To Aid The Viper

Her eyes squint shut briefly as the man tips forward with a cry, unprepared for her flying collision with his spine. She whips the knife-wielding hand back and tucks it against her side to avoid accidentally skewering him through the throat as they tumble clumsily to the forest floor. His knees hit the mud and she jolts roughly against him. But she is not the one caught off guard here. Her body is in motion even before his weight has come to settle, or his mind to fully grasp that the southern snake is not, in fact, alone and without aid. Teeth gritted and bared, she jerks the blade back up to his neck and then squirms both legs forward, locking her calves around his middle, ensnaring him like a black widow.

"Don't you move," she hisses into the man's ear.