Hope. A wishful thinking that requires you to wait for something to happen expectantly. Hope can be destructive or constructive depending on the situation. For this poor Dark Elvin amateur, hope in her thoughts were as destructive as a sheep thinking it can survive a pack of wolves. The wing she was dragging left noticeable tracks, a feature she did not think she would suffer the weight of it since she hoped for some of the crew's company. She only survived this far through camouflage or being a coward as her peers gnarled at her before the mission. A panic rose to her throat and tears welled up with no release. Her shaky breathing mimicked her racing thoughts. To the left, a broken branch with dying leaves. She tore it off and dashed to a starting point: three tracks going in different directions. She simulated the dragging on the wing, careful enough to apply enough pressure to the ground to make the pacing look realistic. She jumped around the trees, back to her prize and placed the torn branch back to its original place. A heave and a shudder, she took off hastily. A few minutes was all it would take for her to be in the cold embrace of the Bhrìsteia Lands, her home, where her people were waiting for her.
The only sound that could be heard was the desperate panting and turning of dirt and leaves against the torn wing. The owls went quiet, the wind stopped rustling the trees, the moon glimmered down onto her glistening dark sweaty skin. Time was fleeting but in that instance, all came to a halt. Like a panicked lamb, she turned around and saw two shining arrow tips flying down to her. One dodged, the other punctured her right shin. The pain made the Dark Elvin scream out and drop the wing to wrap her injury, the tears that had welled up finally released in a never-ending stream down her cheeks. After a few seconds of anguish, she breaks off half of the arrow and tries to scramble herself up to run. Heather flies down like a peregrine and lands aggressively not so far away from her. The gush of wind from her wings crash upon the Dark Elvin, making her lose balance and fall back down with another agonising scream. Heather plucked the missed arrow from the dirt and put it into her quiver. She sighed and stared into the injured girl's eyes.
"I wouldn't try to escape if I were you," she took a breath and let her words dance on her tongue, "If you do, the wound will tear. You'll attract trouble with your screams."
"Please, let me live, I'm worthless to you!" The Dark Elvin pleaded, still scrambling for her life.
"I'm afraid I can't do that." Heather's eyes grew colder. She was not looking at an intelligent being, she was staring down at her prey.
The sound of metal and feathers echoed to Heather's location. The surviving Black Crest crew caught up to her quicker than she had expected. Cassius landed with slight elegance but rage was written on his figure.
The Dark Elvin shuddered and her eyes grew wide out of fear. Her life was already fleeting, now she feared greater suffering would entail. Cassius's heavy steps engraved the dirt and his growing presence approached the Dark Elvin. He stopped and kneeled close enough to reach her throat in an arm's length. His gaze flickered towards the torn wing and returned to meet the Dark Elvin's horrified expression. He let out one growl, as if contemplating the idea to make her go through a slow and painful death. Instead, he pressed onto the arrow in her shin, provoking a cry loud enough for the smallest amount of life in the trees to flee the scene. He asked with lingering darkness in his voice what their troop planned to do with their wings. The Dark Elvin begged and tried to move his grasp from her shin, provoking more agony. She refused to answer, snapping Cassius's patience. He took a dagger from his side and slit her throat in a clean cut, whispering words of restfulness to her swift death. The Black Crest fell completely silent, leaving them all to hear him clean off the blood from his encrusted dagger on the Dark Elvin's clothing.
YOU ARE READING
The Hollows
Fantasy"People die every day. Yet the folk only seem to care when people die at the hands of a villain or of a superior and darker power." ~ ~ ~ After the death of one of her patients...
