It was too hot. There was no shade to be found along this particular stretch of the Greenway. Nothing but wide, green fields on either side, shimmering like emerald seas under the sun's blaring rays. Her scalp burned beneath the coppery locks that danced in the oppressively warm breeze, and her pale, freckled face was scrunched in displeasure as she swept the sweaty strands from her neck and harnessed them into a tight ponytail. Her hands flapped irritably as she continued northward, as if she might shake off the summer heat by doing so.
The flat expanse of the Bree-fields gradually roughened up into low hills and shallow dells, and with it came the blessed relief of scattered copses of trees, which she veered close to, taking advantage of the brief respite from the sunlight. Soon enough, the familiar lane appeared, snaking away to the left, and her soft, quiet boots led her down this path.
Before the small farm house had come into sight, she knew something was amiss. Strange sounds drifted on the heavy, warm air; sounds of low, male voices and heavy boots thumping on wooden planks. Without thinking, her hand moved to slip the bow from her shoulder, and an arrow from the quiver at her hip. She nocked it loosely to the bowstring and continued forward with slow, cautious steps.
Around a bend in the lane, the land opened up, and she could see that the farmyard was filled with a handful of men. Rough-looking, brown-haired, their clothes stained and patched, yet hardy enough to be half as old as she.
Blackwolds. Why so far north?
Quickly, her turquoise eyes assessed them, and to her dismay, noted that they all had at least one weapon. A knife on this one, a club in that one's hand. The farmhouse door stood ajar, the dark rectangle gaping at her, and dread flooded through her chest.
She counted their number; four of them in all. Picking them all off with arrows would not be easy. As soon as one was hit, the other three would explode into action and become enraged, moving targets. She could hear her own breathing now, quickened and tense. Blood pounded in her ears, and she shook her head violently in an attempt to calm herself.
The farmer! His wife! His sons! Where are they? Already killed? Their bodies scattered in the house and around the fields, already rotting in the hot...
Stop! Pull yourself together!
Her hands were shaking. The more they trembled, the more furious she became. The more panic sought to rear its head, to threaten her ability to move, to aim, to shoot. She took a careful step sideways, trying to place herself behind a tall patch of laurel growing there.
Her shoulder collided with something solid, and a ragged gasp tore through her throat. She whirled around, the bow coming up, but hands were already coming down to grasp her forearms. A tall, broad-shouldered figure loomed, blocking out the sun, and she caught a glimpse of a dirty, scarred face, covered in black stubble.
"What do ya think yer doin'?" he growled, his meaty paws enveloping her slender wrists and wrenching them effortlessly to one side. She grunted sharply in pain, her body thrown off balance. The bow and arrow were clutched stubbornly still, she planted her feet and tried to twist free, jabbing her elbow towards his gut.
Though the blow drew a low snarl, it was not nearly enough to repel him. He shifted himself behind her and released one of her arms in favor of wrapping his hand around her throat. "Drop 'em," he rumbled.
Horrific images exploded in her mind at the sudden pressure that choked off her breath. The twisted, hateful features of Gavin. She could almost feel the bark of the tree against her back again. Her fingers held to her bow a little longer, involuntarily, a mother unable to release her beloved child. But another harsh wrench of her body, jerking her backwards like a rag doll, and there was no point. To become a corpse clutching a bow that would only be taken away once she was dead. Her hands relented, and the bow and solitary arrow clattered to the dirt below.
The grip on her throat relaxed, and she sucked in a mouthful of the sweet, hot air. Her eyes blurred with tears as she choked out a harsh cough, and her hands were roughly grabbed and pinned behind her back.
"Where are they?" she rasped out angrily. "What'd you do with them?"
"With who? Shut yer mouth and come on." His heavy bulk collided with her from behind, knocking her forward, though his hand remained wrapped around her wrists, holding them together.
Another wave of furious rebellion boiled up in her veins, and she dug her heels into the dirt, halting. "The farmer and his family! What did you do!" she spat.
"None o' yer feckin' business!" he barked, ramming the toe of his boot into the back of her knee. "Move!"
She cried out at the blow, her leg gave way, and she stumbled, tripping as the man pushed her forward, not waiting for her to regain her footing. Blinking away the tears from being choked, she could see the men in the yard ahead, turning towards the sounds of the scuffle.
