[Hills of Deception] Run, Little Lamb

[Yeva]

50 Frost 123

The wolves howled, everywhere, all at once, picking up in a crescendo that rippled across the dark forest and bristled the air. The sound had her heart leaping, where it wedged itself into her throat and choked her. Yeva spun, stiff and frozen, where she fumbled and fell against the bark of a skinny sapling, sucking in a lungful of icy air. Her hands and feet were burning, irritated and raw, and she gripped the dark scale and shattered sword, one in each palm. The trees had thinned slightly here, were younger, and so moonlight drifted downward on faery wings, soft and colored light casting an ethereal halo as they opened up to a circular clearing. Above, poised in the sky like glittering gems, were three celestial bodies - moons - red, green, and black. Teeth chattering, she trudged towards the opening, where moonlight poured across her exposed skin, so terribly vulnerable, and tilted her head back to observe the stars.

Had the black moon always been there? No.

Was she dreaming? No.

There was too much pain here. Too much sensation. Too much life. Much had changed since her disappearance, but she was quite aware of her hand. Dropped off in the middle of the Karnor Wilds, in the midst of winter, so dark, she could hardly see a few feet in front of her, Yeva was going to die. If something didn't spring out to tear into her throat, the cold would sink its teeth into her, poison her with its bite until the venom exhausted her and she collapsed, too tired to continue. It was a death that even elven blood wouldn't deter. Head tilted back, she stared at the sky, the stars. She knew there were those that could navigate using the constellations, yet that wisdom alluded her. It felt as if she would stay lost forever. She couldn't die... Not now. Not after everything. After Boraba, and Vichu'vi. Not after Vuka.

She inhaled to cry out to the skies, to curse the gods, to the world and forces that toyed with her life at every turn, but the cold stole that too. For every success, every fulfilled dream, there was a punishment eager to wrap its arms around her and squeeze. Shivering violently, Yeva knew her time would be limited if she did not act. She knew many things. She needed to be warm, to be fed. It felt as if she had not eaten in years, her thoughts slower than usual. Even her body seemed to resist her control, not as agile as it had once been before the Astral Sea, made weaker by circumstance. She was a foreigner in her own skin, demanding leadership, and it revolted. She needed fire. Shelter. Rest.

Something rustled in the dark brush to her left and her gaze snapped towards the source. A silence pressed upon her, a bated breath. Nothing moved, or stirred, she tensed in expectation. Thump. Thump. Hello? she thought, though the words never left her lips, Who's there?

If it hadn't already been there, gooseflesh would have prickled her skin.

A winged figure shot across the sky, cracking the ice and sending a disturbance of snow drifting downward. Yeva jumped, startled. She had believed the sound had come from the bushes, not the trees, and when she saw the wings of the snowy owl sail across the clearing and cut its silouette against the moons, she exhaled. Could it have been the same owl she had heard upon her arrival? It swooped, disappearing into the trees where it would likely be retrieving its next meal. No more time to waste. She had to keep pushing. Maybe she could remember something. Gather bark from trees - see if the snow did not soak them. She had a few trinkets on her, broken chopsticks, a cigarette stump, a candy wrapper. This could be tinder if so needed... But Yeva had never had to start any fire.

Norani had always been the one to do so, and she had shown her... But Norani had never known ice. She did not know how it burned and chilled at the same time, how it sapped the life from your bones, and sank so deep it was if it would never leave you. She did not know...

When she was about to reach towards the pouch at her hip, she gave one last glance at where the rustling had originated. A pair of glowing eyes watched her, unblinking and suspended in the darkness. The silence of the world had lingered, but the rush of blood in her ears was a roar of warning. She could feel the shadow cloak around her respond to the visitor, and only one word echoed in her mind now, instinct passed down through generations of her kind. This was a predator. She was prey.

Run.

[Yeva]

50 Frost 123

She ran through the forest barefoot, soaked and frozen, each footfall sent shocks of pain through her legs when she stormed upon hidden brambles and rocks, carving a path through knee high snows, which winded her in mocking swiftness. Yeva charged in the direction the owl had flown, away from the beast she could hear running at her heels, nipping and emerging from the brush long enough to try and guide her footfalls. A flash of terribly sharp teeth flashed at her side and she jumped away, realizing its intention to steer her and the folly of surrendering. Yeva's feet did not stop, but she pushed back, refusing to be corralled as she ran, swinging the sad, broken blade she still carried faithfully. It was barely more than a hilt, just a stub of metal, yet any weapon was better than none, and the mangy wolf dodged her swing with ease, vanishing back among the trees, where its footsteps slowed and it howled, a single note that could be heard throughout the woods by any and all hunters. Dinner was ready.

The wolf was catching up again since sounding the alarm. She redoubled her efforts, for once thankful of the brutal stair climb she had been subjected to in Ecith, the Orkhan land. The city of Drathera had been a beautiful lesson in persistence, carved upon a mountainside, and having trudged up step after step in search of the Seer's temple, she knew she had not reached her limit yet. She was tired, exhausted, but she was not done.

Not yet.

Running helped to move the blood through her stiff extremities, and through the pain she soared, finding her stride. She would run, the wolf would snap its jaws, she would swing her sad sword hilt as if were a glorious weapon, with just enough might to elude its baiting, and cause it to draw its maw back. Through the trees she could see a path, revealing itself to her, and with her with fear and intuition fueling her, she did not flinch when the sound of more pack members flanked inward from her other side. They had caught up now, and when one pushed inward, it became harder for her to dissuade it, as the other moved in tandem. Perfect hunters, they flowed in response to the other, fighting to cut her off, to close in. A third joined in just behind and it snarled viciously, the smell of its hot breath meaty and rotten, and any flame of hope she felt flickered and threatened to die.

A wolf lunged and snapped at right leg, barely missing. The shadow cloak she wore melted into the darkness and took her with it, disorienting the animals as she shimmered in and out of sight. She was a mirage, and could have been mistaken as some sort of fae creature, racing through the obscure trees at the head of a wolf pack. It would have been a powerful sight to behold, had they not snarled and yipped, starved and wishing for blood. It was not a dream for a fairytale, but a nightmare, where she was the one in grave danger, and even if she could manage to hide, to climb up high and become one with the shadows, they had her scent now.

Earthy, warm. Sweeter than spring's breeze, and more floral than should have been possible this time of year. These animals could hunt her for days, if so desired, and she was running out of breath.

Unexpectedly, the tree line shattered and Yeva went tumbling past snow sagging Cyprus, crying out in deceived surprise as the elevation dissolved beneath the white blanket. The elf was propelled forward, a wash of wild hair and bare skin, angry red, rolled over and over down the hill, kicking up white powder and bruising where she fell. Her surprise was cut short, and the brief image of radiant torches perched at the bottom of the hill was merely a flash in the moment. She cried out as a rock cut into her shoulder and the fall continued. She tasted blood.

[Yeva]

50 Frost 123

Her fall ended as abruptly as it had started. Pain radiated from her shoulder, her face, her entire body. While the snow had provided a softer padding for her flailing, hidden debris had cut into her skin, and a sharp piercing sensation stabbed between her ribs when she breathed. The redhead was only vaguely aware of herself when she finally came to a stop, sprawled and deflated, like a rag that had been wrung out of all life. Her skirt, which was in Ecithean fashion, had been double slitted up the sides of her legs, exposing her thighs up to the waist, where it was rolled and hung low across her hips, was now soaked and tangled, dirty from the snow, mud, and blood. She cried out with how much everything hurt, her vision dark around its edges. When she heard to the crunch of snow and the triumphant cry of the wolves closing in, she found her hands were empty. The broken sword and scale were gone, dropped in her fall, and she was pierced with panic. Failure.

Teeth sunk into her ankle and she screamed, raw and icy, into the darkness, so that the stars should witness her death and arrange for it. A constellation marking Yeva Fatebreaker, the woman who would never again. The animal at her feet tugged at her, electrifying her into louder screaming, the poor woman attempting to kick at it. Her first attack was weak and did little more than to encourage the beast to resolve its bite, and she could feel its teeth scrapping against her bone. She kicked again, this time popping it in the nose. It yelped and snapped, almost taking her toes with it, as more of the pack surrounded her. Instinct told her to cover her head, her neck. They would try to break it, to tear it out. She was going to be eaten alive.

She tried to roll away, to hide herself, as one of the wolves pounced upon the elf, its jaws snapping. Hot saliva fell from its mouth, dripping upon her face as she wrestled with the beast. It was heavier, but bonier than expected. Starved in this eternal winter, its eyes were wild in desperation and thrill, and it barely missed her face with each lunge. Yeva held it by the neck, her cries caught in her chest in the struggle, trying her best to keep it at arms length. It was a losing battle. She was no match for these creatures. She had been caught.

Her death was going to be horrific. Eaten alive and alone in this frozen wilderness. Help me. she begged, her strength failing. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she saw nothing but the monster she fought against, unaware of the barking, the rushing crunch of snow closing in. Claws and teeth, rot, and bloodlust. The black irises of the canine reflected her own image inside them. A woman, broken and wide-eyed. Tears and blood rolling across her face, to smear of red branding her cheek. Her lip was cut and swelling. Fear, her suffering revealed in the whites of her golden eyes, stared back at her, a front row seat to her final expressions. It was almost perfect, orchestrated in its own way, a million events interwoven to bring upon this end, when so many others had been waiting for her. How blessed was she, to be able to witness it all, beginning to final end. How terrible.

The wolf at her ankle had released its hold and she felt it jump back. She could not tell if it had taken her foot with it. The sound of fighting echoed beyond the grey wolf she openly sparred with. She dug her fingers into its eyes defiantly, spitting back at it as a wildcat might in one last surge of resistance.

She had promised she would fight, and she intended to until her last breath.

The wolf shook its head and growled, regaining its senses and stared at her with pure malice. It crouched, ready to end its prey once and for all. To end its own hunger, to fulfill its very nature. It leapt. Yeva flinched. The attack never reached the collapsed woman. Something big and furry launched across her her body and caught the animal midair, and they became a twisting mass of barks and growls. More barking. Snow kicked up and hit her chest. Any attempt to move was met with swift punishment, and she felt consciousness fading, only vaguely aware of the interference.

Wolves scattered and the booming command of a voice sounded faintly above her. Dogs. she thought, spinning into the stars. Dogs.... No... Wolves. Dogs and wolves.

A hulking figure approached, broad as any orc and just as tall, and she could not see its face clearly. Her eyes fluttered, and she tried to smile. Norani? The voice spoke again, and this time the figure bowed its head and lifted a torch, revealing two horns, thick and foreboding. A bull. It was frowning at her, and then it was gone, stampeding forward, beyond her fading line of sight.

A battle of chaos and dancing lights moved, illuminating her, but it was too late. Yeva Fatebreaker descended into the dark, into dreamless sleep, into warmth and finality.