It stared back. The firelight dancing in its dark eyes added to the already terrifying visage. It was unnatural. Farha's mind ground to a halt as she looked into the creature's face...if you could call it a face. There was a primal fear that ran through her body. She couldn't tear her eyes away from that grotesque void of a mouth. Stretching open to hiss, the sight of such emptiness was too much to process.

At least it also was distracted. Now with two targets, it was moving with greater caution. It maintained a healthy distance, still dodging the occasional projectile from Edgar. How did he have the bravery to provoke it? Wasn't he horrified of drawing its attention? Farha knew she had to act, but something still held her back.

Ahven was several feet away looking for an opening. All she had to do was distract the creature long enough for a solid blow to be landed. She gripped her hilt tighter. Wait for the timing...it was slinking to the side...turning its head towards Edgar...now! With a silent yell, she dashed forward and swiped at those evil eyes. The blade connected, though shallowly, with the rough skin leaving a clear wound. Enraged, it charged towards her but she slipped to the side. As it spun around, Ahven stabbed down through its spine sending it crashing to the ground. There it lay convulsing, choking on its own blood. Only a few moments and the crisis was over.

Except, she had never moved.

No, she was still petrified and it was still circling. Ahven's limp was beginning to look worse, she didn't have time to wait. A log sailed by and clipped the creature's leg. Another perfect opening! She told her legs to move, but they refused. Again, she could see how it all played out. All of the reactions and maneuvers were clear but the opportunity had slipped away. It was charging at her now. She raised her sword and braced herself. At the last second, it jerked to the side and swiped at Ahven. Luckily, he was able to narrowly avoid the claws by deflecting them. His arms recoiled from the impact and he staggered a step to the side.

They were back to the first position. Two, well, two and a half of them, facing off against the warry beast. Farha knew this series of clashes would be their downfall. The creature was too fast in its attacks. Too elusive in its escapes. It would whittle them down over time, bleeding them out slowly. One mistake would end it all and the chances of slipping up grew exponentially the weaker they became. Something had to change, and it had to be her.

A perfect opportunity, it had even started ignoring her. Rightfully so, she hadn't moved an inch after jumping into the battlefield. She couldn't wait for another ideal opening, she had to make her own. Gritting her teeth, she leaned forward and ran at the vile beast. Rebellion! Mutiny! Her limbs continued to betray her instructions. She internally screamed at her muscles, urging them to twitch. It was of no use, she was regulated to just observation.

Oh, she could feel. There was that sinking in her gut, unfiltered rage at her inability to function, terror, loathing, despair. None of them triggered a breakthrough. She was trapped in her own body, unable to look away. She wasn't spared even that luxury. Ahven had noticed her catatonic state...what must he be thinking? Did he blame himself for not training her for these situations? Maybe she should call out, apologize for her despicable behavior. Tell him it wasn't his fault.

Except for the crackling fire, the ragged breathing, it was silent.

Clearly aware of how serious the situation was becoming, Ahven steeled himself. He took a few steps farther from Farha, drawing the creature away from the fire. They were circling each other but the maneuvering had now limited the beast's range of motion. That is, unless it wanted to pace right next to Edgar or Farha. Now, all three of them were arranged on one side, the fire at their backs.

Ahven stumbled on a loose stick and the creature pounced at the off-balance prey. It flew across the ground, eating up the distance in an instant. Ahven was moving too. He dropped to both knees causing the bright light behind him to strike right into those black eyes. At the same time, he half-turned and angled his blade upward. The beast was overcommitted to the attack, but even its partial blindness didn't disrupt its leap.

With a shout, Ahven lunged with his sword just as they connected. The resulting impact was brutal. Two bodies lay on the ground, unmoving. One had a blade running directly through its mouth, the tip poking out its back. The other had three vicious gashes down one side which were bleeding profusely. Tranquility abruptly returned to the clearing. A clear contrast to the tense battle for survival which had just taken place. It wasn't that Farha expected the grass or bugs to care, but the contrast was shocking.

With that poignant imagery, her mind finally broke free and regained control. Her sword slipped from sore fingers and she raced to the bodies. It was a gruesome sight. Heart in her throat, she pushed the creature off Ahven and almost collapsed in relief as she saw his chest rise and fall. It looked horrible. The three rivers of blood etched themselves into her mind. She willed herself to move and was even more relieved when she stood. Guilt quickly followed behind but there was no time.

A sound of ripping caused her to jump and spin around. Edgar ignored her and continued ripping a large section of his tunic.

"We've gota be right quick. 'ere, take this. Wrap the wound and keep pressure. I'll get the wagon."

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"The wagon? But we're in the middle of nowhere. How much pressure do I use? Will it-"

"Listen to me, girl! No time for questions. The encampment's his only hope. Now, tend tha' wound!"

Farha slapped herself and sprang into action. Edgar was right, there was no time for useless questions. She had to do anything she could for Ahven. If only she had acted sooner. Charged at the beast during one of those openings. No! She couldn't think about that now. Wincing, she shoved the rough cloth against the wounds and pushed down steadily.

"This is just like in training," she whispered to herself. "I've had many scratches like this, focus, this is just another painful lesson. Slow the bleeding, don't agitate it further."

Did her words of self-encouragement help? Did they relieve her of the guilt and regret? Of course not. But she was trying to let them go. Well, even that wasn't true. Ignoring them was the only option. She latched on to anything concrete to keep herself from spiraling. The warm blood seeping through her fingers...the contrasting cold air...the sharpness of the grass against her legs. But most of all, it was that movement beneath her hands. That irrefutable sign of life still crying out for the world to hear.

It was so strange how thin our connection to life really was. The only barrier, that one organ pumping away. If she took her hands away, how quickly would he die? Would it be painful? Would he even notice in this unresponsive state? Just moments ago they had been talking about air and orbs. How was existence so fleeting? Would it be the same for her? One day suddenly flipping from normality to...nothingness?

"Farha." The soft tone nudged her back to reality.

"I'm using pressure like you said."

"We need to lift him up and in."

She had been oblivious to more than she realized. The wagon was right next to her, the horses pawing at the ground nearby. Why didn't the creature go after them?

"Steady. Grab the legs."

Ahven was far from light but they managed to hoist him into the back without more jostling than was absolutely necessary. Edgar snatched a couple of loose shirts from a sack and inspected Ahven's side. Farha didn't like his expression.

"How bad is it?"

"Not good, we must hurry."

He reached down and wrapped the cloth underneath Ahven, then up and over his chest. Holding his hands up, he stared down at the red stains. Shaking his head, he looked around their ruined campsite.

"Put out the fire an' grab what ya can."

Jumping down, he grabbed a few unlit torches and jogged to the fire. Farha followed along behind. As soon as he had lit a torch, she kicked dirt over the burning logs and scattered it as best she could. Sprinting back and forth, she tossed the bedrolls and cooking utensils into the wagon and turned to run back for the blankets.

Edgar already had the reins in one hand, a torch in the other. He was holding the light out behind him, but it was still difficult to see more than a few dozen feet in the darkness.

"Just had to be a new moon."

Running back with the last of their belongings, Farha jumped into the back. Ahven's still body sent a shiver down her spine right as the wagon lurched into motion. The bumping over the uneven ground sent Farha tumbling around but she managed to hang on. It was smoother on the road, but upon reaching it, Edgar urged the horses to increase speed. The bumping returned...he cracked the reins again. They were hurtling down the mountainside.

The incline was more gradual on this side but one wrong turn or errant stone and it would all be for naught. Farha was almost glad for the darkness. It was harder to fear what you couldn't see. What occupied her full vision instead was the pale face of Ahven. All the movement had agitated his wounds and they were heavily bleeding again.

Bracing one foot against the lip at the rear, she crouched down and continued to apply pressure. It was surreal. She could feel their momentum, their speed. Besides the risk of flying off an unseen cliff...which was higher than she wanted to admit...they were safe. She regretted the thought as soon as it formed. How dare she think that? Ahven was in the process of dying in front of her eyes and she was concerned with safety?

Shutting down her thoughts, she let the panting of the horses and rumbling of the wooden wheels drown out everything else. Fully focused on Ahven's condition, she let the miles blur past. On and on they rolled. Twice she had felt the wagon lose grip and begin sliding sideways but she refused to look. Her sole purpose was applying pressure. Was he growing paler? Was it just the torchlight and her bleary eyes? All she could do was her best.

Drowsiness tore at her but she withstood. Waves of emotions battered at her walls but she ignored them. Exhaustion reached the marrow of her bones but she didn't care. None of it could matter. She wouldn't lose control this time. Never again.

The night was long. It felt longer.

They rushed past trees, the branches whipping their faces in protest. Through small meadows, across streams, up hills. The horses were flagging now. They pushed on anyway. Past a lake, the commotion of their marathon sending birds into flight. Edgar lit a new torch and tossed the used one to the side. He did that several times...Farha lost count.

Far later, though a small valley. A new road, better maintained. Across a bridge, the horse's hooves clattering in syncopated rhythm as they limped along. Eventually, the wagon slowed. With bloodshot eyes, Farha looked up for the first time in hours.

Deep purple had crept into the sky. Impossible, had it only been one night? A walled encampment stood before them, two guards standing at the gate. A shouted command rang out.

"Halt the wagon!"

Farha heard the words but before she could process them she was already falling. Her head thudded on the rough floorboards, her eyelids fell shut.