Kidnapped! 1 x 1

[Nebula Arisen]

Gunter was first aware of the silence. The cursed woods were already quiet, but there was now an oppressive stillness to the air that threatened to steal the breath from his lungs. He had once heard a tale of one of Musique’s Gods, a creature of darkness and silence that swept over a man to stop his heart and release his soul to the stars. In the back of his mind, Gunter wondered if such a God’s influence could reach into even this forsaken place, but he already knew such a thing was impossible. This was a Godless land.

With the silence came a cold so deep that it pierced to the bone and left him aching as though he had aged fifty years. Alarm crept over him like ice, and he tensed against the tree he had claimed as his seat. He knew this feeling all too well. Had felt it just before the first of his comrades had been dragged screaming into the inky black shadows of the forest. His heart pumped wildly in his chest, but Gunter leaned forward very slowly, slowing his breathing until he was as quiet as the clearing they were camped in. Thick fluffy snowflakes began to drift down, and his eyes narrowed as he scanned his surroundings, one hand reaching for the scabbard resting beside him. Just his luck that it would start snowing at this exact moment.

His hard gaze locked with the princess’s as her mouth parted to let out a whisper that shattered the silence.

"Wendigo."

As though she had given them a signal (and Gunter was not beyond considering the possibility), a pack of ghouls burst from the treeline, a chorus of shrieks piercing the air, and he leapt to his feet to greet them with his own battlecry. There was no time to unsheathe his sword before one was upon him, its long bony hands topped with sharp ragged nails that reached out to claw at his skin. The stench of death filled his nose, and he grabbed both of its wrists to restrain it long enough to kick out its legs. The creature was stronger than its skeletal appearance suggested, but then he had already discovered that the hard way just days ago.

A sharp grin remained hidden behind his scarf as he twisted and ripped one twitching hand off from its wrist, and as he moved to do the same with its other hand, he sent a quick glance toward Troy and the princess. The girl was shouting something in that blasted language of hers, but he ignored it, instead barking to Troy, "Prostatépste to korítsi!"

His friend didn’t even bother looking at him as he restrung his bow. "Ópo̱s kai an tha í̱thela na káno̱ allió̱s!

Deflecting the creature’s handless flailing and whipping around to use it as a shield against one of its brethren, he wrapped one arm around its neck, grunting with effort as his muscles bulged and he attempted to pop off its fiercely ugly head. That was when a shout clear as day reached his ears, and he looked toward the princess with wide eyes.

"Fire! You have to attack with fire! It’s the only way to kill them!"

Wait just one ******** minute, she could speak the common tongue!

He knew she’d been hiding something!

His grip having grown lax in his surprise, the ghoul surged forward, and he nearly lost his grasp on it. Quickly regaining himself, he let out a wild cry and finally wrenched the thing’s head from its neck, not bothering to stand around and watch the body collapse. Headless and handless, it was less of a threat than before, and he could concentrate on the rest of the pack. He whirled around just in time to see a wendigo lunge for Troy and the princess, and a shout caught in his throat when something sharp and glistening promptly pierced through the creature’s own and pinned it to a tree. Had Haida soldiers caught up with them?

But looking from Troy to Eirwen, he knew that wasn’t it. The princess now stood tall and proud, lengths of rope lying scattered at her feet, and in that moment Gunter knew they had been tricked. Fury threatened to overflow, but before he could act upon it, another of the wendigo tackled him to the ground, and he could hear Troy shouting in the background. Gunter growled, struggling with the beast, and managed to overpower it long enough to straddle it and punch through its skull with a sickening crunch. Brain matter and other fluids he didn’t care to identify clung to his fist, but Gunter didn’t allow himself to dwell on it, instead rolling to his feet to glance wildly about as he ducked the attack of yet another of the creatures.

"Poú sto diáolo eínai?!" he roared, tossing the body into the campfire. It quickly caught aflame, casting shadows that flared wildly against the snow.

"Den xéro̱, Strati̱gós! Aplá étrexe!" Troy called back, shooting one of the ghouls in the knee to stagger it.

"Poú sto diáolo eínai Aloysius ótan ton chreiázesai?" Gunter snarled, running forward to intercept a wendigo that had been about to lunge for Troy from the side.

"Eímai akrivó̱s edó̱," a familiar voice growled out, and Gunter felt himself bare his teeth in some semblance of a grin as he wrestled with his opponent.

"Schetiká me vlasfi̱mía stigmí̱, o fílos mou!" he managed to grunt out as he rolled and struggled to gain the upper hand.

"An pethánoume edó̱, Páo̱ na sýrete apó ti̱n kólasi̱ gia na se skotó̱so̱, kátharma!" Aloysius shot back, and Gunter would have laughed if he hadn’t been fending off clawed hands that were trying to rip his throat out. With Aloysius here, perhaps they stood a chance of surviving!

However, he didn’t have the time to contemplate possibilities, and he sneered at the grotesque face that snarled down at him, eyes casting about for something to gain the upperhand. He was mere feet from the campfire, if he could only--

There was a scream, and a cry of, "ALOYSIUS!" and Gunter rolled both himself and the wendigo over to slide his legs up and kick it square in the chest toward the fire. It flew back, splaying out over the burning corpse of its brethren, and Gunter sprang to his feet to see Aloysius crumple to the ground, the ghoul that had ripped his heart out looming over him.

Gunter could hear little else beyond the pounding of blood in his ears, and he paused only long enough to snatch up a piece of burning wood before rushing the thing that had killed his comrade with a guttural yell of, "BOREÍTE KÁTHARMA!"

He collided with the creature, knocking it over and off of Aloysius’ body to first punch it with his free hand so hard that its skull shattered at the point of impact. Then he lifted up the wood in his hand to jam it into where the wendigo’s own heart would be.

If it even had one.

The fire swiftly spread from the wood to the monster’s body, and it began to crumble into ash beneath him. Knowing he had little time to recover, Gunter rose back up, ignoring the throbbing pain in his hand, and whirled around to begin fighting the rest of the ghouls--

Only to stop short and find himself staring at the severed wendigo head that had dropped at the feet of a long haired figure. The woman looked up, dark strands of hair sliding back to reveal the pretty, bruised face of the Haida princess, and she stared back at him with hard, icy eyes.

"You--" he stepped forward, and perhaps would have even said more (though honestly he had had no idea what he was going to say) if Eirwen hadn’t taken that moment to thrust her hands into the air. Ice solidified, grew, and surged forward to surround him in perfect synchronization with the gesture before he had time to so much as regain his wits. He watched in shock as the ice crawled over his head, completely encasing him, and he took three more steps forward to knock his fist against his new prison.

It held solidly, and he looked to yell at the b***h that had imprisoned him so easily--only to find her nowhere in sight.

"Af̱tí̱ i̱ skýla…" he groaned, sliding his burned palm against the wall. It soothed the pain, which had started to throb harder now that the adrenalin rush had begun to fade. He peered through the warped surface of the ice to see another dome opposite him.

"Troy, eísai akóma zo̱ntanós? Me akoús?"

Please, please, please, let me have one good thing, let at least Troy be alive…

"Eímai edó̱, Strati̱gós."

Gunter nearly collapsed, so great was his relief. Straightening up, he felt anger flood through him again, as much of it directed at himself as it was at that deceitful princess. How dare she make a fool of him! Had this been her plan all along? He growled, continuing to speak Martian in harsher tones.

"That b***h left us to rot!"

"Can you blame her?" Troy called back, and Gunter could hear his fists knock at his own icy prison. "Though I like to think she was protecting me. She liked me, at least."

"Oh, shut up," Gunter snapped, taking a step back and taking long, controlled breaths, his hands curling into tight fists. "This is the kind of thing you’re supposed to find out in an interrogation! 'Hey, lady, you got any freaky ice powers that could aid in your escape?'" He took on a falsetto tone as he reared one fist back. "'Oh, why yes, handsome stranger who likes to draw pretty flowers and cuddle bear cubs! I do have freaky ice powers that I can use to make your commanding officer look a greater fool than he already is!' ******** b***h!"

He began to punch the ice in earnest, cracks spider webbing along its smooth surface.

"Strati̱gós."

"And you! All you need is a pretty woman to bat her eyes at you and show some interest in your doodles--"

"Strati̱gós."

"--and you’re suddenly committing insubordination! She was a prisoner, Troy! Why--can’t--you--goddamn--listen--

"Strati̱gós!"

With one last strike, the ice shattered, and Gunter shoved through, panting hard. He glared at Troy, who returned the look through his own ice dome.

"What?" he snapped again, approaching the prison in short, angry strides to slam both hands onto the smooth surface of the dome. "What other witty remarks do you have for me, huh? Because I am two seconds away from punching through this ice just to break your goddamn nose!"

"...you should burn the bodies."

"Hah?" Gunter glanced back at the rest of their campsite, unnerved to see some of the scattered limbs twitching. Ugh. He was never coming back here for as long as he lived.

"Aloysius, too. Until we’re sure that...just as a precaution."

"...right."

Shoving off the dome, he rubbed his forehead with his cleaner hand, and began the task of burning every piece of wendigo he could find. He felt it safer for Troy to remain trapped in the dome; both for Troy’s own well being should there be another attack so soon, and for Gunter’s peace of mind. He was still furious over the whole situation. He had needed Troy on his side, and instead the man goes and befriends their own hostage!

...no, it wasn’t Troy’s fault, Gunter realized as he stood over Aloysius’ body and spoke his last rites. It was Gunter’s. It all fell back to him, to his mistakes. If he had explained to Troy his reasoning, if he had been stronger and better prepared for the wendigo...if he hadn’t been sent on this ******** mission in the first place. If, if, if. He was sick and tired of that word.

The acrid scent of burning flesh wafted in the air, but Gunter only stared sightlessly into the flames for a long moment before a soft voice snapped him back to the present.

"Strati̱gós...we shouldn’t stay for much longer. There may be more of those creatures, and then the princess...she may have sent the guards on our trail."

"Yeah."

Gunter returned to the dome, avoiding Troy’s heartfelt gaze as he punched a hole through the ice, and carried him out. Then he helped the man lean against a tree, and gathered up their belongings. It was going to be difficult to leave this place with only himself and Troy...and with Troy wounded on top of that.

Dammit, Aloysius, why did you have to go and die like that? he thought bitterly. The man would never see the other side of these woods again, would never have the chance to try and avenge his comrades...there was something terribly sad about that. Gunter may not have agreed with Aloysius, but he had still been his comrade, had still been under his jurisdiction and protection. He had failed so many people this day.

It was as he was securing their pack onto Troy's shoulders that his last remaining companion spoke again, his head turned to the side to try and meet Gunter's eyes.

"What are you thinking?" What do we do now?

Hearing those unspoken words, Gunter was silent for a solid minute as he secured the straps and thought over what to say.

"I'm thinking of going home," he said finally, turning and crouching down. "Now hurry up and get on my back. It’s not every day you get to treat me like a mule."

But Troy hesitated. "Is that all? We’re not going to pursue the princess?"

Gunter rolled his eyes and huffed. "It’s a lost cause, Troy. I didn't even get a good look of which way she went. For all we know, she’s run back to her little ice palace, and good riddance, too! Let her and her people freeze to death for all I care. Now, get the hell on already!"

Troy gingerly settled himself on his back, and Gunter straightened up, taking care not to jostle the man’s leg too much, and they were soon trekking south, back the way they had came.

A few minutes into their journey, Troy leaned further over Gunter’s shoulder to get a better look at his face.

"Strati̱gós...our mission was simple information gathering...why did you risk taking her in the first place?"

Gunter grit his teeth, really not wanting to discuss it. But if he could talk about this kind of s**t to anyone, it would be Troy. The man had done more for him in the last few years than most people had his entire life. He mulled it over in his head.

"...you remember the incident in the capital?" he finally asked in return, stepping carefully over a raised root, and taking care to keep his voice low.

"Of course."

"And you know how highly the king regards me these days." Troy had seen it first hand numerous times over the years. Had stood beside him in spite of it.

"Yes."

"Then you know this was no ********' 'simple' mission." Gunter felt his lips draw back in a silent snarl.

"...yes."

"So, what do you think a guy like me could do with the princess of a kingdom our king has his sights set on?"

Troy was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke next, it was carefully, quietly, as though he were tiptoeing around a sleeping dragon.

"Do you really think it would have worked?"

"I don’t know. I had to try, though, didn’t I?" He heaved a sigh. "But I guess it wasn’t worth it. I should have just focused on getting my men in and out. Maybe they’d be alive now…"

Troy didn’t contest this, and it just made Gunter feel worse. But then he felt Troy gently lean his head against his so that they were cheek to cheek, Troy’s fuzzy chin knocking against his scarf.

"She was headed south."

That sneaky sonuvabitch.

Gunter chuckled. "I could kiss you right now."

He could hear the smile in Troy’s voice. "Save it for when we’re out of these twice damned woods."

In a more chipper mood, Gunter picked up the pace a little. If they were lucky, they could find the princess’ trail, and maybe Troy could even get her guard down long enough for Gunter to capture her again! Of course, that depended on them being able to catch up with little miss-disappears-a-lot in the first place. Not wishing to lower morale, he refrained from pointing this out. Troy probably already knew anyway. At the very least, they had to have hope of getting out of this place alive.

And so the next two days passed too slowly and yet too quickly all at once. It was wearisome to carry both Troy and their supplies with few stops, but both men were too paranoid to stay in one place for too long. When darkness crept over the horizon, they lit a torch for Troy to hold aloft as Gunter trudged through the snow, and muttered prayers to Hermes and Hecate for a safe path of travel from the creatures of darkness. Gunter felt certain his Gods had taken pity on them, for they confronted only one wendigo since leaving camp, and Gunter had gained only a few new cuts and bruises from the encounter. Troy complained of a sore a** after being dropped unceremoniously to the ground so that Gunter could fight the beast unencumbered, but that had only invited a slew of teasing from his general that had left the younger man pouting for an hour afterwards.

Gunter was just grateful that Troy had refrained from asking to be left behind, though he knew his friend well enough to be aware that the thought had likely crossed his mind multiple times. But they both also knew that no matter Troy’s reasoning, Gunter would ignore such a request, if not try to outright beat the idea out of his head, bum leg be damned. They kept each other’s spirits high with whispered banter and muttered conversations about what they planned to do upon crossing Hyouden’s border in between bites of hard jerky.

Troy confessed to wanting to return home for a time, to see his father and sisters, and regale them with the horror stories of their travels. To feel the warmth of the sun and surround himself in the scent of the wheat his family grew. Gunter just wanted to join his own sister in Symphonia and fight beside her, though he was quite certain that she was beyond needing his protection. If he admitted to the fact that he also wished to hear his mother play the koto and spy his brother reading out of the corner of his eye...well, the only ones around to hear were Troy and the trees. Still, such daydreaming made their aches and pains alleviate a little bit as they traveled, and made the eerie forest the tiniest bit more hospitable. Gunter felt his excitement mount each time they saw some sign of the princess’s presence: a bit of unusual ice formation here, trampled plants there, and scraped treebark being the most prominent.

However, eventually Gunter had to admit that even he had his limits. He had never been a stranger to ice and snow, but the cold in Hyouden was especially cruel, and they had spent days upon days in this forsaken land with less food and rest than he liked. He waited until they found a particularly large tree with twisted roots at the base of an overshadowed knoll to settle down in before finally making camp.

After setting Troy down, Gunter collapsed beside him, and leaned in to conserve their body heat between them. Both had their weapons in their laps or beside them, and they huddled close to the small fire Gunter had made.

"Just a few more days, Troy," he muttered, tugging his scarf further over his nose.

Troy nodded in agreement, fluffy hair hidden beneath a wool cap that had once been Johann’s. "With just the two of us, we’re making good time. Or should I say, you are."

They talked quietly for a few more minutes before Troy agreed to keep watch, and Gunter slumped into a light, uneasy sleep. It felt as though hardly a second had passed before his eyes snapped open again, and he assessed his surroundings to figure out what had woken him.

Voices spoke not too far off, harsh and lyrical all at once. The fire had gone out, snow kicked over it, and Troy’s more gangly figure sat tense beside him, slowly pushing the both of them further against the roots they rested against. Gunter shifted, signalling to his friend with one hand.

"How many?"

"Counted fourteen. More."

Dread trickled down Gunter’s spine. Had they been found so quickly? Those Haida were annoyingly swift in the snow! And here he had been expecting to only worry about the wendigo…stupid, stupid, stupid! He kept underestimating these northern folk, and it kept biting him in the goddamn a**! Hardly daring to breathe, he drew up into a crouch, hand signing to Troy once more.

"Quiet. Stay. I’ll draw them off. Circle back here. Run."

"Understood."

Troy’s gaze locked with his, and Gunter could read the concern in his eyes that was quickly replaced by a steely determination.

"Be ready."

"Stay safe."

Gunter nodded once, and then was off like a shadow on the snow, thankful for the extra camouflage his borrowed uniform provided. Sure, it was a little bloodied up, but the setting sun would help hide the stains with its array of brilliant colors reflecting off the snow. Creeping over the knoll, he kept low to the ground, and stared hard at the scene below him. There was some sort of commotion going on among the men...of which he counted there to be seventeen present.

There’s probably more if they’re smart enough to have men patrolling the perimeter, he thought warily, and he began to move toward the northwest, keeping half his attention on the men visible, and half on his surroundings. He really didn’t want to be the one who was sneaked up on right now.

The Haida men’s voices grew louder, more alarmed, and Gunter paused to peer around a tree to see what was going on, heart pounding against his rib cage.

Please, Gods, don’t let them have found Troy…

Instead, he felt his jaw drop as he saw it had nothing to do with Troy, and everything to do with the princess he had been trailing this entire time. The familiar dark haired figure was struggling against her own men, her fists striking at any who drew too close, and spears of ice erupting from the ground, from the air itself, and Gunter felt his mouth run dry because he may have still been furious with the girl for pulling one over him, but he could appreciate the way she moved.

Eyes beginning to water from the cold air and lack of blinking, Gunter tore his gaze away, and continued on further. As much as he wanted to nab the girl for himself, his first priority was Troy’s safety, and that meant leading those soldiers away, and then returning to Troy to grab him and run.

Seconds passed like eons, and he climbed to the top of another knoll that was directly northwest of the group. Standing proudly atop it, he glared down at the scene below him, and yanked down his scarf to yell into cupped hands:

"Hey, chi meibion ​​geist!"

All heads turned his way. He did the mature thing and pulled down the lower eyelid of his right eye with his middle finger.

"GUESS HOW MANY TIMES I ******** ALL YOUR MOTHERS LAST NIGHT!!"

If looks could kill, he thought with an unnerving amount of glee. Letting out a loud whoop, he made another extremely rude gesture, and then turned to slide down the little hill just quickly enough to dodge an ice spear to his face.

"YOU’RE GONNA HAFTA TRY HARDER THAN THAT, YA BASTARDS!"


"Protect the girl!"
"As if I would do otherwise!"

"Where the hell is she?!"
"I don’t know, General! (She) just ran!"
"Where the hell is Aloysius when you need him?"
"I’m right here."
"About damn time, my friend!"
"If you die here, I’m going to drag you from hell to kill you myself, you b*****d!"
"YOU b*****d!"
"(This) That b***h…"

"Troy, are you still alive? Are you listening?"
"I’m here, General."

"Hey, you sons of bitches!"



GG

[street riot]

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxx ⋙ Ｅｉｒｗ ｅｎ x Ａｒｇａｌｌ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFly by night, away from here
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxChange my life again...

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Eirwen flew as fast as she could, ice board weaving in and out of the gnarled trunks of the forest floor. She wouldn’t risk flying too high, lest her guards catch sight of her, but she kept going until she lost altitude, the previous events finally draining her. She nicked the ground and tumbled forward, ice board disappearing into vapor as she ate snow. ”Ugh…” she groaned, forcing herself up. Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw with rope burn and her face throbbed with the movement of her jaw. Nothing she wasn't used to.

How far had she gotten ahead of them? A few milltiroedd, at least… But while she was safe from the kidnappers she wasn’t safe from the wendigo, and she wouldn’t be until she was out of this forest and on her way to Stillicidium. So she combed the area, picking up pine cones and mushrooms where she could find them. She got lucky with a crowberry bush, and cut a few shoots of arctic willow. They rested with her other goods in the dip of her skirt. The meal wasn’t much, but it was all the tundra had to offer. Eirwen was so drained she was almost looking forward to the mushrooms. Almost.

Snowfall filled in her tracks as she crawled into the hollow of a fir tree and snowed herself in, tucked away in the dark and out of the wind. The snow should mask her scent from the outside, if not, the narrow opening into her hideout would be to her advantage. In the mean time it was time to eat. She made a spout out of ice and jammed it into the tree bark as she nibbled her rations. Whatever sap collected she’d be using to waterproof her boots, after she made them. If there was some left over she'd swab her wounds.

Prying out a few seeds out of the pine cones, she stuffed them into her mouth and shrugged off her robe. With a dagger formed from ice, Eirwen sliced strips of fabric out of her robe and wrapped them around her feet. She took her time to sew it all together. These makeshift shoes needed to last her until Stillicidium. Bare feet would be fine here, but further south the snow would be melting into rock.

Feet covered she leaned against the tree, she was exhausted and out of food, but there was still one thing… Her eyes watered as she thought back. Aloysius had exposed her so easily… She squinted the tears away and wiped her nose on her arm before slicing the skirt of her nightgown off at the waist. He was dead now, and she’d need the extra material for pants. Something harder to remove and easier to maneuver around in. It didn’t have to be pretty, but while she worked she couldn’t really resist putting some form into the function. The nightgown fabric ran down the sides of her legs like the military stripes she had seen in the uniform of Troy’s charcoal soldier. Strips of fabric from her sleeves threaded it all together. Her mother would be proud. She tied the belt to her robe around her new pants to keep them up, threading it through slits in the hem.

Tree sap fell in lazy droplets to the ground beside her as she faded into slumber. The cold didn’t bother her, and neither did the dark, but the spirits made for a restless night. She could feel them stir under the moon outside, drifting between the trees and lost without a purpose to their suffering. Visiting would only draw attention to herself, and the wendigo would follow.

She woke hours later, cursing herself for losing almost half a day of travels, and then cursing herself for not going back to sleep when she finally sat up, stiff as the ice she controlled. Her entire body ached as she coated her shoes in the pine sap. There wasn't enough left to eat, certainly not enough to coat her wounds with, but she'd deal with that later. Spare scraps of fabric tied her hair back into a braid and kept another collection of pine cones and willow branches tied to her belt. Another day. She was ready.

Eirwen set off walking instead of riding, she’d already used a good chunk of her energy on ice manipulation, and as it was her only sure line of defense, slow and steady seemed the best way to go. The last thing she needed was for her powers to run dry in the midst of an attack. The one vice she would allow herself was snowshoes. A thin layer of ice under her boots that would disperse her weight and make it easier to move. The temperature would keep them frozen, and her tracks would fill in more quickly if they were shallow.

Despite her fatigue, her spirit cheered as she continued. The sun was peeking through the canopy, and she was walking unencumbered by heavy Hyouden dresses. No guards. No Prif lurking in the shadows. She would never be Tywysoges again, and once she was out of this forest of monsters she could cross into Stillicidium, restock, and find the quickest route back to her family. By the time she got there, the guards would have to regroup and start fresh. Surely the kidnapper had given up on his fool’s errand as well. No flight of fancy was worth the trouble he’d have to go through to get her back, no matter how crazy he was.

She walked the whole day, only stopping to collect more willow branches, mushrooms and crowberries when she spotted them. Those she ate on the spot. They didn’t keep well after picking. Occasionally she would scrape the bark from trees and chew out the inner layer. The sap was good medicine for her jaw, but she didn’t want to waste time with a spout until she settled for the second night.

As darkness fell she climbed high, not seeing any shelter on the ground. Once she got to the top of one of the pines she constructed a floor of ice between the branches, then walls and a roof. It was just big enough to house her if she curled in on herself. This night she didn’t even bother with supper, she just put a spout into the tree and drifted off with a soft smile. She was the most exhausted and dirty she’d ever been, and also the happiest. Her internal compass was telling her she was almost out of the woods. Another day and she’d hit the Stillicidium coast. Just one more day…

But the day began before the sun. Ice showered down on her with a crash mere hours after she had drifted off. Eirwen gasped and threw her hands up in front of her, sending the shards of ice back in a barrage that knocked the Hyouden guard out of her tree. She was flying out after him in no time, ice board streaking south only to be jerked backward. Eirwen hit the ground hard, dazed and rasping for air as she cut the rope from her neck and held her throat.

The guards wasted no time swarming her. One manacle locked into place on her wrist before she came to her senses and kneed the closest guard in the groin. A wave of snow pushed them all back and she struggled to her feet, fists up as they circled in. ”Dim ond un diwrnod...” (Just one day..) she muttered, blowing a few stray hairs out of her face. How much more was she going to have to endure before she was finally free of Hyouden? ”Roeddwn i'n un diwrnod i ffwrdd…” (I was one day away...) The odds were clearly not in her favor. Prif Tyr had sent at least fifteen men after her. She was shaking, eyes watering. This couldn’t be the end of her journey… But she’d never fought anyone before the monsters she had slain just two days ago. Let alone twenty men. All her training had been through observation and practice. She’d never sparred. There was… There was just no way she could pull this off…

She took a deep. shaky breath, praying to every spirit she had ever met to help her, but her trembling didn’t go unnoticed, and one of the guards stepped forward, pulling a wolf skin hood back to reveal an ugly face with a full beard and hooked nose. ”Tywysoges, Tywysoges, Tywysoges... Does dim angen i fod yn ofni.” (Tywysoges, Tywysoges, Tywysoges... There's no need to be afraid.) The others leered in the background, snickering as their commanding officer drew closer to their target. ”Mae'n dim ond eich gard ffyddlon yma i achub chi.” (It’s just your loyal guard here to rescue you.) She ran over every defensive move she knew in her head, eyes searching the surrounding area for anything that could come in handy. There was nothing.

"A-Aros yn ôl." (S-Stay back.) Eirwen tensed, coiled to strike as he approached. She couldn't go back to the palace. She wouldn't go back there. "I..." She would never set foot within those halls again. Eirwen stood a little taller, eyes fierce with resolve. "I won't be returning."

They paused, eyes shifting. Staring at each other for an explanation. She wasn't supposed to know the common language. She wasn't even supposed to speak her own language. After a moment a dark grin grew on the face of their leader, composure regained in a slimy saunter in her direction. ”Why don’t you tell us how you learned the common tongue on the way home. Prif Tyr would be most interested to know.” He was just behind her now, a hand slipping around her waist as he leaned in to plant a kiss on her neck that made her skin crawl. ”But what we're even more curious about is," he leaned in, breath dancing across her ear. She leaned away from him, cringing. "What other forbidden skills have you been taught?” Eirwen's eyes-widened and in one panicked motion she threw her arms back and caught him by the hair, thrusting her entire body forward and flinging him over her shoulder before stomping her heel into his nose with a solid crunch.

The frenzy began. The guards surged forward. Eirwen iced her knuckles and sent a flurry of punches into the first man to reach her before whirling her first around, the manacle’s pair swinging from her wrist and into the face of the man on her right. She followed it up with an elbow to his chest and a swift jab up into his chin. She kept it fluid, connected. She remembered that this was the most important thing. Every attack had a follow-up. Every hit could be recycled, used against another enemy. This was how the warriors of her tribe had been taught before Prif Tyr came to power. This was how the Cerddwyr still trained in secret camps stretching across the Outlands. Coftka was one of them, as was her own father. She had spied on every meeting she could manage. She had learned whatever they were willing to teach her in their fleeting moments together. She had practiced on her own...but would it be enough?

They kept coming and she kept defending, punches here, kicks there. She held them back but there was no way she could keep it up for long, sooner or later something would have to give. And then from the top of one of the knolls, ”Hey, chi meibion ​​geist!" There stood the kidnapper. Eirwen’s jaw dropped as everyone turned their gaze to the intruder. ”I-Idiot…" What. What?! How! How on earth did he manage to catch up to her with a wounded companion after she imprisoned them both in ice?! And now he was joining a fight when he was clearly outmatched?

"GUESS HOW MANY TIMES I ******** ALL YOUR MOTHERS LAST NIGHT!!"

”Idiot,” she said again, red as fire as the guards chased him east across the snow. Wait. Her head perked up, sending her manacled wrist back into the teeth of a guard who had gotten over holding his crotch and was stalking her from behind. The idiot was sending them after him. Eirwen slowly backed up in the opposite direction, heading west. If he wanted the attention he could have it. She sprinted through the trees, hoping over roots and shrubs, only to skid to a halt in front of Troy, who had an arrow pointed at her face. She froze like a deer.

”Eirwen?” he said, lowering his bow, only to have his expression harden. ”Peidiwch â symud.” (Don't move.) Quicker than Eirwen could follow he shot at her, blood splattered across her back, and she turned to see the toothless guard she’d hit earlier fall to the ground with an arrow between his eyes. Eirwen stared wide-eyed at the body and stumbled back, staring at his open, glossy eyes.

”I like your new look,” Troy said cheerfully, like he hadn’t just killed a man moments before… Eirwen ripped her horrified gaze from the body to stare at Troy, who was smiling that charming smile--she shook her head, expression from goofy to incredulous. She looked down at herself and saw her shirt had been ripped, exposing most of her midriff. She blushed and tugged at the material to pull it down.

”You’re not indecent,” he chuckled, and Eirwen looked up from her fussing to see he had an arrow trained on her. ”Don’t move, Eirwen. Please.” She could see the sympathy in his brow. This arrow was meant for her. She’d run right into a trap, whether they had set one or not. She bit her lip to stop the quivering. Curse him and his smile. Her breath was shaky.

Curse him.

”N-Now’s not the time. Your idiot has about twenty Hyouden guards after him.”

Troy gave her a sad smile. ”Unfortunately he only acts the part...not unlike someone else I know,” And after a moment, eyes lingering on the manacle hanging from her wrist. ”I’m sorry.”

This was what all her planning and hard work had come to. This is what her struggling amounted to. A slave switching masters? ”You won’t. He wants me alive.” Her eyes pleaded with him to change his mind.

He lowered his aim, toward her legs. ”Rydych yn wir yn gwneud gwaith da ar y pants hynny,” (You really did good work on those pants.) he whispered. Eirwen sucked in a breath and looked away, fists tightening. She should have never expected his loyalties to change just because he showed her kindness.

”Cyfnewid cyfrinachau ffasiwn erbyn hyn?” (Exchanging fashion advice?) Eirwen looked up to see four guards emerge from the trees, followed by a fifth armed with a bow of his own. ”Yn dod yn awr, Tywysoges. Rydych chi wedi cael eich hwyl. Nawr mae'n amser i ddod adref.” (Come now, Tywysoges. You've had your fun. Now it's time to come home.)

Eirwen's fingers curled around an ice dagger forming in her palm.

All eyes were on her, waiting to see what she would do. They knew she wasn’t defenseless anymore. She wasn’t supposed to have control of her powers, but she did. She wasn’t supposed to be able to fight back, yet she had. But she could tell they still thought she was stupid, which she wasn’t. She threw her dagger into the trees behind them, a few more followed with her mental guidance. None of them hit the guards, and their smirks widened. ”You missed,” one said as he stepped forward, but Eirwen had her eyes above him.

Snow avalanched from the trees in a rush, and Eirwen wasted no time lifting the pile with the guards up into the canopy with a wave of her arms, before she froze the snow and threw her arms back to earth, sending the guards crashing to the ground with enough force to shatter the ice they were encased in, but that wasn’t the last of them. Ice spears flew from the clearing and Eirwen crossed her arms in front of her, making a shield of ice to protect her. Two more guards jumped into view and charged her. One was shot through the heart, and she heard Troy reach for more arrows as the other collided with her, sending them both into the snow.

”Eirwen, yn dal yn dal i!”

Hold still. That was not the easiest thing for her to accomplish at the present moment. Eirwen flung her legs up, swinging her ankles around his shoulders and rolling forward before hammering punches into his chest, ”Eirwen!” only to have another guard sideswipe her with a club. She hit the snow, holding her already wounded face as her eye blackened. She rolled over to look at Troy, even seeing three of him she could tell he had used his last arrow, and more guards had discovered them, their number impossible to determine in her haze.

This time they took notice of Troy first, who was leaning against a tree trying to get to his feet despite his wounded leg. ”T-T-T” she couldn’t get his name out, struggling to get to all fours with the world swirling around her. One guard drew his knife. Troy drew his own. ”A-aros!” (Wait!) Finally. ”Aros! 'N annhymerus' yn mynd â chi!” (WaitI I'll go with you!) The guard lifted his arm, cruel smile stretching his features. No. "No!" she screamed, holding her face as she tried to get to her feet. ”I’ll go with you! Please!” But it was too late. He swiped the knife, slicing across Troy’s throat before Troy could use his own.



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Moon rise, thoughtful eyesxxx
Staring back at me from the window beside...xxxxx
Ｔ ｙｗ ｙｓ ｏ ｇ ｅｓ x ｏｆ x Ｈ ｙｏｕ ｄｅ ｎ ⋘ xxxxxxxxxx

[Nebula Arisen]

With the quiet brought on from fallen snow and a forest void of anything but ghouls, Gunter’s heart pounded loudly against his rib cage as he ran, so loud he wondered if his pursuers could hear it over his whooping and hollering. He could certainly hear them, for as expertly as they moved in their native element, they still had to breathe and curse in frustration as he remained just out of reach. This may have been their home territory, but he had the advantage of speed and endurance.

He twisted and wound through the empty trees, around erupting ice spears, and dodged the sharp chill of projectiles. Sometimes he’d duck down to shove his hand in the snow to pack it into a tight ball that he would then chuck over his shoulder. He did it with no great forethought or aim, but every so often he’d hear a solid whoopsh! alongside an angered cry, and he’d wind up having to increase his speed incrementally to keep an outraged soldier at bay. It was a great insult, he thought with a mocking laugh.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to draw away as many of the soldiers as he would have liked. He glanced over his shoulder again, then grabbed the trunk of a tree, using his momentum to swing around and collide with one soldier feet first.

Just five, he noted with a frown, steam curling from his exhaled breath as he stomped the struggling man’s brains in.

Now there were only four, but he didn’t want to waste time killing them, too, so he took off in a northwesterly direction. Picking up speed, it took him little more than a minute to outrun the rest, and then he abruptly changed course to start loping northeast. It was getting darker now, the sun dipping nearly completely beneath the horizon, leaving nothing but a sliver of glowing light. He could already see the moon hanging above him between the gnarled, warped branches of the trees, so low that he felt he could just reach out and touch it with the tips of his fingers…

Turning southwest, he shook off that train of thought. He had to remain sober, for Troy’s sake.

He was drawing closer to where they had made camp when he heard a scream. His blood turned to ice, and he pressed harder to run faster, his feet leaving deep imprints in the snow as he shoved off the ground with every step.

”I’ll go with you!” he heard a woman cry as he scrambled up the hill that overlooked his makeshift camp.

”Please!”

He reached the top. Troy was easy to spot in his dark leather and furs, slumped against a tree, favoring his good leg--

--his knife slipping out of his hand--

--blood spilling from his throat--

”OCHI!” Gunter screamed, raw and guttural--not Troy not Troy NOT TROY NOT TROY--

--and his vision was tunneling until all he could see was the sonuvabitch who killed Troy he was going to kill HIM HE WAS GOING TO KILL HIM HE WAS GOING TO--

Before anyone could register what was happening, Gunter had already leapt down the hill to slam into the guard responsible, his hand grabbing hold of his neck to viciously smash his skull into the tree Troy had been leaning against until blood and brain matter was pouring out of his head in chunks.

Breathing hard, his entire body taut and trembling, Gunter finally tossed the corpse aside. In the intense silence that ensued, he looked to Troy, who laid limp against the tree. Gunter slowly crouched down, clean hand pressing against the side of his comrade’s neck. There was no answering throb of a heartbeat, just the warm stickiness of blood. He gazed into Troy’s eyes, which remained open and distant, reflecting the last beams of sunlight.

Unable to bear the condemnation in that far off gaze, Gunter gently swept his hand over those eyes, leaving streaks of red to stain his face. Then he rose, head tilted to keep Troy in sight.

At this angle, he could’ve been sleeping.

“Chi...byddwch yn talu am hynny!”

Just like that, the rage that had simmered down beneath the weight of his grief surged forth, and he twisted away from the sharp point of an ice spear. He surged forward along its length to drive his fist into the guard’s face. There were cries of fright as he proceeded to rip the man’s head from his shoulders with a roar, the muscles in his arms bulging, veins prominent and pulsating.

After that, it was a massacre. Those who still had the courage to face him in his fury were killed swiftly but brutally. Those who turned and ran were hunted down like the animals they were, and torn apart. Their screams echoed long and far, and Gunter felt satisfaction ripple through him, as well as something akin to joy. His mind, swirling with the Fury, anticipated the approach of the ghouls that haunted these woods.

Let them scent the blood of the fallen and challenge him! Fight him! Let him kill them all!

Instead, only more guards arrived, the ones he had been so [******** stupid as to lead around in circles instead of protecting Troy and now Troy was dead and it was all his fault and Troy was dead and it was all his fault and Troy was dead dead dead dEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD--

Within minutes he was surrounded by more corpses, their screams of pain and terror a mere memory. If Gunter was wounded, he didn’t feel it. He felt nothing but his rage, and the faint, waning Call that threatened to set his blood aflame. He stood there and waited for more to come, but none did, so he began to hunt for them. He found several more, buried unconscious beneath the snow, and one by one he woke them up so that he could watch the light fade in their eyes.

There was something incredibly sobering about watching the life in someone be snuffed out like a sputtering candle. He rose to his feet, all at once conscious of the thick, sticky liquid that dripped from his fingers. He looked about, the Call fading to a barely legible whisper in the back of his head. His anger remained, but he was just so tired. There was no end to the people he had failed. No end in sight.

But there was one thing he had to do, and that was to make sure there were no survivors to report back to Hyouden. Not a single soul could escape his wrath. Troy--

He swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Troy deserved at least that much.

It wasn’t difficult to know that all the guards present were dead. Their scattered body parts ensured it. But there was a trail of blood that led off in a direction he couldn’t recall taking while hunting down the other men, so he followed it a ways until he saw the fallen body. With the dark head of hair, and the makeshift clothing, there was no way he could mistake who it was.

He came to stand over her, and he would have wondered if she was dead if she hadn’t still drawn breath. A wound on the side of her head bled sluggishly, and she would certainly die if it was left unattended to.

Gunter considered turning and walking away. Or cradling her head in his hands and twisting it until her neck snapped. Instead, he stared at her for a long, long moment. Then he crouched down and lifted her onto his shoulder, and carried her back to where he had come.

He needed to bury Troy, and collect their belongings. But looking out over the aftermath, Gunter knew he couldn’t bury Troy here. Not with these filthy dogs. So he carefully set the girl down, gathered his things, and then managed to sling the girl over one shoulder, and Troy over the other. Then he headed south.

Later, he wouldn’t remember how long or far he trekked, but nothing bothered him on his way. He only stopped when he heard running water, and he gently set his cargo down a few feet from the stream’s edge. The water was freezing, but he still viciously scrubbed his hands clean until he could hardly feel his fingers anymore, and washed the blood off his face and out of his hair. Afterwards, he trembled with cold, but still managed to quickly change out of his stolen uniform into cleaner clothing. He was littered in cuts and bruises, and someone had managed a long, shallow score across his chest that he had quickly washed with more freezing cold water, but ultimately he wasn’t too concerned over his injuries.

God, he hated this place.

Feeling more himself now that he was in his own clothing and clean of blood and other visceral fluids, he took out what few medical supplies still remained in Troy’s pack, and approached the princess, whom he had laid on her back, head resting on a rolled up mat. She still bled, but she also still breathed. It was just a question of if she’d ever wake up again. With calm, steady hands, he carefully cleaned the wound, and then wrapped her head in bandages. He glanced down at her face, which still bore the healing marks from her encounter with Aloysius. She was prettier with an unmarked face, he knew.

Then his eyes were drawn down to the manacle hanging from her wrist. It wasn’t broken, and those Hyouden soldiers must have been confident enough that it would hold her. Taking her free hand, he clasped the other end around her wrist with a metallic click.

If she survived her injury, if he could have just one good thing come out of this, out of Troy--

He couldn’t help looking at Troy’s body that laid nearby, and sucked in a ragged breath. On his knees, he walked over until he knelt beside his friend, and took his hand. It was cold and stiff beneath his fingers, but Troy’s expression was...peaceful. Gunter felt his eyes start to burn, and he blinked rapidly in the effort of clearing his blurring vision.

”Troy, lypámai tóso,” he croaked out, knowing that it was useless, that it was too late. ”Den tha prépei na échoun érthei mazí mou. Eínai dikó mou láthos. Óla dikó mou láthos. Lypámai polý. Lypámai polý.”

He choked, and bowed his head over Troy’s hand, pressing a brief kiss against his knuckles. ”Me éso̱se apó to thánato, kai den tha boroúsa na sas só̱sei se antállagmai. Eínai agapi̱tós fílos mou, kai egó̱ den boroúsa…”

He sat there for some time, unable to say anything else for fear he may start to weep. Troy had been at his side first as a loyal subordinate, and then as one of his closest confidantes. He had been present when he’d first received news of Willow’s imprisonment, and he had been there when Lynnea had died, and then...he had proved steadfast and loyal throughout his years of service, and this was how he was rewarded?

Taking a deep breath, he rose, and upon finding a spot he deemed suitable, began to dig.


"STOP!"

"Troy, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have come with me. It's my fault. All my fault. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You saved me from death, and I couldn't save you in return. You were my dearest friend, and I couldn't..."



GG

[street riot]

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xxx ⋙ Ｅｉｒｗ ｅｎ x Ａｒｇａｌｌ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxFly by night, away from here
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxChange my life again...

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Eirwen walked in darkness, flashes of Troy’s death and the following massacre played around her. There was no escaping the bloodshed, she thought as she saw her kidnapper find her in the snow. There was no escaping...at all… Freedom flew farther and farther away from her and refused to look back. Her life would never be her own would it? This world--the world of the dead--would be her only sanctuary and she’d never… A small white hare hopped out of the black and Eirwen fell to her knees before it. A snowshoe hare. A prey animal. The representation of her spirit, her guide, always there when she needed it. Its nose twitched at her fingertips before Eirwen scooped up the bundle into her arms and sobbed into its fur. She had come so close, and all the lives that were lost in the process of her failure. She had helped them along, had been more than willing to send them off to the aurora. Maybe she didn’t deserve any better. She’d stopped living up to her name long ago.

She didn’t know how long she was cried, but as time went on the distant howling of wolves echoed through the air, each one closer and closer until Eirwen staggered to her feet. Had she attracted something malevolent with her negativity? She clutched her rabbit close, searching for the source of the incoming howls. She wasn’t sure how much more she could handle. Having to fight in what used to be her safe-heaven might be too much for her.

Her eyes darted back and forth, behind her…where? She whirled around, stopping dead in front of an enormous black wolf sitting before her, tail swaying in elegant curves behind it. Eirwen gasped and staggered back. When did it get so close… They stared at each other for a moment before the wolf rose to his feet, drawing closer, circling so close its fur brushed against her, but it made no show of aggression. Just a gleam in its red eyes as it paused and looked over its shoulder, waiting for her to follow.

”It’s…you...”

The words came to her, slow and quiet. She had...she had seen this wolf before, she realized. In the distance, running through the trees, that howl cutting through the winter of her pain after every beating she’d ever taken, but it had never come this close before. After she spoke it looked at her as if to say “Who else would it be?” and continued on ahead, expecting her to follow. Eirwen chewed her lip and carried on after it, stroking her rabbit’s ears as she went.

Around her the darkness took the form of a forest, tall trees shooting into infinity, mist curling at her feet and wrapping around her knees. Something moved in the distance, and she stopped. Was that someone else? A walker? Another spirit? Again the wolf looked back to her, and she had the distinct feeling of frustration mounting in her gut, but it wasn’t her frustration, it was the wolf’s… Clearly this spirit didn’t have much patience. More cunning creatures had all the time in the world to weave their deceits. Such a clear personality trait was almost reassuring, and she pressed on.

Deeper into the woods she saw the figure of a man between the trees, accompanied by an infant’s crying, harsh wailing that broke the eerie silence like a hammer on the the ice, but under it a softer tone… Humming? Her rabbit squirmed to be let down, and she set bent to sent it on the ground only to find herself kneeling before a man holding a baby…

Eirwen froze when she recognized him as her kidnapper. Why would the wolf show her a vision about him? She sat there, watching him, taking in his appearance. It was not much altered from their time in the campsite. The same weariness was there under his eyes, but there was no business at hand to mask it now. Just him and this child that seemed to be tearing his heart in two. It was clear to her, as he gently wiped the tears from its eyes, that he had never held anything so precious to him before in his entire life.

"Θα λείπει η μητέρα σου, ρε, Erastus? Και Εγώ," he kissed its forehead as if the baby could shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment. "Erastus...hρεμία, παρακαλώ."

The vision faded, and Eirwen looked to the wolf, now knowing that she was dealing with her kidnapper’s spirit guide, but why would it show her such a thing? This was not the first time she had seen it, either. It had come to her ever since she was intended to Prif Tyr. An arctic wind blew through her hair as the dream began to dissipate around her. She had questions, many questions, but she couldn't think of a single one to ask as the trees fell away around her.

She woke to that arctic wind against her face, and she suddenly remembered exactly how much pain was concentrated in her head. Her jaw throbbed, teeth aching, and as she looked up at the stars her vision was obstructed by the swelling of her eye, the club wound pulsed so dreadfully that she felt nauseous to her stomach. Her body was sore from the fight and her mind was swimming, and she reached up to touch the injury, pausing to take note of shackled hands...despite once again being a prisoner, she had a blanket and a pillow. Her wound had been bandaged. A wolf howled in the distance, as if to remind her that she had been given a task, even though she had know idea how to even begin to decipher what the task was supposed to be.

”Not dead, huh?”

She glanced at her kidnapper briefly before her gaze turned back to the stars. "Not today," she murmured. Seeing him there, the last of the men who’d tried to hurt her, without the one man who probably acted as his good conscious...her heart stung but her eyes were dry. She thought she ought to be crying, but she’d already done that while she’d been walking. Now she laid there somewhere within the realm of lingering despondency, resignation, and apprehension. What had the wolf been trying to tell her? Her job had always been to aid the spirits in their affairs with her people. Even before she was married to the Prif she knew in her gut that it was her purpose in life to communicate with them, to help people with their guidance. They comforted her in times of darkness, and she felt compelled to at least try and solve the puzzle the wolf had given her, but this time there would be a cost if she took too long to figure it out, and she wasn’t willing to pay. The wolf had to know that much already.

She gave a silent prayer for Troy, and another for Coftka and her family. When she woke up again she was slung over her kidnapper’s shoulder, but it took little time after that for him to force her to walk, gripping the chain between her shackles and leading her along at a pace she could barely match. He kept her tired, on purpose or not she didn’t know. Breaks were few and far between, as were meals. When he slept he kept her close, linking arms with her. She learned she wouldn’t have the chance to escape on their way out of the woods, and stopped looking for opportunities. Instead, she focused on resting as much as she could, using her powers sparingly to help her along. Snowshoes relieved the ache in her legs some. If her kidnapper noticed them he didn’t say anything about it. He kept her tired, but he was tired too. If she could manage to be more alert than him, later she may have a chance.

Though the howls of wolves were a constant reminder of her dream, there wasn’t much room for her to learn anything about her kidnapper during their trek. He didn’t talk much. She didn’t offer much reply. She didn’t even know his name. By the time they reached Stilicidium, she had decided that she wouldn’t be able to help the wolf after all, and there was no howl to try and sway her otherwise. The woods were behind them now.

At first she thought she may still have time to try, she had every intention to at least try, but that was before he led her to the bridges. The smell of the ocean was stronger here, much stronger than on the glacial cliffs of Hyouden tundra. The water was mere feet from her, and she was towered over by the biggest boats she had ever seen. Her kidnapper meant to travel by sea. If she got onto a boat with him her chances at freedom would be gone for good. Who knew how long she’d be stuck on open water before she reached land again. By then she’d be so turned around that finding her way would be nearly impossible. She’d be on his home turf instead of her own. If she was to leave she needed to do it here.

Her chance came when her kidnapper finally found the man he seemed to be looking for. Eirwen listened as they went over the workings of the...dock and...ships… Must be bridges and boats, she mused as the man--who she learned was the “Dockmaster”--pulled out some papers for her kidnapper to file through before going on his way. Needing both hands, he finally, finally, hooked her shackles to his belt, and Eirwen wasted no time picking the lock while her kidnapper was preoccupied, trying to be as quiet as possible as she freed herself and paced backward. The man and her kidnapper had picked somewhere quiet among the cargo to talk, and no one was around to witness her duck behind some barrels, leaving the shackles floating behind her kidnapper with a bit of ice to hold their weight.

She prayed to the wolf as an apology before she ran back toward the village. The buildings here were made of wood and stone, rather than ice, and she thanked the spirits that the sky was overcast. There would be no blending into the snow here, the last thing she needed was to attract attention by glittering in the light. It was bad enough that everyone in the Sitlicidium tribe appeared to have dark skin. She’d have to find something to make her less conspicuous. It was only a matter of time before her kidnapper realized she was missing. Hiding in plain sight could make or break her, and she slowed as she entered what appeared to be a marketplace. Venders sold cloth and gems in colors she had never seen before. There were animals in cages that she couldn’t begin to fathom, but despite the awe, she kept her head down, hiding in her hair and looking for something, anything, that could be of use.

When she did find something, she paused, watching the owner of the stand talk about her products with pride. The woman, stout, jolly in foreign dress with not a hint of trepidation about speaking openly to the mixed crowd, had made everything by hand. Despite knowing that most of this was a saleman’s pitch, the guilt was enough to slow her down...but she had nothing to bargain, and her freedom was on the line. While the woman was distracting the crowd and the crowd was distracting her, Eirwen sifted her way around the back, grabbing a set off the rack and continuing off around the tent to see what she had: a tunic and simple pants, both with patterns similar to the art of her own people. She changed quickly and stopped by two more vendors for shoes and a shawl to cover her pale arms and bruised face. It took more time than she had wanted to waste, but she’d be worse off if the was caught, and now she blended in with the others in the village as much as she possibly could.

She nibbled on the branches she’d collected before she’d been recaptured, heading southeast and staying just on the edge of the busier paths. Would the kidnapper look for her on the main roads, or anticipate that she’d be hiding along back routes? Eirwen chose a middle ground, hoping her disguise would offer enough protection to skirt his notice until she was out of the village, where she could eliminate her tracks by iceboarding to the next settlement. It was still too early to go back the way she’d come, and she was hoping he’d backtrack and waste more time trying to find her in the wrong direction.

As the buildings and tents became fewer and farther between, and the smell of the ocean faded in favor of grass, Eirwen finally allowed herself to look up at her surroundings, though she didn’t slow her pace. Mountains rose up into the clouds, and where she had once been surviving in a forest of dead trees, monsters, and unforgiving snow, she was now walking a path of dirt and rock, winding through fields of wild grass and flowers that she had never had the privilege of seeing before. Stilicidium lands were truly a beauty, and the women who lived here didn’t show any signs of fear, walking and talking with the men as comfortably as two sisters gossiping alone. If it wasn’t the first place Prif Tyr would look for her, she might have brought her family to this village to live.

That’s right. It wasn’t just her kidnapper she had to look out for. She quickened her step. Hopefully she’d be out of the village soon.


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Moon rise, thoughtful eyesxxx
Staring back at me from the window beside...xxxxx
Ｔ ｙｗ ｙｓ ｏ ｇ ｅｓ x ｏｆ x Ｈ ｙｏｕ ｄｅ ｎ ⋘ xxxxxxxxxx