Emma .

Chapter Two- Stupid choices

Chapter Two- Stupid Choices

The alleyway was dark, smelling of musty clothing and early morning air. Shadows hung sullenly over the sparse space, and sunlight drifted lazily towards the entrance, seemingly not awake.

Readjusting her pack, Emma took a wary look around, hoping this was in fact a deserted alley. Seeing nothing, she crept cautiously to the the mouth of the alleyway, looking out over the desolate streets. A few early risers stretched as they attended pre-dawn chores, but none were paying attention to the young woman creeping in the shadows. Keeping her head low, she started off down the street, nodding to the few humans that noticed her.

It was best not to give them the impression that she was anything other than a lone traveler.

"Morning." She said huskily to a large, burly woman that passed her by, getting a smile in return.

She kept her hand close to her dagger though, just in case. It'd been a few months since her last altercation with the assassins, but you couldn't be too careful.

As she walked quickly down the street, the houses got fewer and farther apart, signalling the end of the small village.

Good. I'm almost out of town. She thought to herself, quickening her steps.

Her boots made quiet thumps on the hard packed dirt road, leaving no footprints for anyone to follow. Soon, the sun warmed her back as Emma continued along the road. Her stomach growling finally made her stop and rest, pulling a piece of bread she had "borrowed" from a cart last week.

It hadn't been difficult, the vender had been a large, heavy-set men with watery eyes and a bald head. Too interested in groping passerby to pay attention to someone plucking a large loaf from right in front of him.

Emma smiled at the memory. He had been quite upset to find his wares gone, yelling and accusing all who walked by him.

Biting into it with a grin,  she grimaced. As much fun as it has been,  it was getting stale and dry. It tasted like dirt. She'd have to find something to eat soon. All this bread was bound to make her crazy.

She finished it off with a gulp of water, standing up and brushing crumbs from her tunic. A faint rumbling sound filled the air, and listening closely, she melted back to watch from the shadows of the trees. The faint sound got steadily closer, until a hazy blob appeared in the horizon. Emma squinted, trying to make out what it could be. With widening eyes, she depcited the shape of a wagon. A slow smile formed on her lips.

Yeah. This is gonna be fun.

But that happy thought quickly died. As the wagon happened down the road,  she notjced something strange about it. It was a caravan. The wagons were plated with steel and barred windows, pulled by a team of four sweating draft horses. Frothy-white foam clung to the bristly brown and black fur of the houses necks.

Emma winced. Back in Elesia, her home country, horses were treated fairly, and heavy work was saved for oxen. Humans, apparently, didn't share those same traits.

The horses' hooves made a heavy clomping sounds as they plodded forward. Guards followed at the front, sitting regally on white horses. They bore the crest of the empire on the breastplates of their armor. The soldiers glanced cautiously around, and Emma stood as still as she could as the wagon passed. Pale hands grabbed the bars of the wagons for balance as they swayed and bumped along the rocky, uneven road. Faces peered out, eyes pleading for help even as they stared heavenward. Faint cries and wails burned themselves in Emma's ears as wagon after wagon was pulled by.

Strange. She thought. I haven't seen a prison train since the War.

A dirt cloud rose from the ground, making her eyes water even as she kept them curiously pinned to the caravan. But one thing took her notice besides the oddity of a prisoner transport. While all the other prisoners waited inside the wagons for their fate, a lone figure stumbled after them, hands tied at the wrist and then connected to the wagon . Long, white-blonde hair fell in their face. But it was obvious he was male. Even in his famished, dirty state lean shoulders were bunched with muscles. His feet and legs were long since of need of bath, and his body slumped forward.