orion

At that moment, my gut instinct and my head were in dire conflict. I decided, thankfully, to listen to my head, as every instinct in my body told me to run. If I had chosen to run, I would have found myself dead. Very dead. For now, though, I had survived. I could tell this from the incredible rate at which my heart was beating, and from the way my eyes darted sideways at the sound of a bird in the leaves. I was motionless, like a solitary hawk as it sees its prey.

In fact, this situation was the opposite; I was the prey. The hawk, whose name I did not know but whose musty, metallic scent I could almost taste, was armed with a .44 rifle, whose heavy footfalls I could feel through every nerve in my body, like the dull thump one hears as a shot bird falls lifeless to the ground, flying free no more. This image hit a little too hard, given the current circumstances.

At this point, in a life-or-death situation, the brain does some strange things. The neck tenses. Every part of the body tenses, coiled like a spring. The 'fight or flight' mode is active. These were all thoughts that came to me later as I tried to remember that moment, for it truly was a split-second moment. It had felt like a lifetime.

I could see my shallow breaths hanging in the air in this sub-zero climate. Facing skywards, I took what could have been my final glimpse of the sky, and I lost myself for a moment as I gazed at the snow-covered, deep green cedar trees. The evening sun drifted lazily below the mountain peaks on the breath-taking horizon. A few constellations were just visible, the stars blinking, pinpricks of light scattered on an inky-blue sky. Grey, tired-looking clouds observed the scene below them, motionless.

In another, lower-altitude area in the mountains, a small group of ragged and exhausted people huddled together in their tent. Inside the tent, it was snug, but the atmosphere was laden with a chill. A group of three elderly women, with coarse, coal-black hair, sat around a map, a compass and food supplies, as well as a fair quantity of weapons. Knives with knitted sheaths and thick fabric handles, their blades glinting with calm determination. Small arrows, roughly put together, lay in a bundle beside them. At the far edge of the tent was a young man hunched over an ornately carved case. It lay next to a pile of blankets - obviously intended for an inhabitant to rest there. The man arranged some small clothes, belonging to his young brother, and the boy's few precious belongings - his photos, his drawings, a bracelet. He gently ran his finger over the roughly cut, wooden beads, and traced the markings scratched into the painted surface. Maybe they spelled a word, but he wasn't sure. He didn't recognise the language.

The elders of the group, wrapped in their thick furs and feathers, looked grim. Their furrowed foreheads creased into frowns, and paint was smeared over their leathery skin. They had foreseen this situation in the previous night's stars, and the others knew, too. No one dared to say it, but the marked absence of the girl and the young boy hung gloomily over them all. The members of the group watched despondently for the return of their youngest fighters.

Each of them knew that it was unlikely the brother would return. He was too young for this war. He was desperate to keep the girl safe, and only feared for the life of Alyisha, who had taken him under her wing from the very beginning; before the snipers had arrived, before the four bodies of power had clashed - even before the group had made themselves known opposers of the Syktallør. The elders, the young warriors and the older brother knew he would attempt to track down the assassin. Upon this realisation, when the boy had first been declared missing, a grim, pained look had picked its way across the man's face, with red flushes of heat in his pale cheeks. All they could do was wait for the two children to return, and with raw desperation he secretly begged that it would be his own brother running back to their camp.

•

All was silent.

From beyond my tree cover, I listened for footsteps, and suddenly felt the pounding of heavy boots against hard surface shudder through me. They were coming ever closer to my hiding place. My breath caught in my throat. My heart beat faster than I thought possible. I knew my cover was good - I stood behind a small but thickset cedar tree behind an inconspicuous wooden shed. I could see him from where I stood. I could take him. I felt adrenaline rushing through my veins.

Was that another movement?

A pair of eyes blinked at me from behind where the assassin stood. Ghadaris. William's brother. He had followed me out from the escape. I thought he had gone with the rest of the group to safety. I couldn't have rested easy knowing the assassin was on the run – apparently, he couldn't rest easy either knowing I was in danger.

He looked straight at me, and I at him.

Suddenly, his hand shifted to his holster. No – it was his brother's.

I knew what he was about to do

I couldn't let him -

Someone pulled their gun faster

A shot rang out

It hit.

•

It was snowing, now. As I sit here, staring again at the cedar trees in the soft twilight, the eyes will blink no more. They will not crinkle with laughter or fill with pain. The blue-grey eyes, glassy, bright and clear, now lay peacefully open. Their owner rested heavily in the forest clearing, and the eyes looked up at the evening sky, reflecting its slowly twinkling stars.