Aeryl clutched Myrrh against her chest and scrambled over the fence, landing hard on her knees in the wet grass. Her donkey twitched its ears, startled, but she grabbed the rope around its neck and pulled it close.
Her father's voice bellowed again, closer now, but she didn't look back. She swung herself up onto the donkey's bare back, skirts tangling in the rope, and kicked its sides.
"Go. Please, go!"
The beast lurched forward, hooves clattering against stone, then leaping into the mud of the forest trail.
Branches whipped against Aeryl's face as she urged it deeper into the woods, heart pounding so hard she could hear little else.
She clung to Myrrh with one arm, the dog whimpering against her ribs, while her other hand clutched the reins tight.
The cold air bit her cheeks, and every shadow looked like a soldier waiting to drag her back.
She didn't stop. Couldn't.
Her thoughts clawed at her as fiercely as the brambles that tore her gown. Another village.
I'll reach another village by morning. Someone will hide me. Someone must.
The donkey panted beneath her, hooves sloshing through a creek as they crossed into deeper woods.
The silence pressed heavier here, broken only by the sound of owls and her own ragged breathing.
The moon slid behind a cloud, plunging the path into black.
Aeryl hunched low, whispering desperate prayers to gods she wasn't sure listened anymore.
Behind her, faint and distant, came the sound of hooves.
Not her father's. Not alone.
Heavier. Stronger. Many.
Aeryl tugged on the reins, her donkey stamping nervously at the quiet fork in the woods.
The path before her split into two—one narrow and overgrown, twisting deeper into the shadows of the trees, the other wider, marked by wagon tracks and the faint glow of moonlight stretching far ahead.
She bit her lip, her little bag clutched tightly in her lap.
Myrrh whined softly in her arms, ears twitching as if sensing something unseen.
Her heart thumped.
She had never been this far from home at night, and now the silence pressed in around her, broken only by the rustle of unseen creatures.
Aeryl glanced back. The wind carried the faintest echo of her father's voice—angry, searching, calling her name.
She wiped her cheeks, whispering to her dog, "We can't go back… we can't…"
The donkey shifted, snorting as though urging her to choose.
"Let's go rightwards."
The right path stretched wide and pale in the moonlight, wagon ruts worn deep into the soil.
It promised distance, speed, maybe even safety.
Aeryl tugged the reins, urging the donkey forward.
Hooves clattered over roots, then steadied as the road opened, cutting through the thick of the forest. She pressed low over its back, clutching Myrrh to her chest, the wind dragging hot tears from her cheeks.
Behind her, faint and far, the shouts grew sharper.
Her father's voice, broken with panic.
The clash of boots, the barked orders to search every corner of the woods.
Men—her father's men—scattering like hounds set loose.
"Find her! NOW!" he roared, his tone so loud the trees seemed to rattle.
Torches flared in the distance, small embers flickering in the black.
Their glow swayed and split, tracing the frantic search across the village edge.
Aeryl bit her lip until it bled. The metallic tang filled her mouth, a bitter reminder that even her blood betrayed her.
The donkey trotted faster, breath wheezing through its nostrils as it pushed along the wide path.
Each step carried her farther from home, but also deeper into the unknown.
Back at the house, her father's panic gnawed at him like fire. He tore through the yard, shouting for his men to bring more light, more horses. He bent low, following the drag of small footprints in the grass, the shallow dents of hooves.
"She's taken the beast," he hissed, fury burning beneath his breath. "Follow the trail! All of you!"
Men scattered, their torches swinging, but the donkey's prints stretched into the forest, clear at first, then lost where the earth turned stony and hard.
The shouts faltered. The trail broke.
Her father cursed, fists clenched tight, his voice cracking with rage and grief.
"She can't be far. She CAN'T be far!"
But in the distance, the forest swallowed Aeryl whole.
The wide road stretched endlessly ahead, bathed in silver moonlight, leading her straight into the arms of the night.
The donkey's pace jolted unevenly beneath her, but Aeryl pressed her hand against its neck, urging it forward.
The forest closed in thicker now, every tree knot casting long shadows in the moonlight. Her heart was a hammer in her chest, still racing from the thought of her father's fury.
Then—hoofbeats.
Not behind her, but ahead.
Faint at first, then clearer, steady as a drumline echoing through the woods. Her breath caught.
Someone was coming.
People were coming.
Panic surged.
She pulled sharply on the reins, guiding the beast off the worn track.
Branches whipped against her arms as they cut into the undergrowth, the donkey stumbling at the sudden shift. No road now—only the thicket and the dark.
She forced herself deeper, away from the sound, away from the eyes that might already be watching.
The hoofbeats drew closer, echoing like a predator's heartbeat across the forest floor.
The hoofbeats grew louder, sharper, until torchlight flickered between the trees.
Aeryl froze, pressing a hand to her lips to stifle her own breath.
Through the branches, she glimpsed it: a procession of riders, their armor glinting faintly, flanking a black carriage with sigils etched in silver.
The air shifted. Thickened.
The carriage slowed, the horses stamping restlessly. Then, without warning, the sound died—riders halting as though bound by a single command.
The door opened.
He stepped out.