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The Prophecy (Tesora & CharmSnake)

CharmSnake

CharmSnake

Super-Earth
Joined
Nov 8, 2013
Location
In the Grass
Where Earth reaches and Air descends,
when water and fire collide
and come upon that darkest hour
the moon shall cease to hide.
Through the glass the power comes
upon the stone of tides
where innocent hearts in the face of pain
unlock the gate to the other side.

Tesora

CharmSnake

The Prophecy​
 
Although it was nearly midday the heavy clouds cast dusk over the forest. It had been raining for nine days and it was coming down as hard as ever. Kept dry by the hood of his leather cloak he sat crouched in the bough of a tree observing the horsemen in the road. Distant thunder rumbled. Twenty-five feet off the ground in this poor light and wrapped in a tree bark vest, the brutes would never spot him.

There were six of them, jovially grunting and cussing at one another, blissfully unaware of his presence. Zol's bandits, he could tell easily by the ragged sideburns and beards and the flamboyantly jeweled swords and hand crafted armor. Following Zol by the promise of riches and power, they flaunted their spoils everywhere with no fear.

As expected, the word had gotten around that Zol had finally moved upon the castle that morn. The charismatic zealot and power hungry madman had been terrorizing the land for over a year. His power had risen quickly and continued to grow. The bandits were waiting for someone unfortunate. Not that Zol's aggressions were much of his concern, but he wasn't about to let them get away with harming anyone. Not in his forest anyway, anyhow. It would not be permitted.

The bough bobbed gently under his steps as he moved smoothly along its length and hopped onto the solid arm of an oak. From there he picked his way across and dropped a few feet into the soft slope of the hillside, scurrying up over the crest stepping only on tree roots and avoiding twigs and leaves. From here, out of sight of the bandits he could see the road before the bend around which the villains lay in wait.

A cart was coming in the distance. He could hear it, two horses ... no four ... it would be a coach, probably leaving from the castle. He could tell by the jingles of the rigging. There was time. He could stop it. He would slide down the slope, make haste through the brush and wave it down in the road. He stepped forward but another sound halted him in his tracks. It was the whinny of a horse from the other direction. Peering down between the trees he saw one of the bandits in the road. The barbarian stopped and turned his mount about, hooves sinking into the mud.

"I don't see them yet!" he reported.

"Bah, soon enough!" one shouted back.

They had no idea how close their prey was, but the delay meant that he could no longer divert the coach in time. More stormy thunder rolled overhead. The horseman trotted back around the bend to his cohorts as the coach neared.

Quickly he returned the way that he had come, easing down the wet slope until he could grab a branch and swing himself down to the forest floor. Following a deer path the footing was solid enough but it was difficult to not disturb some of the foliage as he ran. He was certain that the bandits would be far too preoccupied to notice, especially at this distance - a distance that he needed to close swiftly. It was at least a hundred yards and there was little time.

He arrived at the large poplar, jumped and grabbed the lowest bough and swung himself up. From there he stepped along and hopped to the next tree, hoisting himself to a higher branch and allowing a clasp of thunder to disguise the sound of the rustling leaves.

"Whoaa there! Hahaha!" one bellowed. Horses whinnied loudly. "'Ello! What do we 'ave 'ere?"

He was too late. They had stopped the coach and the archer sitting next to the driver already had a bolt through his chest. The two swordsmen leapt to the ground at the ready. There would be much bloodshed.
 
Princess Gwyndolen looked at the small necklace in her hand, running her thumb over the last thing her father had given her. A necklace with a pendant the shape of a butterfly, jeweled with amethyst that brought out the color of her violet gaze. Zol's forces had come quickly and overtaken the palace with more speed than she or her father had anticipated and she'd felt so much fear, watching as the men of that madman slaughtered innocent people and her father. She'd barely been able to escape but felt like a coward for leaving the confines of the palace without much of a fight. Even if it wasn't practical of her to fight, the idea of abandoning her people for the safety of the neighboring kingdom left a sour taste in her mouth. She could of done more than run and now she had nothing. Her father was dead, and her kingdom was now under control of that evil disgusting man who worked under the guise of holiness.

She slipped the necklace onto her neck, tucking the butterfly under the bodice of her gown before turning her head toward the flap covering the window. Pushing it aside, rain droplets spilled onto her hand and she sighed, shutting the flap once more to put her in near darkness. It was certainly a dreary day in an endless succession of dreary days. How long at it been raining. Eight days? Nine? She had lost count but the endless drizzle had become her soul companion in the days of darkness.

Gwyn settled back in the seat of her carriage, the wheels moving over every muddied hole and rut on the ill kept road. They were several days away from the palace but there was at least five or so days more in travel before they reached the kingdom of Valys and with hope, safety. As her thoughts went on to what could be done once she reached Valys, the entire coach came to a sudden stop and she heard the unmistakable sound of men and horses and then the distinct thump of an arrow hitting the wood. That sound followed shortly by a dying grunt of the driver. Eyes wide, she heard the sounds of heavy footsteps in mud and then made her way to the opposing side where he was coming from only to be grabbed by the ankle and dragged back toward the bandit who had opened the door. She struggled and then heard him make some comment about what he'd found.

"Let go of me," she spat, struggling in his iron grip before feeling a blade be put against her throat. The man himself was a tall one with thick beard and more than a few scars. Not to mention the missing eye covered by a patch. He was twice her size easily and well clothed for a bandit. No doubt a few of Zol's mercenaries. His beady eye looked her over from her dark red hair to her pale cheeks and down to her dark green gown that was thick to keep out the cold of the rain but showed her to be a lady. Of course the carriage certainly helped establish that fact.

"Oh she's a pretty little slice isn't she lads," one of the men said with a chuckle. Gwyn looked at them. She could see at least three but guessed there were more. This was going to end badly if she didn't use her wits. Of course, she was a small slight thing and these men were battle hardened criminals and she would be no match against them physically. The blade at her throat dug a bit into her skin and she winced.

"I have nothing of value to you men," she said in her most dignified tone. "No jewels, no fancy clothes, nothing."

"Nothing is it," the one holding her said with a chuckle. His breath smelled of rot and she winced as he dug the blade further to her neck, feeling the slight pinprick of her skin being slightly cut. "Check the carriage..." he ordered his men and she remained still. After a few moments, the man having checked thoroughly came back toward them and shook his head.

"She's right. Only a spare gown and it's made for travel...nothing of worth..." the man said and the one holding her chuckled, drawing his dagger back from her neck only to place it toward the lacing of her gown.

"Oh she's got something...might as well enjoy ourselves lads before we slit her throat..." he laughed and Gwyn felt the lacing of her gown begin to be cut open by his dagger. As he turned to say something lewd to one of his men, she took the opportunity to jerk away and start running through the underbrush, much to the surprise of the men who had been surrounding her. They were quick to pursue her however. The brute who had held her to him was quick to grab her and toss her into the muddy road and put himself over her. She screamed, in frustration and fear, kicking, scratching and hitting where she could, feeling him rip open her bodice to reveal her chemise, his rough hands cupping a breast. She struggled beneath him, ignoring the mud and rain as she fought for her life and virtue.

"Get off of me you bloody bastard!" she spat then gave a cry of shock as the man atop her struck her with the back of his hand with such force that it made her see black spots in her vision and cause some disorientation.
 
The rainfall pelted the leaves around him. There was a cry of a woman's voice. The activity was obscured by the coach but the way that the carriage rocked about and then stopped he could tell that the struggle had move outside into the road. He had to act now. The first two on horseback at the front would fall easily. After that it would depend on their reactions. Silently he fetched two bolts from his quiver and drew his crossbow.

"Drogba!" the lead bandit called off the one lacking binocular vision and dismounted his horse. "I swear by all holy I've met horse droppings with more brains than you!" He stepped forth and kicked him off the princess. "You don't recognize royal blood when it spits in your face?" He reached down and wrapped his gauntleted hand gruffly around her upper arm and jerked her to her feet. "What do you think we came here for? She's the jink, rockhead!"

The first rider slumped forward on his mount with a bolt through his back. The second rider didn't even notice. Two seconds later his horse neighed and stepped aside as he fell to the ground with a gasp.

"Down!" the leader bellowed and tossed the princess under the carriage while he knelt by the wheel himself.

Drogba with the eyepatch stayed low in the brush but the other two stood looking about.

"Gar!" he huffed to the leader. "I don't see them!"

"Shut!" he mouthed back silently and menacingly.

The first two dropped even easier than anticipated. Shots usually gave away position but the barbarians still had no clue where he was. He lined up the third while the bandit stood there in the mud flicking his eyes about. The others were behind cover. He would have to move to get them.

"Raven's Rangers!" Drogba hissed with one wide eye.

"Hah rangers!" barked one of the standing men with his sword at the ready. "We're not afraid!"

The third man fell with a whimper.

"The trees!" Gar scowled at his foolish cohort.

Still sitting in the bough of the tree he pulled a stone from his pocket and flicked it down into the bush a few yards to his right. It swished through the foliage and caught the bandit's attention. The rogue advanced on the false position. The archer in the tree then dropped from his perch onto the soft earth below and took three long deft strides from root to stone to root and was now in the brush at the edge of the road. The bandit hacked at the shrubs where the stone had fallen then stopped in frustration.

"Show yourself, cowards!" he yelled. He had no idea that he was up against just one man.

The girl was now visible under the carriage and he could easily tell that she was royalty. She looked like she might make a run for it, but for the moment she was in the safest place that she could be. He drew a bolt and launched it into the rear cart wheel to make sure that she stayed put at least until he took care of the swordsman.

The bandit saw the bolt and worked out the general position from where it came. Crouching behind his buckler he made his way towards the brush. Low on ammunition, the crossbow returned to the shoulder and the staff was now at the ready. The attacker was just footsteps away but still did not see him. Holding the two foot stick in both fists, the ranger gave it a quick twist and both ends instantly telescoped out to form a seven foot staff. The forward end planted itself in the dirt between the bandit's feet as he passed. Jumping up out of the brush the ranger twisted the staff upward and over on its end, buckling the knees and toppling the brute. Once down, he pounced with his knife and in the blink of an eye his throat was slit. One of the horses neighed indifferent to the carnage and shook water from his mane.

The ranger stood in the open now for the first time, crouched with his staff at the ready. He wore a soaked brown leather cloak and legs with a tree bark vest and boots strapped halfway to the knees. A hood covered his forehead but was cut away at the sides to allow for peripheral vision. The rain dripped before his face but did not seem to faze him in the slightest. His lower body held perfectly still while he switched weapons.

Two men left. Now the girl needed to move. He dropped to one knee and reslung his crossbow. Aiming under the carriage he gestured with his head to the girl to run for the bush. He gestured a second time more urgently.

"Stand down or the lady dies!" shouted Gar as he grabbed her by the ankle with that same gauntleted fist.

The ranger launched a bolt that buried itself into the hub of the wheel of which the bandit was using for cover. Splinters scattered and he momentarily let go of his grip. When he looked back the ranger was once again gone from sight.

"Curse that rodent!" he spat as a clap of thunder cracked the sky above.
 
It was chaos. Men about the whole group were dropping like flies to some unseen force and as the sorry bastard who'd tried to rape her let go of her leg, she was quick to force herself from underneath the carriage. Her gown was ruined, ripped and covered and mud, much like herself and she had a chill that was bone deep. Even so, she recognized the opportunity and started off as fast as her legs could carry her through the trees, not having much of a notion of where she was going except to some sort of shelter. The trees offered enough of that to block the rain and as she glanced back at the men and carriage, seeing the man who'd shot down all of her attackers and was throwing the others for a loop. She turned away once more, tripping over bushes and fallen limbs, feet sinking into the muddied earth but she pressed on, moving away from the death and fighting and toward...something.

She had seen far to much death in the last days. From the attack of Zol's forces on her palace, and watching men get cut down trying to protect herself and her father. Gwyn had watched her father cut down many a man himself, the blood and gasps of gurgled and dying breaths had been horrifying and he'd protected her all the way to the carriage only to be struck in the heart by an arrow. She'd wanted to stay with him but it was no use. He'd been dead before he collapsed to the ground. She had cried and fought her guard to get to him but he'd shoved her in the carriage and sent it off into the rain covered night, away from the carnage. It felt like a lifetime ago but it had barely been over a week. The travel from the palace had been dangerous but they'd managed to get to this point without much of a fuss. And now here she was being attacked again, and once more running.

Gwyn had no idea how long or how far she ran but her lungs burned with the effort. As she collapsed into the interior of some small cave, she closed her eyes and coughed, curling up and gasping, just hoping she wasn't followed. She had no idea what she was going to do. She had no place to go, or at least no way of getting there save by foot and her survival skills were minimal at best. She knew enough of plants that she wouldn't starve but that was all she knew. Not to mention she wouldn't get very far in torn clothes that showed most of one breast and were soaked through with wet mud. She'd catch a chill and her death if she didn't get into something dry. Swallowing, she closed her hand over the butterfly necklace still around her neck and closed her eyes, praying for strength and the knowledge to know what to do...and some way to get dry clothes before she got sick with cold. Setting her shoulders, she glanced around at her surroundings and at the rolling sky as thunder and lightening set the stage for a good sized storm. Something had to be done. She'd not let herself get overwhelmed because to do so might well destroy her will to live and she planned on living a good while longer, Zol be damned.
 
The girl scurried out from under the carriage and stumbled her way frantically across the muddy road, clutching her gown together and escaping noisily through the brush. She would be easy enough to track down later.

Before she had disappeared, the ranger had taken a running start, planted the end of the staff into the mud and vaulted himself upward, shimmying further higher until the pole's apogee landed him neatly atop the carriage and out of sight of the two remaining attackers.

The leader whistled for his steed. The horse bobbed his head and stepped forward but refused to come.

Slithering across the carriage roof he peered down at the leader who was cautiously rising to his feet. The ranger was about to pounce.

"Gar!" the one-eyed man in the brush warned his leader. Gar, looking up just in time to see the ranger falling towards him, caught him on his powerful shoulders. The lithe ranger kept from being thrown by gripping the brute's head between his thighs. Then employing a similar technique to what he used on his previous victim, he planted the end of the staff between the bandit's knees and twisted, toppling the both of them to the muddy road.

As he rolled away the one with the patch had joined the fight and bore down on him with both hands on the hilt of his blade, driving it down towards him like a stake. It slashed his sleeve open as he rolled and he felt the sting of the cut. Twisting the grip of the staff to release the catch he pressed one end into the ground shortening it. Then with two more quick flicks of the wrist he pointed it at the bandit and re-extended it. The end shot out instantly into the attacker's groin sending him doubling over in agony.

Jumping to his feet, he spun back around to find the leader charging him with sword overhead. With a savage yell he chopped down mightily. The deft woodsman held the staff above his head to parry the blow. With another heavy grunt the barbarian took a huge cut at his knees. The ranger jumped neatly over the attack and going with the momentum of the swing whacked him in the side of the head with the staff. The big man staggered and fell over with his neck in front of the wheel of the cart. The woodsman leapt over the brute and smacked the first horse on the rump.

"Kiaahh!" he shouted and the carriage rolled forward over Gar's head, finishing him off.

This left only Drogba with his eye patch limping away in pain. He chased him down with ease, kicked him over and pounced. One quick jerk of his knife to the throat and the last one was done too.

The fight was over. He stood up in the rain and put away his staff. The carriage creaked and jangled away while he knocked some of the mud from his leggings and boots. The bandits' horses had taken off as voluntary outriders. His arm stung. He'd been cut pretty good just below the shoulder. Perhaps he'd find some tree oil for it later. The sound of the horses' heavy hooves faded into the silence of the pelting rain. Now it was time to find the girl.

Her small feet made deep sloppy prints in the mud and her trail was easy to follow. Trampled grass and snapped twigs led the way. It didn't take long at all. After a couple of minutes he could hear her heavy breath. Pushing back a branch he found her sitting in the shadow of a stone outcropping. Lightning flashed illuminating the pale skin of her face and chest against the dark soaked fabric of her tattered gown. She was thoroughly soaked from head to toe and splotched with mud. Dark red hair hung down matted wet and clung to her face. There was a slight smearing of blood on the side of her neck as if she wasn't aware that she'd been pricked.

He stood at a moderate height with broad shoulders and sturdy thighs. In the flash of lightning his complexion showed faintly coppery and he took her in with eyes of extremely pale blue. The collected along the edge of his hood and ran to a slight point in the middle, dripping neatly down before his nose, never his vision.

They had to go. He reached down towards her and extended his hand to help her to her feet.

"Come."
 
Her gaze lifted in the near-darkness when she saw the figure standing there with his hand outstretched toward her. She recognized his stature. He'd been the one to save her from those miscreants that worked for Zol. Swallowing, she looked down at her gown and then slowly forced herself up, keeping the dress up so as not to reveal her breast, allowing him to help her to a standing position. She had to be in shock. That was the only way to describe her shaking frame and how her mind could scarecly focus on any one thing. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and then squared her shoulders once more, retracting her hand from his warm grip to straighten her gown to keep herself covered.

"Thank you," she said after a moment. "Thank you for protecting me....from them. They would of dragged me back to the capital...to him..." she didn't need to speak his name. She was certain this man knew exactly who 'him' meant. And the idea of going back to that man who claimed holiness whilst killing and torturing so many made her skin crawl. He'd had plans for her. What plans she wasn't completely sure but there was a reason he'd wanted to keep her alive at the palace and why his men seemed so eager to return her back to that place. Her people were suffering. She had to get to Valys and gain aid from the king there. Any army in which to destroy Zol and his many followers and reclaim her throne and the people who needed her leadership and guidance.

"What's your name?" she asked him, making no move toward him or away from him. The rain had gone from a downpour to a light drizzle again and she was freezing cold but that seemed to matter little. He too was covered in mud and soaked to the bone and bleeding. Bleeding! She gasped, gingerly touching the wound on his arm. "You're hurt...that needs tending...I...I can help but...but we need somewhere dry and perhaps lit well. It'll be dark soon and that...that looks nasty...And if you don't get it tended it's going to get inflamed...and you hardly need that...to fever and get sick..."

(OOC: Just want to apologize to you. The hotspot I was using to reply no longer works. I'm going to have internet installed hopefully by the end of next week at my house but no promises. I really enjoy this role play and will reply when I can. Hopefully this doesn't deter you from role playing with me.)
 
She took his hand and rose to her feet, shaking with wet cold and shock and clutching her garments in a shred of modesty.

"Thank you for protecting me....from them. They would of dragged me back to the capital...to him..."

"Yes, come," he nodded and took the first step to lead her on.

"What's your name?" she interrupted him.

"Yarrol," he answered forthrightly. "And you are the Princess Gwyndolen, I know." A redheaded lady in (what used to be) fine linens riding desperately south in a coach from the palace, even without the butterfly pendant nestled in her chest and exposed by the gash in her gown, who else could she be?

"Now come," he urged but then hesitated noticing the uneasiness of her stance. When he reached out to steady her by her elbow with his right arm, his wounded arm, she gasped and stood straight.

"You're hurt...that needs tending...I...I can help but...but we need somewhere dry and perhaps lit well. It'll be dark soon and that...that looks nasty...And if you don't get it tended it's going to get inflamed...and you hardly need that...to fever and get sick..."

The blood seemed to snap her into focus and she was right, the wound needed attention, but there were more pressing matters. She kept on about it. They needed to get moving.

"Yes yes," he said quietly touching a finger to her chin. "All soon enough. Now come."

Yarrol led the princess by the arm a few yards through the brush to the base of a heavily wooded hillside. The slope appeared daunting but the trees were larger and spaced wider. Firs mixed with larches and the odd maple. Roots criss-crossed everywhere forming somewhat of an uneven staircase covered in twigs and pine needles. The route was up and over the hill. Despite the climb it would be much quicker than trekking all the way around. Allowing her to take the lead he rested a hand on her waist and pointed up the slope with the other.

"This way," he urged. "You first."
 
Gwyn didn't know if it was a very wise idea to move with him but she also knew that she couldn't make it on her own. He'd killed those men who had attacked her and so she would have to trust him for that at least. With little choice, she nodded, walking with him through the dark and wet forestry with only the lightening striking every now and then to give the place a burst of visibility only to suddenly be gone and back in a dark gray haze of shadows. She walked with him and noticed the steep hill and root footholds and when he told her to go first, she made no fuss about it. Ignoring propriety and modesty for the moment, she trudged upward, ignoring how she might look, not being very adept when it came to physical effort but she pushed forward nonetheless. Yarrol of course, didn't seem to be very far behind and she was certain that he was only letting her go first to catch her if she slipped. It wouldn't be hard given the slickness of the roots and dirt thanks to the rain.

She did worry about the effort of this excursion had on his wounded arm but decided not to comment until she was safe and sound in a cave somewhere and out of the blasted rain. Her mind filled with all sorts of things but she brushed aside the thoughts in her head. To much of them involved seeing men struck down in violence and she just couldn't relieve the experiences. Instead she focused on getting up this steep hill, pushing herself up through the muck, imagining a warm fire soon and getting out of the rain and never-ending storm. By the end of her climb, she collapsed on the summit, giving a deep breath before forcing herself up onto her two feet, awaiting him to lead them further through the ever encroaching darkness.
 
He was one step behind Gwyn the entire way up and although he could have climbed much quicker alone, he was impressed with her determination and pace. Once on the crest the girl dropped in a heap on the soft soil of soggy dirty pine needles. Yarrol himself noticed a hint of dizziness and became aware of the rate of his blood loss. Before he could urge her to her feet, she had already risen and looked to him for direction. The rain was thinner but the drops that fell from the ends of leaves and twigs overhead spatted fatly about and on them. The descent was thickly wooded with no bearing for direction. He just knew the land as he had been over it many times.

"Come," he said and led her down the slope and into the brush. "Step in my steps," he instructed as he picked his way through the noisy wet leaves and thin springy bending branches. At the other end he found the deer trail that he knew was there. It descended to the left, narrow but with good footing. "You first," he gestured again but this time took her hand. By trailing her he was certain to not outpace her. As long as they stayed close together she couldn't get hurt.

As the trail came to what appeared to be an end against a massive dead and broken trunk next to a rock, he stopped her and dropped himself to a ledge below. With his head near her knees he urged her to sit on the edge. Then standing before her he took her body in his arms and lifted her. The ledge was solid, but it's lack of width forced the closeness of their bodies. The gash down the front of her dress exposed the cold wet flesh of her cleft right down to the curve beneath. Her breasts brushed against him as he eased her down until her feet were level with his and their eyes met briefly as they caught their breath together. Gwyn stood in his arms a moment and he glimpsed the desperate trust in her face before the urgency at hand dissipated the energy between them.

"This way," he gestured her to lead again, trailing her by held hand.

Another flash blinked everything white and a huge thunder crack split the sky above. The storm was very close. Soon the pattering of raindrops on the foliage grew to a shattering downpour rush that visibly bent the thin branches in the bushes and shrubs around them. He could feel the weight of the sheets of rain weighing down on his head and shoulders and the the deer path that they tread upon became a small flowing stream, slick and muddy. Still holding her hand in his own he steadied her by the waist with his other as they moved along. He knew that they were close to the road, but could not see it through the deluge. Then he heard the neigh of a horse and knew that they were almost there. It was one of the dead bandits' horses he was sure, and it was just what he was looking for. They would take one of the horses and track down the shelter of the coach. They just had to cut through the last fifty yards of brush to the road.
 
She looked at him as his hands helped her down, knowing it must pain his arm but he didn't complain and neither did she. His hand was a comfort, a link to the fact that she was still breathing despite all of the trauma she'd gone through. She was alive, she was whole, she was well. It meant that there was a chance that all would be well once they found some shelter though he seemed to know the way of the woods better than any man she'd met. With her free hand holding up her torn dress, she walked, moving with the sort of urgency needed. He was injured and Gwyn knew that he would be suffering from blood loss. The sound of the horse was welcoming and as they reached the creature, she let go of his hand and then gingerly reached for the reins.

"Come here boy. Come here..." she soothed the horse, watching it reel at the next crack of thunder. She waited for him to calm before catching the reins with her free hand. "There we go boy. That's a good boy," she smiled before stroking his face and then glanced at Yarrol. "Best we get on him I suppose...it'll be much quicker to whatever sort of cover you have in mind...I'll hold him, you get on and then I'll get on," she said, waiting on him to do just that. She looked at the horse, giving soothing strokes, ignoring her torn dress for the moment. What good would it do her. He'd already seen her breast and there was little to be done about the tear for now. It would come after she mended his wound.
 
It was a good horse. He could tell by how relatively well behaved he was despite the thunder and lightning. Yarrol led the dark chestnut stallion by the reins the last few yards into the road. The ground was a quagmire and the carriage tracks were flooded with water. The coach had left an easy trail to follow in the mud and he was a bit surprised that it had run even this far.

"You are good with horses?" he turned to Gwyndolen and prompted her. "Do you ride?" He mounted and reached down for her hand and let her have the stirrup. "By your attire, side saddle would be best for you," he suggested and helped her up. "It won't be far." He adjusted his quiver on his back so that the ends of the bolts wouldn't be in her face.

They were off at a slow trot, letting the horse find its own footing in the muck. The sky lit up again followed quickly by another huge crack of thunder. The horse stopped and whinnied. Yarrol patted him on the neck and let him relax before continuing. The road bobbed over knolls and low crests, still the cart tracks rolled on before them.

"What supplies are in your coach?" he asked her over his shoulder as she held onto his waist. "Obviously you would have food and a change of clothes? Do you have needle and thread?" he posed knowing that his arm would need to be sewn up.

They passed one of the other bandit's horses, riderless at the edge of the road before a right hand bend. Looking into the trees he saw the silhouette of another shaking the wet from its mane. Rounding the bend the coach finally came into view. The road inclined and halfway up the horse team got tired of ascending. One of the lead horses had tried to turn back but the wheels were stuck in the mud and refused to follow. The tangle of horses and lines blocked the way.

Yarrol let her down first before dismounting himself and walked up the edge of the road where the roots of the tall grass held the soil firmer for better footing. Opening the carriage door, he let her in first, tossing his things in after her, and climbed in. He sat opposite her. Light-headedness was starting to set in and he let out a deep sigh. They looked at each other, two drowned rats resusced on a river bank. Her exposed chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. Yarrol pushed his hood back to reveal platinum locks, almost white, over his ears and down the back of his neck.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked.
 
Gwyn was glad very much to see the coach. She had a dress to change into there and it would certainly be nice to stop showing him her breasts. And she did have needle and thread but it wouldn't be needle and thread that would heal that wound. "I have it," she answered him outwardly, more than thankful for the horse. A coach stuck in the mud was useless for anything except shelter from the rain and once arrived, she made sure to cut the tangled leather so the horses could roam free, knowing they wouldn't go far from the coach and then she stepped inside, exhausted and completely sodden. As she settled, she watched him push his hood back, flushing at the reveal of his hair, such an unusual color. His question made her nearly laugh, despite the situation and her hand quickly tugged at her ripped bodice.

"F-fine...Shock I think..." she swallowed hard and then slowly moved forward. "I don't have much...in the way of supplies...a day's worth of bread and cheese for the two of us I think but no more than that...and a dress...I was quickly tossed in this carriage during the attack...after father..." she trailed off, finding herself unable to speak the words. Examining as best she could in the darkness of the carriage, she slid to the edge of the carriage seat and then pulled aside the wet fabric, seeing the crimson flow of blood and torn flesh. It was a nasty wound and she would have to heal him if he had any chance of making it through. Cuts like that left nasty infections and slow deaths.

"Here...just...just trust me alright...considering you saved me from rape and abduction, this is the least I can do," she murmured and then placed her palm over the wound, instinct telling her where the deepest parts of the cut were before closing her eyes. Beneath her palm, a warm light emitted and she sucked in a breath as the pain of the wound affected her in the same place. God above it hurt but she made no move to stop, instead pressing her hand firmly against him and trying her best to not move or make a whimper. She could feel the tissue reconnecting, feel the blood stop pouring out and then felt as the wound sealed itself up into one smooth white scar. Drawing back, her hand was covered in blood and her own arm was throbbing but he was healed well.

"There we are...That wound...it shouldn't bother you any more," she said then gave a sigh before wiping the blood onto her already ruined dress, turning and opening a satchel to pull out her other dress. Made of sturdy wool, it was far better a travel dress than the one she was wearing now.
 
The rain lessened in its intensity again but still pelted down upon the carriage. The two of them sat across from another in perfect stillness until she spoke.

"Here...just...just trust me alright...considering you saved me from rape and abduction, this is the least I can do."

Gwyndolen knelt before him, taking his wounded arm into her careful grasp. Slipping her fingers through the cut in the leather she covered the gash in his flesh. A soft glow tried to escape from beneath her palm and a warmth spread through his upper arm and shoulder. It had been a long time since Yarrol had witnessed someone do this and he had wondered if he would ever see the feat performed again. Some would call it magic but she had the natural powers of healing. Wincing and gritting her teeth she shared his physical pain in empathy and with eyes pinched tightly shut she breathed deep and even to bear it.

After a few moments she removed her blood smeared hand and slumped back on the floor of the coach regaining her breath. The wound was closed. The only blood left on his arm was that which had already run forth previous to her touch.

"Have you always been able to do that?" he asked.

The lack of food was not a problem as there would be plenty where they were headed by nightfall, but the dress was less than ideal. The coach untethered from the horse team left them in a serene stillness.

"That is wool," he noted calmly. "You may think it tough and warm but in this rain it will soon become terribly heavy with soak." He took a moment to have a good look out each of the windows. No one was in sight, only horses. "When we reach camp, we will get you proper clothes." He kept an eye out the window. The visibility was getting poor as the skies grew darker. "Bring the bread and cheese. We will eat it on the way."

Yarrol cared not for her title, only her person. He had witnessed her courage, now he had felt her compassion. Her skin carried luminescence in the shadowy dim of the coach. The dotting of freckles upon her cheeks made her appear innocent, almost childlike. He admired her beauty both in flesh and in aura.

"We should keep moving," he said as he rose to his feet. "If you need a moment to change I shall step outside for your privacy." Yarrol moved to open the door. "And thank you," he said. "Thank you for healing me."
 
"I've been able to do it since I was small..." She mused thoughtfully and then sighed, glancing down at her already sodden attire and then deciding it was probably better to not change into the wool. Biting her bottom lip, she searched for needle and thread and then used both to haphazardly see up the torn bodice. At least enough to give her some sense of decency. Once accomplished, she grabbed her cloak and tugged it on before stepping back out into the rain, basket in hand, covered with her spare dress to keep the food dry. That done, she shut the door of the carriage and then turned to look at him, glad that her breast wasn't visible though she was sure she had the appearance of a drowned rat.

"Ready to go?" She asked of him. "And would we be taking horses?" She asked curiously, brushing her loose hair back from her faces all the while hoping that his camp wasn't very far from where they were now.
 
"I've been able to do it since I was small..."

"Does Zol know about this skill of yours?" he asked idly. "Don't tell him. Should you ever meet him, that is." He drew his hood back up over his head and opened the door to exit. "If he finds out then you'll be a threat to him, so keep it to yourself."

Yarrol stepped out and found the horse drinking from a puddle formed by a cart rut. He made sure that the saddle and the reins were all in order. Then he took a moment to inspect his healed wound, running his fingers over the scar. It was as if it had been sealed years previously. Some minutes later the princess emerged from the carriage.

"Ready to go? And would we be taking horses?"

"Just one horse," he answered.

They rode off down the road. Yarrol alternated every so often between a trot to make time and a walk to pace the horse. The pieces of bread torn off had to be eaten quickly else the rain would sog them. The thunder and lightning had subsided for a time. After they had traversed a few miles he broke the silence.

"Yes, in case you were wondering," he told her. "I am a forest ranger. We call ourselves Silvariannu or if you like, Silvariannu Corvus. In common talk that is the Raven's Forest Keepers. You don't find us. We find you." The road dipped and was flooded with brown water. There was no telling how murky the bottom was. He dismounted and led the horse on a detour through the brush. "Some of us are born into it," he continued. "Others hear the call." The rustling of leaves and the snapping of twigs echoed off the tree trunks until they re-emerged at the edge of the road on the other shore of the deep mud hole.

"Is that basket empty?" he asked her knowing that the wool dress that she kept it covered with had to have been thoroughly soaked. "If it is too heavy let me toss it away." He took the burden from her arm and heaved it into the brush. It landed somewhere in the wet leaves with a swish, hidden away from the sight of the road. He remounted and they continued on.

"You are destined for Valys," he said. Where else would she be headed? "Valys has its own troubles but we will see that you get there." While Parnathea suffered flooding, Valys to the south had been parched and its hills were ablaze. "Another day and we shall reach the river Tynan. Whether Zol pursues you across its banks is another matter."

The road had made a steady incline. Once at the top the ribbon of brown mud unfurled long rolling and straight, disappearing into the valley far below. Yarrol stopped the horse to survey the area. All seemed clear.

"We will make camp before nightfall," he told her. "There will be no fine linens for you to sleep upon but you should find it quite comfortable nonetheless. We are no more savage than anyone else."

The road was good here and he urged the horse into a trot to make time. They descended the trail in the spittle of thinning rain. Every mile or so he would let the horse walk and rest for one or two hundred yards. Yarrol kept his eyes peeled and his ears sharp for trouble that never came.

Finally the long road bent to the right and soon they came to a large silver birch tree on the left. He stopped and dismounted. There was a small gap in the brush. It was a deer trail that he knew well and he led Gwyndolen still seated on the horse off the road and into the trees.

"Not far to go," he told her. "Watch out for branches."

Darkness was falling and visibility was poor, yet the ranger seemed to know exactly where he was going. They were climbing yet again, switching back twice during the ascent, Yarrol always patient to allow the horse sure footing. After about twenty minutes they heard neighing of other horses. A few more yards and they emerged into a small clearing with a half dozen steeds grazing. A fellow ranger sat on a fallen log at the edge to their right. He nodded to Yarrol. Yarrol returned the nod.

"Come," he offered his hand for her to dismount. Leaving the horse in the cozy pasture hidden on the hilltop, Yarrol and Gwyndolen continued along the foot trail past the horse keeper and among the tall spruce. The smell of the needles was rich in the damp air. Soon there were faint voices and wood smoke. They arrived into another clearing, much smaller than the horse pasture. Several animal skin tents were nestled among the trees and shrubs. Two large yurts with thin streams of smoke escaping their pinnacles commanded the camp from the far end. Three or four people dressed in tree bark and leather came and went. There were many more staying dry within the tents.

Lifting back the flap on one of the yurts, Yarrol led the princess inside. It was warm and lit by a crackling fire in the center. The interior was tall enough to stand comfortably. Lines hung criss-crossed from which various blankets hung to divide the room into private sections. Raindrops pattered on the roof. A slight woman with hair a similar color to Yarrol's tended a pot over the fire. A young dark haired man lay asleep on a blanket to the left. An elder sat cross-legged on the right carefully filing tiny pieces of bone. Long dark reeds lay at his feet.

"Tirra," Yarrol called to the girl stirring the pot on the fire. "I bring a guest." He turned to the princess. "This is my sister, Tirra," he said. "I am taking Gwyndolen to Valys tomorrow. She will stay with us tonight."

"You will need a change of clothes," said Tirra. Her eyes were also blue but not so pale as her brother's. She stood up and retreated behind one of the blankets.

"What happened to your arm?" the old man in the corner's voiced scratched as he continued to painstakingly file away.

"It was cut."

"It was not cut yesterday," said the elder without looking up. "And it is already healed."

"Gwyndolen laid hands upon it," explained Yarrol.

"You are a healer?" the old man's dark eyes suddenly peered up at her.

"Bennu," Yarrol informed her of the elder's name. "Sem," he then nodded towards the sleeper behind him. "I'm going to pitch a tent. I'll be back in a few minutes." As he ducked behind one of the blankets, Tirra returned with a leather tunic and shawl, finely embroidered with henna-like designs. She knelt next to the pot and lay the garment folded next to her on the ground.

"Just go behind there and change into this when you like," she said and started ladling the hot stew into bowls.

Yarrol reappeared with a bundle and quickly exited through the entrance flap, leaving his guest alone to get acquainted with the kin of his tribe.
 
Gwyn was glad for the break from the rain and gave a sigh of relief once within the walls of the tent. It was warm, dry and by god was she ever glad for it. Soaked to the bone as she was, she imagined she must look a sight but none of the others seemed to be bothered by her drowned rat appearance. As Yarrol pointed out and introduced, she nodded to each of them in kind and then turned, watching him disappear. As his sister returned with the clothes, she gave a smile. "Thank you..." she said gratefully and then took the tunic and shawl and hose before making her way behind one of the many curtains to change, She was certainly glad to be rid of the sodden gown and after putting on the clothes, she felt much better. The tunic was long and went to her knees. Completed with a belt around her middle it fit her well and allowed for some shielding against the rain. Using a tattered piece of her gown, she braided her hair tying it at the end with her makeshift ribbon and then exited from behind the curtain. Complete with the boots that had been so kindly given to her, she felt much better and certainly dry. The warmth of the fire eased the chill and she thanked Tirra for the hearty stew. It filled her belly in a way the soggy dry bread had not and remained silent before slwoly answering Bennu.

"I am a healer," she said after several moments silence. "I...I was born with the ability to ease the hurts of others...it takes much from me but I'm certainly glad that I was able to help Yarrol with his wound. It would of become infected or the bleeding might of caused him some distress. I knew that I had to do the best I could by him but the healing exhausts me. Coupled with all of the riding and climbing I have done tonight, I can say I shall certainly sleep well." She hoped anyway but she was more than likely to be plagued by nightmares.

Yarrol had mentioned the lack of silken sheets but she didn't give a damn about fine things like that. She would just be happy for a place to rest her head tonight and he was giving her that. And without being asked, he was giving her an escort to Valys. Though her future after that was unclear. Especially with Zol doing everything he could to find her. Because he certainly knew of her abilities and wanted to claim them for himself.

What made a supernatural army even more destructible than a girl who could heal even the most life threatening of injuries. It was power he could wield to his advantage. "I am very grateful. The food, the clothes...thank you...I don't know what I would have done without Yarrol's aid," she whispered, shuddering at the memory of blood and muck and death.
 
"You are fond of my brother, are you not?" Tirra asked her keenly. "He is fond of you."

"Such a bold question, child," Bennu said quietly.

"He can hide it from you but not from me," she said with a glint in her eye. "I'm an empath. I read him easier than I do you but your aura is quite clear," she explained. "You were very pink when you first stepped in. You still are, but not as bright, probably since he is out. We'll see when he returns."

"Enough," said the old man calmly without wavering from neither his scratchy monotone nor his craft.

"But there is more," said Tirra. "You are orange as well."

Yarrol re-entered through the flap and began to remove his tree bark vest.

"Rabbit?" he smelled the aroma of the stew.

"And yam," said his sister.

"Smells good," he said and hung the vest over a line to dry near the fire. Then he began to pull off his tunic as he walked across the dirt floor. The soaked leather tried to cling to his skin as he pulled it over his head. The muscles of his back strained to remove it before he disappeared behind one of the hanging blankets.

"And mushroom," he called from out of sight as he changed into dry clothes. The blanket flapped as he hurriedly rewrapped fresh leggings and his tight fit bottom became momentarily visible as he bent over to step into clean breeches, jerking them up around his waist and cinching the laces tight. Tirra grinned almost smugly at Gwyndolen, hinting at a change in the pinkness of the princess' ethereal color. Yarrol returned in dry clothes, a shawl about his shoulders, and hung all the wet ones, including Gwyn's torn gown, upon the line. If it would not be worn again, at least it could be fuel for the fire later.

"Tent is up," he said as he sat cross-legged next to Tirra and helped himself to a bowl and spoon. "So what mischief has my sister told you?" he asked Gwyndolen. He knew all too well of her ability to sense emotions and perceive energies as well as how keen she was to use it.He was never completely comfortable with her antics and hoped to cast doubt upon anything that she may have revealed.

"You are royal," Bennu changed the subject. "Your pendant," he explained how he knew. "Valys is probably the best place for you right now. Zol will want you alive. You're the heir. You're the bloodline," his voice rasped on. "He can take Parnathea with force, but keeping the people under control will be difficult without you."
 
Pink aura? What in the world did this woman think was going on? She'd only just met Yarrol and fondness wasn't the word that came to mind. It was more of a gratefulness but she decided not to remark, turning her head as Yarrol returned and proceeded to undress. She did feel herself flush and the flush only deepened when she saw Yarrol's backside peaking out from behind the sheets hanging for sake of modesty. She didn't miss Tirra's smug grin either. As Yarrol settled close by, she took another bite of her food, enjoying the warmth of the fire as they settled to eat.

"Thank you," she said to him, giving a glance at Tirra before deciding not to answer his next question. Which was just as well since Bennu had decided to speak up. Gwyn turned to look at him before giving a nod. "Yes..it's not the only reason Zol wants me alive of course," she whispered softly before taking another bite. "It...it's also for the healing...he knows I have the ability and he wants to use that ability to keep his troops alive and well...I am a key player to his plans...whatever they are," she said, tugging her shawl about her for added warmth and then finishing her stew and the crusty bits of bread. "I don't know how long I will be safe in Valys but I don't want to put those lives at risk..." She trailed off and then lowered her head, finishing her meal completely and then holding the empty bowl in her lap since she had no idea what to do with it.

"It's terrible enough having you all in the path of danger by having me here...Yarrol...saved me from hired men seeking to take me back to Zol...and some of them had more...on their minds than that...so I'm just grateful to be here and alive," she mused then took a deep breath.
 
"We are in no more path of danger than any other day, and he will go after Valys whether you are there or not," Bennu spoke as calmly as he had from the beginning, his eyes still on his handywork. "Still we cannot hide you forever as much as we may wish to."

The fire crackled. Tirra took the pot of boiling water and tipped it gently into several small ceramic cups which she had prepared with pinches of tea and passed them around. She still had a clever grin on her face. Yarrol returned an apprehensive stare. He could not deny his attraction to the princess. Gwyndolen was beautiful to be sure. What man would not find her fetching? Still, he was on a mission to move her safely across his world and back to her own. This was not the time nor the place even if his emotions were something that his sister would be apt to continue to play upon.

"How many?" Bennu asked lifting his eyes to Yarrol.

"Six," he recounted the lives that he had taken that afternoon. He would have to do repentance, preferably at dawn since dusk had already passed.

"When fletching one must be sure that each bolt is perfectly straight," Bennu spoke of his craft. "Tall reeds are collected from the marsh and creeksides and dried in a smoke hut. Good reeds are light and straight." He picked up one of the reeds laying before him and began to fit the piece of whittled bone into the tip. "Then they are hung in tree sap resin with snake bile for three days to harden. This gives them the dark brown color. Then they are dried again, always hanging plumb to stay straight." Satisfied with the fit of the tip he picked up another tiny piece of bone and plugged it flush into the tail. "Trimmed to length, they are tipped and plugged with bone. Bones of birds are used for their light weight." Fitted with bone at both ends the old man balanced the bolt on his finger. It sat perfectly still. "These are bolts for crossbows. Arrows for longbows will be much longer and usually tailed with feathers."

"Some say that Zol makes it rain," said Tirra. "I don't believe them."

"Perhaps he does, perhaps he doesn't," said Yarrol. "Makes no matter to me."

"We all influence the elements ... collectively," remarked Bennu. "If he has enough followers and they give him their moods willingly, he can influence the weather, certainly."

The rain tapped lightly on the roof of the yurt. It was thinning. Yarrrol finished his tea and placed the cup into his empty stew bowl.

"We must get good rest for tomorrow," said Yarrol. "Will you be sleeping in here or next to me?" he asked Gwyndolen trying to put the question as clinically as possible.

"She will sleep with you of course," Tirra sparkled.

"Must you?" Yarrol stopped his sister.

"The tent is warm and dry," said Bennu. "The beddings are as separate as you like."
 
"Oh I don't mind...thank you," Gwyn said with a smile, noting the way Tirra was trying to steer the direction of thoughts but of course, Gwyn had only just met the man and while he had saved her life, she hadn't considered any sort of romantic entanglements. Zol was her main concern and this man was being kind enough to escort her to Valys and she felt nothing but relief and gratitude at the risk that Yarrol was taking. "I...thank you," she said softly before running her fingers over her necklace, thanking Tirra as she took the bowl from her lap and then she took a deep breath before standing. "Thank you for sharing your hospitality and your food with me," she said then glanced at Yarrol before looking down, crossing her arms over her chest.

She bit her bottom lip, walking with Yarrol to his tent, the rain, thankfully, not as heavy so she was barely damp when they reached his tent and she looked at him. "Thank you," she whispered softly. "If I annoy you with my constant thanks, I'm sorry..." she added then slowly looked at him. "Is there anything I can do to help. You've done so much already..." she said her voice soft, tinged with fatigue but she didn't want to leave Yarrol with all the responsibility. Thanks to him, she wasn't dead or in Zol's custody.
 
The rain was light enough that Yarrol did not bother to shield the sleeping bundle that he carried the few yards as he led Gwyndolen from the yurt to the tent.

"Is there anything I can do to help. You've done so much already..."

"A month's healing in a moment?" he replied. "I owe you." He held open the tent flap for her.

It looked bigger on the inside than it did from the outside. There was ample room for two to lay comfortably. Yarrol unrolled the bedding, one large skin to lay upon, two separate blankets and two headrolls. The tent itself had been pitched upon loose pine boughs.

"We shall cross the river into Valys tomorrow, but should be a few days more to the castle at Val Mara," he informed her. "We will travel on horseback with adequate provisions."

The rain pattered randomly on the tent skin as he stretched his body out and rested his head on the roll. There was something awkward between them. He sensed an urge for a more casual tone with her yet at the same time felt that anything less formal could compromise a boundary of respect.

"I'm sorry for my sister's behaviour," he said. "She can be a sprite at times, but she does have a kind and generous heart." Yarrol realized that he thought the same of Gwyn's heart, at least from what he had experienced in one day. Perhaps he had more to say, but he wasn't sure what that might be. Who was this person laying next to him in the tent? The hope of an entire kingdom, she was a natural healer, generous and diligent - and beautiful, lovely flesh, hair and spirit within arms reach. A useless thought that last one was. What had her beauty to do with her generosity or diligence? The two of them were of different worlds anyhow and in a few days he would return the princess to her own and that would be that. The thoughts meandered about his brain until the physical exertion of the day came to collect its toll. Yarrol's eyes fell shut and he soon drifted off to sleep.
 
As Yarrol fell asleep, Gwyn laid there, finding it very difficult to capture a moment of peace. Her mind was weaving through a lot of what ifs. The clothes Yarrol's sister had given her were comfortable, and warm, and would do better than the sodden clothes she'd had on beforehand. The inner sanctum of the tent, a welcome warmth compared to the cold rain outside. She sat up, glancing once more at the white haired man on the other side of the tent and then looked away. She was full of worry, full of fear. She'd been through hell but the worst was not over. Especially if Zol managed to get to her. The thought made her shudder.

She had no idea what he desired. Her healing abilities? Her innocence? He wanted something though, something that he would kill anyone in his path to get. Curling back up on her pallet, she slipped the blanket upon her shoulder and then shut her violet eyes, trying her best to get some sleep.

She must have gotten some because she woke up at first light, though she was sore and exhausted. Sitting up, she brushed the blankets off of her and then ran her fingers through her dark red hair before neatly braiding it so that it was not to much of a hassle and then saw that there was food at the flap of the tent and a new set of boots that she imagined were meant for her. She slowly got up, thinking that his sister was very kind to give her boots to wear and slipped them on, lacing them up nimbly. They would keep her feet dry from the never ending rain and make traveling on foot a little easier. Not to mention they were better fitting than the ones given to her the night before.
 
Yarrol woke briefly in the night. Gwyn's body was warm next to his, much closer than he had realized before he had gone to sleep. The previous day's events had brought them together and again at night they had somehow drawn close. Even as a silly coincidence the parallel could not be ignored. He listened to her breathing, heavy in her regenerative slumber in the darkness as the rain pattered on the tent skin. She was carrying her burden well. Being hunted by a madman for the subjugation of a kingdom was not enviable in the least. She inhaled and exhaled over and over and the faint silhouette of her body rose and fell steadily with the rhythm. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

He was up before dawn and left her alone to get as much sleep as she could. Wrapping up his leggings and donning his cloak he took a blanket, chose an enembered bough from one of the camp fires and strode through the encampment and across the pasture clearing to find an appropriate spot of solitude for repentance. He had taken six lives the day before. Justly or not, he had to atone, for nature had its own checks and balances and needed no human justice to even or uneven things. It was difficult to find dry tinder but with the glowing end of the bough he was able to nurture a small fire and place several pine cones around it. Fire was renewal. Sitting before the flames cross-legged upon the blanket he stilled his mind and opened his soul to the elements to release the anguish and the wrath and regain the balance of peace. As the sun began to rise over the tree tops on the slope at his back the ranger stepped out of the trance to the crackling of the flames. The cones were loosening as they dried, enough for him to pry open the scales and remove a few seeds from six of them. Then he rose to stamp out the weakening fire and pocketed the seeds.

The ritual completed he returned to the camp to prepare a pack for the road but something was up. The camp was abuzz.

"Luko," he called to his friend standing at a vantage point on the edge of the clearing. "What's going on?" Luko waved him over as he looked down the hill between the trees.

"Bandits on the road below," he said as he pointed to the torchlights flickering in the morning shadows. The soldiers voices could be heard shouting and their horses neighing.

"Several of them," Yarrol noted as his eyes traced along the road. "At least fifty or sixty."

"They've stopped there," said Luko. "It looks like they want to come up and see what's here."

"We all have to go," said Yarrol.

"Yes," Luko nodded.

The camp was alive with activity. Tents were orderly struck and packs were methodically packed. Everyone would easily be bundled up and gone before the brutes ascended the slope through the trees, but there would be no dawdling. Yarrol found Gwyn at the tent of their bed.

"Come," he said. "Wrap up these blankets and take them to the yurt. Zol is on the road. We still have time but cannot waste it." Then he bid her go while he struck the tent. He would not take it, it would be too heavy, so he wrapped it up and left it with a pile of supplies. The yurt itself was already being dismantled when he met with Gwyn standing next to his sister. The Princess was dressed in leather cloak and leggings with a proper rain hood. She would travel much easier today. Tirra was handing her a pack of foodstuffs for the road.

"A saddle bag," he said to her.

"They are with the horses," she replied.

"And my crossbow."

"Here," said Tirra. She already had it for him, leaning against the back of her leg. She handed it to him, then unslung a fresh quiver of arrows from her back before he could ask for ammunition.

"Thank you," he said and embraced her farewell. Then Tirra gave the same embrace to Gwyndolen, as if she were already family.

"We will see you again," she said with a happy grin despite the fact that she was on a one way trip.

As Yarrol led Gwyn back towards the horse pasture the camp had almost disappeared. Looking at the empty spaces among the brush it looked as though there had never been any tents there at all. Other than a couple of blackened fire pits, the piles of packed up supplies and the campers crossing to and fro as they worked, there was only wilderness.

Yarrol passed the first horse, then stopped at the second. Glancing over at a third he decided on the one that he had already a hold of. It was light brown with a white streak down the nose and a couple of white splotches on its flank. It was a good horse, sturdy and with a good temperament. This would be important as they would not have the luxury of other horses to ease the nerves of a stubborn ride. Luko approached with simple saddle and bags and quickly dressed the horse. Yarrol loaded the blankets and the food into the bags and mounted. Holding out his hand, he helped the Princess up. She could ride properly in front of him in these leggings.

"I shall return," he said to Luko as he took the reins.

"As always," his friend replied and nodded assuredly to Gwyndolen.

The sun was not visible in the solid grey sky but daylight was fully upon them as they rounded the slope up behind the camp. There was a good trail there that headed south. For now they had to stay off the road but perhaps they could meet up with it later. His stomach was empty and he figured that hers was too but breakfast would have to wait. A gap in the trees afforded a view back down on the clearing that was the camp, now just an empty greenish hole in the green trees. The woodsmen and their tents had vanished. The road far below could not be seen from that point on the hillside and would not be for a couple more hours. It was still raining, although not terribly hard. Thunder rolled in the distance to the south - the direction that they were headed.
 
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