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Wounded, enfeebled, and entrenched deep within the maws of danger looming at every inch – the prospect of them leaving this place with their lives was rapidly turning bleaker with every precarious moment that passed by.

Yet, almost as if spiting those very odds, Eshwlyn knew they had to try, they had to succeed... if not for herself... then at the very least... she had to do it for her.

Faintly, she coiled a feeble grip around her sister’s wrist – and after a quick exchange of glances – quietly slithered out of their hiding place in exchange for another.

The silver-cladded Elf was quickly joined by others, an ominous slinking swarm of ominous figures donned exclusively in the same red colors she had lifted in her hands from before – much like the stories she had heard back when she was younger.

Fear was something she ever rarely felt. Humans did not scare her, their existence only serving to incense her anger... but now, having heard the dreadful noise of slow, stalking footsteps that did not belong to either of them besetting them at all sides... she could feel a quiver in her muscles that had nothing to do with the cold nor pain.

They took cover in the shade of the blinding white storm, masking every slight rustle with the crackle of flames still yet to have waned. From hiding spot to hunting spot, they avoided their hunters, still vigilantly on the prowl, but somehow always never too far.

.....

To add a layer of bizarreness to the terror, the Elf seemed to be the one taking charge of the hunt. Her heavy, almost commanding strides, trailed closely, willingly, by the cloaked figures in hunt.

It was her, the reason why they continued to be hounded, to be consistently close behind them no matter how much they tried circumventing their prowl. A keen hunter – by the way those cold, unfeeling eyes scanned their environment. The slightest twitch of her pointed ears encompassed every sound within the vicinity. Eshwlyn risked a glanced backward, and found the Elf with her gaze slanting towards the thick snow.

“She is wounded,” unfeeling words resounding like an icy chill, slowly, meticulously, scanning her barren surroundings. “And she is not alone.”

Then, just barely, Lenora managed to pull her sister back, the both of them stumbling deep into the cavernous husk of another tree, just as one of the red figures slowly shuffled past where they once were.

“Eshwlyn, shuuestei!” Lenora pleaded in a subdued whisper. “Sos’tei, hm? Sos’tei...”

So close.

So close, she says, and yet... it was slowly becoming evident that this wasn’t working.

“So’trumptra, Elv’na,” echoed suddenly, tumultuously, a demand resounding so closely by. “Forthul di albun – kemp, tres, nilil – fortuna linistra nen’ma.”

In her own language, in her own tongue, from one of her own. Eshwlyn almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing, what she was doing – hiding, escaping from one of her own kind... it shouldn’t be this way, and yet...

“Silintre Elvanos? Fuldevur tel...” that harrowing voice continued to spout, a single step forward, resounding, stopping... before words filled the air once more, closer than ever before. “And hiding within tree barks like you are, like cowards is not how we fellow Elves faced adversity. De’teke.”

They were found, spotted... without even being seen once, without even making the slightest blunder. The Elf’s senses were just much too sharp to elude, their pursuers far too many to evade. There was no use trying any longer.

From around them, more men began to gather, approach, enclose... the growing sound of feet like a stampede of inevitably, with the Elf’s march still leading at the forefront.

“Selentar, Elva,” The Elf said. “Give up.”

The trembling sensation had reached a peak. She could no longer stifle the terror, the pain, surging and flooding her veins. A dread only mirrored by the welling tears in her little sister’s gaze, how her tiny little arms still clung onto her desperately, helplessly... and pulling... still pulling...

Still hoping.

“Mur! Mur, Eshwlyn!” She tugged at the tattered seams of her sleeves. “Don’t listen, please don’t listen. We’ll escape. We’ll escape together. Please, please just move!”

“Es...cape...” Eshwlyn murmured back.

Yes, escape. They needed to escape. But... not together... they can’t... together... she realized that now.

A single breath, a single moment, to compose herself, hear the wind howling, the steps approaching – the next few seconds were crucial, pivotal – once again, she disregarded the blaring of her instinct, her second nature... loosening the embrace she had on her sister.

It was hard to speak, normally, properly... she needed to keep it brief... and so, slurring... she scoured for the words to make her understand.

“Eight... bad people...” Her blurred gaze centered on the green of her sister’s eyes. “Eight bad people... only... okay?”

But she did not understand, sputtering speechless, trying in vain to make sense of her words.

So she tried again. “Lenora... escape...” and finally, terror-stricken, disbelief-ridden, the welling tears finally dropping, Lenora understood. “I... stay...”

“No!” The little Elf squealed, wanting so desperately to scream, tightening her hold until it almost hurt. “Don’t, don’t do this... I know what you’re doing – don’t do it, please...”

But she could never hurt her... Lenora could never anyone... she was always frail, always harmless... always different... and that is why she doesn’t deserve this harsh fate that loomed over all Elvenkind.

All that she had done... this fate was not hers to bear...

“You... don’t deserve... this...” She said to her, wiping the tears on her little sister’s cheek before they could fall. “I... deserve this...”

“No, no!” More tears, more outrage, and more words. “You don’t! Please, you don’t! I don’t want you to be gone, I don’t want you to leave! Not you too, please not you! Don’t leave me!”

But now there could be no more words, no more tears...

“No... more... time...” Eshwlyn lurched forward, funneling every unspoken word, every unconveyed emotion into a single kiss across her sweat-ridden forehead, forcing her clutches loose – and the words from her lips, “Leave... me now...”

She didn’t listen. She never listens the first time. Always stubborn.

“Now!”

It was as if the entire world had slowed to a fraction of regular time, and in that frozen time, Eshwlyn saw many, many things – the snow scattering in the air, beads of bright green streaking away, a farewell in watery droplets, and at once, a fluttering red began to descend down upon Lenora, shouting, yelling, chaos erupting.

A thundering roar deafened them all.

Like strength manifesting, possessing, injuries disregarding – Eshwlyn felt herself hurling across the sea of snow, like a giant wave of rage crashing upon her enemies, her arms swung without effort, cleaving seamless, and then from high in the air, poured down a murky rain of crimson as a disembodied head plunged back onto the ground – a look of utter horror still imprinted upon his face.

Seven more.

Without wasting a moment, Eshwlyn darted towards her next adversary, her next victim – too late to react, as his raised arms drop severed as spurting limbs before his feet, glimpsing only a glint of green before he too collapsed... seeing his headless, armless corpse fall onto bent knees.

Six...

Dripping red, Eshwlyn narrowly dodged a ball of fire hurled at her, forcing herself through a barrage of icy mist freezing her in place, roaring in defiance, and chucking her sword as a makeshift spear, resounding out a terrible scream of agony as a man flailed desperately inches above the ground, the blow impaling him against the bark of a tree.

Like a flicker of wind, the bloodied Elf appeared at his side, claiming her blade back as her own with another dismembering slice sending both squelching halves plummeting – her gritted teeth counting down to a dwindling five.

The yells filling the air rapidly become ones of cowardice, and sensing the smell of fear – she hastened her charge, vaulting the forming holes in the earth, severing through the trees sent falling in a vain attempt at impeding her assault.

It didn’t work.

Two of the red roamers had formed a formidable duo, conjuring ethereal weapons of light to deflect her blows, and striking their ones of their own – wearing her down with quick gashes to her arms and legs... that ultimately served to bolster her rage further.

As an incandescent spear thrust forward at her, Eshwlyn weaved left, squeezed the handle between her assailant’s grip, and forced the thrust further forward, the sharpened end skewering the second attacker, who swung his blade on impulse – missing, instead slicing the neck of the first... their gurgling breaths conveying their horror, their realization... both their lives taken by the other.

Now there were just three more.

Three more...

Only three...

“Enough.”

From the corner of her eyes, a blade swung in an instant, almost too late to react, to swerve – hefty strands of her white hair dispersing into the open air like flakes of snow falling down around her.

Another flickering slice sent her stumbling backward, and darting her gaze in desperation, saw a pair of blades raised high, looming, threatening, any second ready to hammer down to strike a blow.

Bracing hard, Eshwlyn raised her blade in contention.

She felt it all over her body, heard the clangoring impact like an explosion rupturing her ears, and the world around immediately faded, condensed into just a shrill ringing that was seemingly without any end.

Her arms trembled, her knees buckled, the silver edge of her blade emitting fiery sparks, clashing, grinding against the pair of serrated edges staring right back at her within mere inches.

“You know how to wield a blade, do you?” faded in the calm, composed voice of her next adversary that should have instead been a friend, a lock of auburn-red falling over the silver-studded Elf’s shoulder. “Interesting.”