Way of Tyrants and Snakes

III | Village

   Lyrael crouched on the outskirts of the clearing before her, about fifty feet away from the Border. Still, she felt nothing. The section of the Border she was near was smack in the middle of a large clearing and originally, she wanted to cross it beneath the cover of trees, but she would have to travel a few miles north and she didn't have time for that.
     Anwel's trail was fading every minute, being blown in different directions by the wind.
     She had limited time.
     Slowly, she began walking toward the invisible barrier.
     As soon as she stepped across the Border, a wave of pressure gripped her abdomen, like something was wrapped around her waist and it was being pulled from the other end. With each step she took, the pressure intensified, steadily building within her. Ten feet beyond it, a jarring snap reverberated through her mind, causing a sharp slice of pain in her chest.
     The unbearable pressure surged, overwhelming her senses.
     Power washed over her and forced her to her knees.
     Heat ignited in her chest, like dry timber caught on fire. Images began pouring into her mind, each image only lasting a fraction of a second before flicking to a new one.
     A figure clad in white robes standing on the balcony of a tall tower, their mouth open, as if they were speaking.
     An Elven woman with gray-pink hair wearing a golden crown, sobbing over what seemed to be a still child, her cheeks stained with tears.
     A human woman with brown hair, clutching a small bundle to her chest as she darted through trees.
     A man, who looked awfully familiar from behind, digging a grave in the middle of fall.
     Another figure, this one wearing a black cloak, kneeling on a hill before a beautiful kingdom, a bright white castle standing proudly in the distance.
     And finally, a human man—no, an Elf—with pointed ears and emerald eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the mist-laden forest that towered behind him. He was the most beautiful creature      Lyrael had ever seen. And he was holding a sword aimed toward her, Elven script embedded along its sharp blade.
     Nothing else followed.
     Lyrael crumpled to the ground and disappeared into the tall, withering grass.

⋆˙⟡ ☾ 𖤓 ☽ ⟡˙⋆

     "Tay, look!" a small, squeaky voice yelled, waking Lyrael with a gentle start. Her eyes fluttered open and her hand came up to block the afternoon sun from her eyes. She turned her head and her gaze fell upon a child that squatted over her.
     A child with pointed ears.
     A child with sharp, violet eyes that almost seemed to glow.
     A child with long, golden blonde hair that shimmered pink in the sunlight.
     Elves.
     "No, please!" Lyrael begged loudly as she scrambled backward in the grass. "Please don't hurt me!"
     "Yuna!" The boy hissed and the young girl squealed, running away to hide behind who Lyrael assumed was her brother. He was an older boy, maybe eight or nine, with pointed ears and black hair, which had a red shimmer to it. His eyes were so dark, they almost looked black.
     "What are you doing in our field, miss?" the boy mumbled and tilted his head to the side. Lyrael just stared, waiting for them to attack her. But the pair just stared back.
     Why aren't they attacking? Lyrael's mind whirled with confusion. They should be attacking me.
     Lyrael didn't question it.
     She stood.
     And she ran.
     "Miss?" the boy called after her, concern laced in his small voice. "Miss!"
     Her legs pumped beneath her, her bag banging against her back with each stride. Memories came rushing back to her. Crossing the Border, the tug on her abdomen, the sharp snap within her mind, the rush of power, and the images that flashed before her eyes.
     She ran until she was under the cover of trees, the sound of her footsteps blending with the rustle of leaves. A voice in her head just kept screaming one word, repeatedly.
     Run. Run. Run.
     Lyrael's foot snagged on a root, and she slammed to the ground with a thud. She instinctively threw her arms up to shield her face and grimaced as rocks and twigs bit into the skin of her palms. The wind was knocked from her lungs when her back slammed into a tree; she struggled to inhale, the scent of damp soil filling her nostrils.
     The weight of her body pressed against the coolness of the ground beneath the towering oak trees, while her bow dug uncomfortably into her shoulder blades, a constant reminder of her misstep.
     Rays of sunlight danced through the foliage above her, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. For a minute, the temptation to just lie there forever until she returned to talahm overwhelmed her. That was, until the familiar sound of a bustling village market reached her ears. Shopkeepers shouted about their various wares, trying to draw people to their stalls or shops.
     She sat up slowly and looked at her palms, at the small stones and splinted embedded into her skin. When she finished plucking and cleaning her palms, she stood and began walking toward the village.
     It didn't take her long to find it. She weaved through some trees until she found herself at the cusp of a villager, which looked slightly larger than her village across the Border. It was busy, and unfortunately for her, was full of Elves.
     Everywhere she looked, there were Elves. Elves with varying shades of color in their hair. Some with blonde-purple hair, some with black-green hair, some with brown-orange hair. She reached up and pulled up the hood of her cloak, hoping the villagers wouldn't notice the difference in their hair.
     Or their ears.