A Dash of Blue

In which a dagger returns to its owner

          I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.

                                                                          Neil Gaiman

Her breath was ragged, her feet barely touched the ground as she ran.

Saia pushed herself to the limit, she needed to go faster. Her pursuers were still behind her, she could hear them as they thrashed through the underground. One foot in front of the other. Faster.

The right side of her shirt was drenched in blood. One of them had managed to hit her before she had gathered her bag and run. She had pulled out the dagger, she had to. The bleeding had intensified, but at least now she moved faster and more smoothly without a dagger protruding from her collarbone.

The forest was a blur around her, the trees had thinned out and above it the blue sky peeked between the branches.

Soon Saia would be out of the forest and in shooting distance of arrows. She would have nowhere to hide. She scanned her surroundings as she ran. She didn't have much time, she estimated them to be less than 20 meters behind her.

Finally, she saw it. Her saving grace. It was a relatively thick branch low enough to the ground. She wasted no time swing herself up upon it, and quickly climbed further up. Her shirt was drenched red, but she had managed the climb without leaving eye catching evidence of a blood trail.

Saia sat perched high in the tree when the first man came racing out from the underground. He was black haired and lean. His nostrils were slightly dilated. She sighed they send a Trackdog. How original. The other pursuers stumbled out after him, seemingly surprised at his sudden halt.

She cursed, they stood directly beneath her tree. There were four of them. The Tracker, a blonde haired giant, a lean, black guy and a sneering red-headed one.

"Where is she?", Gingers voice was a growl, almost beastly. She held her breath, but nobody answered him.

"Well, where is she?" He sneered again, "and why did we stop?"

"Her scent, it disappeared" The trackdog talked slowly and so low, it was nearly inaudible.

"I can't smell anything beyond this point" She couldn't believe her ears. Were they stupid enough not to look up?

"So, you suggest she vanished into thin air?" Sarcasm dripped from every word out of Ginger's mouth.

The answer was low, dangerous. "No"

"Shapeshifter?" This time it was the black guy who spoke.

"No, she would still leave a scent. Unless-" The tracker looked up. His baby blue eyes found hers. Gotcha.

"You wanna come down here, doll?" His voice had risen, he was talking to her. Saia sighed. With a silent prayer that the jump wouldn't worsen her wound, she lowered herself down on a branch and let go.

The fall was long, and she stumbled when she landed. With the tree behind her she faced pursuers.

And so the lion meets its prey. She knew how she must have looked in their eyes, a slight girl - too thin and too small to pose a threat. Her black hair was a mess, it had been a long time since it had been cared for. Her clothes were rags, and the two cloths covering her forearms like bandages were bloody. Her skin was covered in dirt and her feet bare on the cold forest ground.

The tracker spoke, "the way I see this you've got a choice. You can cooperate with us otherwise we will do this the hard way."

She stayed silent and assessed him. He looked hardly older than her, but then again looks had a way of deceiving. When she herself had stepped out of that cellar her looks had aged many years. Not that it mattered.