She can't remember how long she had been running. Was it days, weeks or years? The legs falter beneath the pressure of her body, despite the dangerous lack of weight. Or was it because of it, because of the many scars that marred the skin and the grime that had been ground into it that she stumbled for each step, shaking and gasping for air like a fish stranded on dry land.
Figures appear before the hazy vision of the young mare and with a fearful look that is quickly hidden by a mask of wariness she stumble into a halt, sides heaving and damp from sweat that has never been allowed to dry. A deep maroon eye stare at the strange pair, whites glimmering around the iris. Pondering, weighing options through a haze of exhaustion, desperation and a sense of urgency that make the casual greeting of the stallion seem insolent.
"You need to help me!" the girl says, not asking but rather demanding it, in a tone that won't accept a no. There is authority to her voice, an air of dignity that doesn't quite seem to belong with the tattered and scarred little girl that stand before them, just barely capable of remaining on her feet. "You have to save Tiimar, he's trying to take on three opponents without rest, they are too many and I cannot do anything to help him! He's sacrificing his life for me, just like all the others, and I won't allow it. Come quickly before it's too late!"
She doesn't care that her words must make little sense to the pair, seeing how they doesn't know who she is or what is following behind her. All she cares about is this small miracle that might be enough to save her only remaining friend, if only the stallion and the slender mare will listen to her and follow back to the site of the battle. Rilosanne begin to turn, expecting them to follow her, but freeze into place as her gaze lands on the figure of a horse approaching from the direction she had been headed towards. Eye widening in terror she takes one look at the horn protruding from the forehead of the horse and the flaming wings by the sides and spin around, buckling legs launching into a wobbly canter - back the way she came, to terror and blood and the end of hope.
No, no no no! They are here too, somehow they had managed to get ahead of her again and this time there was no Shiila to shield her back, no Tiimar to protect her with gentle words and unbending strength. No Danaar with her wide grin and accurate aim or Siroth with the breath of fire, no Lassir or Makrik or Thaloom... The name of her fallen saviors echo through the mind, blocking out the words of the spear-carrying mare that could have saved Rilo from fear and pain and impending doom.
She run back and realizes how close the clearing is only when she bursts into it again, stumbling from nightly shadows and into a nightmare lit by burning stars and a pale moon that rises slowly over the horizon. A thin wail escape from lips pressed tightly together as she spots a pale shadow stretched onto its side, long legs collapsed and twitching slightly as the gray stallion tries to rise. Behind him lies two other shadows, clad in armor so broken that it falls from the bodies as she watches. One dead, the other dying, thrashing and moaning as blood pools from a deep gash in the neck. And above Tiimar hovers the third one, injured but steady on the feet still. The soldier looks up at the sound of her voice, surprise flashing across the armored face but soon turning into a vicious smile that send rivulets of loathing through the girl. Blood soaks the ivory horn, dripping down the face and onto the downed equine, who can only watch with desperate eyes as the princess return. Why, his eyes ask her sadly, why did she return?
She couldn't give him an answer even if the tongue would move. Fear and confusion control her legs now, anger propel her forward into the clearing, throwing her thin, abused frame in between the general and his prey. Surely this must be the end. In a way Rilo is glad that it came to this. What could be better than for a princess to die for one of her people? Better than it be the other way around, like she has seen so many times before. Almost relieved she closes her eyes, resigned and waiting for the spear of the unicorn to pierce her chest.
There are no miracles.
Rilosanne Ka'Adina
Silent whispers, Silent tears
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