He had a feeling that Belle didn’t even notice she was doing it. Her gaze was still on the valley floor watching for any sign of movement, unconscious of the way her fingers wrapped and unwrapped around her javelin grip. Not fear, but certainty moved her. Moved her closer to action. A part of her the same way the grace of great cats was in her muscles as she shifted slowly forward to get a better view through the dense foliage hiding their perch. He leaned back and watched her, his own fingers checking for any imperfections or nicks on his axe blade.
When Belle went still, so did he. She slipped back. Time to hunt. He followed where she led. Neither quiet nor subtle on his own, she left clear steps and he slipped into her shadow. They drew close enough to hear the murmuring voices of their quarry. His eyes met hers, they needed no more. In a beat they were among the raiders, the invaders, the bullies who burned, looted, and destroyed at will before vanishing among the waves. No ocean here, just the cut and thrust of axe and sword, the slice and strike of javelin and dagger. Here he led and she swept easily in his wake, finishing those he merely grazed. When it was done, the jungle was tomb silent. They took the helmets and shields and displayed them as a warning to all those who would trespass on their coast. Here Be Monsters.
I stole the first line of this piece from Bek over at BuildingaDoor. Check out her blog for the original fiction.