Eventide is softly casting o'er the earth a magic spell,

And a love-song, everlasting, on the night wind seems to swell.

No, Erthë didn't listen. The boys shouted at her, one praising the swift shot and the other cursing on quivering baryton cords. She payed them no heed, focused only on the path of the arrow and the sweet, sweet taste of triumph as it struck true... Who couldn't they see? Why didn't they realize, that beneath the pristine facade of fragile innocence she was just like them? Thirsty for honor, hungry for glory and craving with all her essence the kind of renown that made heads turn and mothers whisper tales of heroism and strength into the ears of their progeny. A white fox to their black wolves, less immediately dangerous but just as tenacious in the battle for survival. Was it because she was female that they overlooked her potential? Was it because she was young and gullible? If it was scars they needed as proof of prowess then she carried them, tucked away beneath skin and flesh, hidden under silky white fur - a secret only whispered of in the eerie gleam of a silver eye. Instead of frightening her, it might have been more prudent to recruit the vicious, fearless dove. For what better wolf was there, than one who looked more like a sheep than kin.

Erthë triumphed, but the jubilant swoop in the gut faded almost immediately. The black figure vanished, erased by the might of her blinding arrow - but it seemed the light caused even more shadows to arise, as though the darkening shade became a breeding ground of terror and threat. Belial cried a warning and Oblivion fell towards her with flashing teeth, digging yellowed ivories into her shoulder with a force that was both jarring and peculiarly thrilling. Like a slap on the cheek to awaken a child to reality it sent her mind reeling - anger flared in her eyes like lightning, even more violent because it was born from the chill of winter - and with tingling, sweet sensations zapping through her skin from a memory of his touch the fawn tried to shove him off.

"I can't run!" she hissed, feathers bristling with frustration and rage - how dare he suggest she run away while leaving others behind to face danger! "My legs are busted, I can't even take off from here... We have to fight!"

Seizing the string of the bow once again the crowned princess aimed towards the shadowy monsters once again, seeking out Belial's gaze as she did so. Would he stay and fight, or run for cover? Would they stand together and bleed, or would he turn tail and let her face the dangerous task alone - leave the task to her trembling hands and failing knees, who only kept her upright because others were there to witness the humiliation of a fall?

"If you boys are too scared then you can hide behind me!" she said, mouth twisting into a mocking sneer.

Oh, if she only knew. It was such a shame that her valiance and bravery went completely wasted. What did it matter that she hid her fear behind a mask of anger when it was all a trick, a mean prank meant to leave her broken, ravaged and in tears. What did it matter, when the men she tried to protect didn't want her to win?

It was a cruel game they played, and as sprawling, demonic illusions closed in on the trio, the final act was approaching rapidly. How would they wrap up the scenario, what would they do to get the last laugh? She had shattered their expectations of a helpless heroine, damsel in distress to rescue and abandon, but maybe as the hero of the tale...

Regardless, the lie would be revealed as soon as the conjured illusions came close enough to touch, and sooner or later she would run out of arrows. What indeed would they say, when her flaring hooves went right through the monster and she was left standing there, like a fool?

It remained to be seen.