The humid air nipped harshly at the amazon's lungs, each intake eliciting a goading stab of pain as if filled with a million tiny daggers. Her haunches burned with exertion, the hammering of her hooves against the Loorien perfectly in-tune to the throbbing of her hectic pulse. Her heart thrummed within her ears, though the tempestuous voices of her pursuers had long since vanished, lost in the wind. Heedless, the exotic mare continued, her pace never diminished, the threat of her followers lashing perpetually at her heels.

The night hovered over the land in a layered shroud of darkness, the moon vacant from the celestial backdrop of space. It had drenched the land in an essence laden of eeriness, a befitting scene for the elusion of an alleged witch.

Had the moon been suspended in a waxed disk, vivid and illuminating, perhaps she would not be quite so fortunate. The darkness was her ally this night, concealing her in a swath of protection that had enabled her escape. Her body, too, had not failed her thus far, even as she forced it farther and farther, never fully convinced that she had evaded them.

But it was only a matter of time before her limbs would finally give in, buckling under the weight of overburdening labor. Until then, she would not cease.

Foam had effervesced upon her bosom, thick and frothy with the incumbrance of her incessant campaign. She had gone mad with determination, fueled by the prospect of her ultimate demise, all because this gift she had been blessed with. Where Aerwela had disguised her magic rather well, it had not gone unnoticed. Rumors had spread quickly of her sorcerous ability, and, in their delirious alarm, the Witch Hunters had erroneously spilled the blood of an innocent vessel whom had been abstained from the very same graces that had damned this capricious vixen.

She did not regret her powers. It was their loss that they did not notice the strength it endowed upon its wielder, that they regarded it with little more than fear. They were ignorant to its true capabilities, and it angered her deeply that her dear sister took the fall for their nescience. She would not succumb. She would not become yet another of their victims. So much blood had already been spilled in their blind folly.

To give up now, would be to consent to their callowness.