Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 3

Day 3

Ofelia woke with a wince.
Her head was drooped to her gut, her hands bound tighter than before and the sack over her face tied tight at her neck. As far as she knew, she wasn't getting out of this predicament without some sort of miracle. And she was sore. When the moon soldier had inevitably caught up with her, he'd thrown her so hard to the ground that the air had vacuumed out of her breast. He hadn't bothered to draw his sword as she'd lain there gasping for air. He simply gathered the neck of her frock and dragged her behind him back to his camp. He paid no mind to the fact that Ofelia had hit her head. To her, it seemed bittersweet that she was no longer restless, instead now she constantly dozed and awoke. Again, it was nearing dusk, the men though seemingly weary decided to push further into nightfall. Ofelia was unsettled. They were eerily quiet, compared to the previous two days of travelling. No longer did they chuckle, nor did they whistle. They were tense and it sent prickles over Ofelia's skin. She couldn't fight the sleep tugging at her, her eyes drooping as the horse rocked her to sleep.

She awoke with a start. It was dark and there was no bustling about this night. There were no shouts, no singing, no fires even. It was all so mysterious. She tucked her legs to her chest as she tried to listen for any movement.
She wondered if they had left her in the forest to die.
A sick feeling of dread clutched at her heart and she began to tug on her bounds, "I- No...", She hissed, pulling at them. They hadn't... Had they? Not at night...
She closed her eyes for a moment. She couldn't panic, it would leave her worse than before. She was so hungry. For a second, she pressed her forehead to whatever she was tied against, perhaps a tree? She inhaled the air through her nose and out through her mouth. She couldn't fathom why the men had acted so ominous.
That is, until she saw a glow through her mask. A distance flickering, only just breaking the walls of the sack. A thick, heavy realisation dawned on her.

Ofelia followed her hands up over the trunk of the tree, climbing to where the branches where thin enough to snap. With no more than a rustle, she retrieved her hands from the tree and stumbled back to the bottom. With her hands tied so tight, she couldn't undo her head sack, but it didn't matter. All she had to do was follow the orange light. As quiet as she could she manage, she staggered over roots and fauna, pushing towards the village. As unwanted pictures of the attack at her home flooded to mind, she imagined that the men were hiding out by the trees, waiting for some signal at dawn. Perhaps they would see her, but what difference would it make? She stumbled onwards, the orange glow of a night fire growing larger. She fell, her already scraped knees crying out at the blow, but she rose anyways. It was close. The smell of smoke hit her, and the faint laughter of a woman tickled her ears. She hadn't seen another woman in two days. The snow laden forest floor thinned out and Ofelia guessed she had hit their path. Instantly she gained traction and ran towards the ever-nearing glow.
She ran to the voices. They were so close. They were so near. She pushed again and with her final strike of strength, she threw herself at them. Immediately a woman screamed and a ruckus of people shot away, yelping about.
"Please!", Ofelia hissed, trying not to draw attention, "They're coming for you!"
Instantly she was kicked to the stomach, and she curled into herself, "Please!", She croaked. Someone grabbed her by the frock and threw her closer to the fire, "Who are you?!", A man yelled.
Ofelia started to cry, "Please! I am Ofelia, but they are here- "
"Ofelia? Daughter of chief Calhoun- "
"Yes! But please! They are about to attack- "
Instantly, she was thrown to the ground and tackled to a heap. Men started to yell and she was clawed at, "Stop!", She shrieked. Like crows to a rodent, they crawled over her, breathing blood, "Please!", She cried, "Stop! Your children- "
And then the horrific sound of roaring men ascended upon the village. It was like the sound of wolves on the horizon. From every angle they charged the town and Ofelia could only hide within herself. Clashing swords fought from around her, following the unmistakable sound of fire licking up the houses. It was then the cries of families hidden within their houses sounded out. It was as if time froze. Somehow, with the sudden searing heat, the clubbing of warm bodies around her, and the fire at her feet, she felt cold. Chilled to the bone. Ofelia laid at the ground, slowly bringing her head to rest on the dirt. Through her sack, she stared at the flame in front of her. She frowned.
The sound of a steed huffing clopped up to her and she was ripped up to the horse as it circled the fire and shot off into the distance again. Though probably a decent time to do so, she didn't fight who she guessed was the moon soldier. His hand viced on her arm was steady but before he pulled his horse to a stop, he threw Ofelia to the ground, sending her down hard and tumbling twice to thud into a tree. Her shoulder pained and her wrists seared against the ropes. Her mind whizzed around unable to locate what was up and down. Snapping into her senses, she scrambled up as the moon soldier descended from his horse. She rose only to be pushed hard to the ground again. Not letting her shortness of breath catch her, she staggered up only to be pushed again, harder. With a grunt, she again pushed herself upwards, barely maintaining a stand.
"Stay down!", The moon soldier roared, storming toward her.
Ofelia swayed to the side before a rightful kick to her abdomen sent her reeling face first to the ground. She didn't rise. A ghastly cough reared up in her throat as she tried to rise with a shaky hand but fell to the snow. The soldier huffed before ascending upon her once more with a fierce kick to her gut. She gagged and a sob erupted from her throat.
The soldier halted.
Ofelia cried out again and gagged to the ground, her hands shaking within her bounds. The furious heavy breathing of the soldier only increased as she stayed down. Within time, she fought to rise again, pushing at her weight. She shook and stumbled trying harder, gasping at the air. The soldier growled at her; his frustration so evident in his voice that Ofelia worried he would kick her again. She pushed herself so that she was leaning on straight arms, gasping at the air.
"Stay. Down.", The soldier hissed, standing his small distance away.
Ofelia coughed and wiped at the cloth over her mouth. She was hungry. She closed her eyes and rocked until she was leaning on her knees. She looked at the faint silhouette of the man before her. In their silence, the sound of a village set afire hit her ears, the screams of the people within. The moon soldier stood still. Ofelia again set her hands to the ground before rising once more, holding her gut in her hand as she staggered, catching herself on her foot.
The moon soldier drew his sword.
Ofelia hissed, baring her teeth as the pain in her gut seared. If not for the sack cloth over her face, she would've stared right into the steely mask of the moon soldier.
"... You want to fight?", He growled, twirling his sword to a ready position.
Ofelia grit her teeth.
"I want you to kill me.", she spat back.

-

For three days Ofelia had been dragged behind a horse. Long gone was the pleasure of riding alongside the moon soldier. Now Ofelia staggered for hours during the day and stood upright for the hours of the night. She had been thrown a half-eaten bread roll yesterday and still savoured the taste in her mouth. She was as ravenous as she was exhausted.
During her walks in the day, her father graced her mind. How could he have leapt towards the moon soldier, so unprepared and so alone? How could he have thought he'd had a chance with his infantile leather armour compared to the moon soldier's foreign mastery? How could he have named the last Winter flower after her and disappeared the day after, never to see it again. Ofelia shook her head and gulped. She wasn't sure if her being dragged behind a horse was punishment or a breaking of spirit. Either way, neither one was working as she grew angrier by the day, plotting revenge by the night. At least, Ofelia fought to keep that mentality. What other option was there for her? Be in whole submission to her father's murderer? Possibly her mother's also?
She wondered about her mother. She had not been slain when Ofelia laid eyes on her last, but upon seeing how the villages were dealt with she feared that she was now lying face down in the dirt. She clenched her jaw.
She also wondered how much further this small legion of men could possibly travel. Were they sent from a larger army, or were they simply raiders expanding a kingdom of their own? She guessed that this was only the start of their journey. Her thoughts were interrupted as she tripped over a rock.
"Ah, young girl,", A man cackled from behind her, "Don't you know? Let thy step be slow and steady, that thou stumble not."
His accomplices chortled with him. She huffed.
"But Brock,", another interrupted, "She already steps as slow as poor George over here."
"Hey!", George called out.
The men laughed, and Ofelia grew in rage, throwing herself against her ropes as she had done a countless number of times before.
The men continued to laugh at her, so she grunted in frustration, pulling at the horse. It whinnied as if to add to her frustration.
"Oh, you fiery spirit.", The first voice, Brock, chuckled, "How long do you give her, young George?"
George quietly sniggered, "... Without intervention from Sir Knightley?"
The small crowd chuckled, "Say with his intervention."
George huffed, "Look at him... a night... the morning by the latest."