busy attacking her he'd slip away into the woods. It hadn't turned out the way he'd planned. It hadn't occurred to him that they'd go after him instead.
    She was running out of stones. She was three paces from the dead man's corpse.
    A beast came at her from the right. She smacked it in the snout with her free hand. Another nipped at her ankles, rose up and almost bowled her over. She skipped, stumbled, was hit again hard in the back, lurched forward and plowed head-on into the dead man's body.
    Oh, gross.
    She didn't scream. She was too numb by now. She felt only a mild repulsion. She righted herself, turned in a crouch, braced herself. She didn't think it'd do much good to try and stare these monsters down, but, surprisingly, they lowered their heads and held their distance. Still, she couldn't keep this up forever.
    Youko worked her right hand under the corpse, searching amongst the mangled flesh. Fresh in her mind's eye was the fact that he had been alive one moment, dead the next. She was out of time. Once the pack made their decision, it'd be all over.
    She felt something hard at her fingertips. The hilt of the sword practically jumped into her hand. An inarticulate thrill shot through her.
    She seized her lifeline. But when she tried to extract the scabbard, halfway out it got stuck on something. She was told to never separate the sword from its scabbard. She hesitated, and she didn't have time to hesitate. She slipped the sword out of the scabbard. With the tip of the blade she cut the cord holding the jewel and clasped it in the palm of her hand.
    The dogs made their move. The first one charged into her field of vision. Her right arm moved, the sword flashed.
    " AYAAAA!! " An inarticulate cry tore from her throat.
    The dogs came at her from the left, from the right. She cut them down, opened up a gap in the throng, plunged through and ran. They charged after her again. She slashed and retreated, and then with all the energy left in her body fled the scene.

Chapter 15
    Y ouko sat down against the fat trunk of a tree.
    Halfway down the hill she had cut off the path into the mountains. Here was where her legs finally gave out.
    She raised her sleeve to wipe away the sweat on her brow. The fabric of her seifuku uniform was heavy with blood. She grimaced, peeled off her jacket and used it to wipe down the sword. She held the blade up in front of her eyes.
    She recalled reading in her history class that you could kill only so many people with a Japanese sword before the blood and gore dulled its effectiveness. She was sure that the sword must have been damaged during the melee, and carefully buffed the metal until there was not a shadow left on the steel.
    "Strange . . . . "
    Strange that only she could draw the sword. When she had first taken hold of it, it had seemed heavy in her hands. But now, free of the scabbard, it was as light as a feather.
    Having restored the glitter to the razor-sharp edge, Youko wrapped the sword in her jacket. She took a minute to organize her thoughts.
    She had left the scabbard behind. Perhaps she should go back and get it.
    Never separate the sword from the scabbard. So she was told, but was that because the scabbard itself had any special value? Or was it because of the jewel attached to it?
    The T-shirt she wore under her uniform jacket was soaked with sweat. It was getting cold but she couldn't stomach putting on that bloody jacket. Now that she had the time to sit and think about it, her body really hurt. Her arms and legs were covered with wounds.
    There were teeth marks through the sleeves of her t-shirt. Blood welled up under the T-shirt spotting the white cloth.
    Her skirt was torn, her legs etched with countless lacerations. Most were still oozing blood, but compared to the kind of