Lifiel sighed as the wagon slowly rolled down the road, pulled by two plodding horses. Her father was up front manning the reins, leading their little caravan of carts and wagons up the road to the city of Dorn for the Blossom Festival. It would be Lifiel's first time seeing the great tree blossom, and her father, Lirien, was adamant that she come along with the caravan to take part in the festivities.

Originally, Lifiel had been ecstatic to go and see the Blossom Festival; it would be her first time leaving her family's ancestral forest home to see the world beyond. She had been aching to see what was beyond the forest for over a hundred years, since she was born, and now she finally got to.

Unfortunately, much of what she experienced up until now were dusty roads and more trees. It was more boring than the young elf had expected. Intellectually, she knew the festival would be amazing; there would be people from all over the land coming to Dorn to watch the great tree bloom, and bathe in the perfumed petals that fell daily from its leaves for several weeks, and that she would get to meet all other kinds of elves, dwarves, humans, and even demi-humans. She knew that would be an amazing experience, but the longer the road dragged on the more she just wanted to curl up in the back of the wagon and nap until they reached the city.

"Are we there yet?" Lifiel called to her father at the front of the wagon, irritated and impatient.

Lirien chuckled, his pointed ears twitching at the sound of his daughter's voice before he shifted his grip on the reins to one hand just so he could stroke at his blonde goatee.

"I'd wager we've got another three days before we get to Dorn." He said. "You really should be more patient, the city isn't going anywhere and we're going at a pretty decent pace. If we go any faster the horses will tire out and we'll end up taking longer to get there, you know." He pointed out.

Lifiel felt like she wanted to exhale her soul as she slumped in the back of the wagon.

Three more days of utter boredom on the road. She was already at the point where she thought she couldn't take it anymore, as it were. The last person they had met along the journey was an old dwarf who didn't seem to want to make much conversation with 'a bunch of prissy elves' when his cart passed their caravan.

"Honestly, Lifiel, you're over a hundred, you should have a little more patience by now, a few days are barely a drop in the bucket for us when you have so much longer ahead of you." Lirien said, more amused at his daughter's impatience than annoyed.

"Then again I suppose I can understand. When I was your age I wanted to see the world outside of the forest too." He kept on talking. Lifiel wasn't quite in the mood to hear one of her father's stories from his youth, though, but she knew what was about to come and grit her teeth as she geared up to hear a tale from 'the old times'.

The story never came.

There was a soft whistle, and when Lifiel looked up again, her father was flopped over, collapsed across the driver's seat of the cart, groaning in pain.

"Father!" Lifiel cried out, confused and suddenly scared as she clambered out of the back of the wagon and into the driver's seat with her father, taking the reins and tugging them to stop the horses. But the horses didn't stop; something was spooking them and they continued to plod along, subtly picking up their pace to try and escape the source of their perceived anxiety.

Lifiel tugged the reins harder, urging the horses to stop slowly, before she cried out again. Something whizzed by her face, cutting her cheek as she jerked her head aside. Warm blood trickled from the open cut on her face and she brought a hand to the cut only to stare down in confusion and fear at the sticky liquid crimson that came away on her fingers when she stared down into her palm.

The rest of the caravan behind them rolled to a halt, and there were confused calls from the drivers behind them, but Lifiel had no answer to give them as she rolled her father onto his back.

"We need to go..." Lirien huffed at her, clearly in pain from the arrow embedded in his shoulder that was soaking his cloak red. Lifiel stared at her father and his injury in horror and turned her head to see the arrow embedded in the wagon that had just missed her head mere seconds before.

"What... Who...? Why?" She asked, voice trembling as fear and indecision gripped her heart.

A cry of pain came from the cart behind, and when Lifiel glanced back she saw the driver slump out of his seat with another arrow embedded in his chest. He collapsed to the ground in a heap and didn't move after that.

That was when the trees rustled, and Lifiel heard the laughter that came from the tree line. Throaty, gurgling, low rumbles of dark amusement and malice filled the air as several figures in ragged hides and furs emerged, wielding crude bows and axes. The sight of their pig-like snouted faces and bright pink skin sent a thrill of terror running through Lifiel.

Lifiel had only heard stories of orcs as bedside fairy tales and stories told to keep her in line when she was in her fifties. To actually see them now, attacking her family, friends, and their caravan was like a cold splash of water to her face or an ice cube running down the back of her shirt, she had never once thought she would ever truly encounter such creatures. And yet here they were snuffling and snorting at her, leering and scowling as they started to approach, malicious intent glittering in their beady eyes.

"N-no..." Lifiel whimpered. She wanted to crawl into the back of the wagon and hide; she wanted to curl up in her bedroll and close her eyes tightly and pretend she was somewhere- anywhere- else. Maybe, she thought, that she was dreaming, and if she crawled back into her bedroll she would wake up, the monsters would be gone, and her father would be alright.

She was wrong. Before she could move another arrow whizzed through the air and Lifiel cried out in pain as a sharp, cold, sensation embedded itself in her arm. She jerked away, letting go of the reins, but before the horses could panic and run another arrow caught one in the neck and brought it down. The other horse screamed, but try as it might to make a break for it the weight of its partner kept it from taking the wagon very far.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

By the time Lifiel looked up again, clutching her bleeding arm, bewildered by the pain, one of the orcs was already upon her, its rusty, poorly made, axe raised high and poised to strike a blow that would kill both her and her father in one swoop. She shut her eyes tightly and whimpered, waiting for death...

But death didn't come for Lifiel.

And when the blow that would have slain her never came down for just a bit too long, she peeked one eye open. She opened her eye just in time for something warm, sticky, and nasty smelling to splash her in the face, making her recoil and sputter. But the orc's weapon arm lowered slowly. With a wet gurgle and sigh the monster collapsed to its knees, and she had to surmise that this was most likely thanks to the point of the bloody blade that was peeking out from the creature's chest through its ribs.

"Wh... What?" She whispered as the first orc toppled to the dirt, a pool of blood starting to rapidly form in the muddy road beneath it.

The hooded figure that had just saved her life swiped the air once with their long sword, sending a splatter of blood to the ground as they whirled around to face the other orcs, which were approaching much more cautiously now. It was one against at least six or seven, and the orcs were sure of their numbers and tactics against a single armed foe.

The hooded figure barely flinched as an arrow came streaking at them, instead, their free hand snapped up and snatched the crude arrow right out of the air just scant inches from their chest with reflexes that were utterly inhuman.

"Deal with the archers." The figure said to someone Lifiel couldn't see with a soft, almost girlish voice, before they suddenly darted forward. Their speed was like nothing Lifiel had ever seen before as they broke into a sprint that carried them into the orc's midst. Steel sang out, ringing loudly as blade clashed against rusted axe. The hooded girl's long sword batted aside blow after blow, parrying strikes aside with an ease that made the orcs seem completely laughable and unskilled by comparison.

They were.

Another series of whistling noises sounded out and Lifiel whimpered as she ducked her head to avoid getting hit by another arrow. But nothing came for her.

One eye peeked open and she saw a second figure, up in a nearby tree, clad in leathers and a bear-skin cloak, wielding a well made bow. In the next second three more orcs that Lifiel hadn't seen in the trees collapsed gasping as they dropped their bows to clutch at the arrows embedded dead center mass in their bodies, before they hit the ground and lay still.

"Don't tell me what to do, dumb cat!" The figure up in the tree snapped as she took aim again.

This time, she fired into the melee; The arrow shrieked through the air, whipping by the swordswoman's shoulder and one of the orcs took it in its side with a wheeze. The hooded figure capitalized on the sudden shock and injury, deflecting another axe that would have taken her head off and in the same swing removed the injured orc's head from his shoulders.

The swordswoman paid absolutely no mind to the fact that her ally could have hit her, the pair simply worked with a coordination that frankly frightened Lifiel more than the orcs as three more arrows sang through the air. These shots weren't aimed to kill. They were intended to stun, injure, and shock the beasts, giving the swordswoman the opening she needed to put them down one by one, and she took each opportunity given to her to drop another orc with a lethal efficiency that was beyond horrifying.

Lifiel had seen her father with his sword. His daily training with the other men was something to watch. She had been told, before, that no one was as graceful as a well trained elf with a blade. She used to love watching her father practice daily in the old ways of the sword that had been passed down for generations from the teachings of ancient elves and even more ancient scrolls.

This swordswoman was on a level that made everything she had ever seen seem... Childish in comparison.

She could only look on as the pair made quick work of the smaller orcs. That just left the biggest, and nastiest of their number, and the swordswoman deftly ducked under a wild swing of the beast's two-handed axe. The orc's size and strength was such that she risked breaking her arm or her blade if she parried that hefty weapon, and the pink-skinned monstrosity casually ignored the four arrows that suddenly found their way into his chest and shoulders. For a moment the pair were in a deadlock, the orc unable to squash the hooded swordswoman, and the swordswoman unable to land a blow of her own as she focused on avoiding being cleaved in two. She took several smooth steps backwards to give herself some breathing room and the orc took it as a sign of weakness, as a sign of fear...

It snarled, leering at the swordswoman as she shifted her footing and adjusted her stance, holding her blade in a guard to her side, parallel to her body and perpendicular to the ground.

Lifiel's eyes widened. She recognized the stance. It was a slightly altered form of the Flowing Water stance, one that she had seen her father use in a duel once, back when she was in her thirties.

Instinctively, Lifiel felt like she was watching a kind of apex predator bringing down some utterly helpless prey. She knew that this fight was over. Intellectually she was stunned that someone could know an ancient elven style that had been passed down her clan for countless generations. She watched with bated breath as the orc howled and poised his axe to strike. The swordswoman held her ground...

It was at the last possible second that the soft whine of steel ringing against crude iron could be heard as the hooded swordswoman's blade whispered against the axe as it came down, smoothly turning aside the blow by using the orc's own force and strength against him with minimal strength from the sword wielder.

There was a howl of pain that followed immediately after as the orc's arms and axe landed in the mud, the stunned beast staring down as the stumps where his arms used to be sprayed blood everywhere.

With an almost casual flick of her blade, the hooded swordswoman opened the orc's throat and stomach in two quick and smooth swipes, felling the beast with that same brutal and graceful efficiency that terrified Lifiel on a level she couldn't quite understand.

"That's the last of them. I don't see anymore." The girl in the trees called down as she dropped from the branch and landed on the ground smoothly, boots barely making a sound or splatter in the mud.

"Too bad." The hooded swordswoman said with a sigh as she flicked the blood off her blade and sheathed it at her hip. Her shoulders sagged.

"I mean good that there aren't any more. But I was just starting to get warmed up." The swordswoman said.

. o O (Too bad? Just starting to warm up? What kind of killing machine is this person?) Lifiel thought to herself, staring at the pair.

Slowly the swordswoman tugged her hood down, short dark hair spilling free as the fuzzy feline ears of a demi-human poked up from the top of her head. Lifiel did some quick math in her head; the girl looked to be maybe about sixteen or seventeen years in human years. But then, icy blue eyes suddenly turned on her, and she felt more scared of the swordswoman now than she did of the orcs, just mere moments ago. Those eyes were far older than even the oldest elf Liriel had ever met.

"Dumb cat!" The bear-cloaked archer snapped. "You scared the elves out of their wits! We were hoping to catch a ride with them to Dorn!"

"... Oops? Sorry?" The catgirl said, rubbing at the back of her neck, sheepishly.

The catgirl frowned as her ageless eyes turned to face Liriel, and Liriel cowered in place as she approached.

"Hey. Listen. About what just happened." The catgirl started to speak. By now, Liriel's father had managed to sit himself up, and the bear-cloaked archer approached to help him deal with the arrow embedded in his arm.

"Look... Suvdaa and I need a ride to Dorn, with as few questions asked as possible. Mind if we hitch a ride? We can deal with any orcs or goblins or bandits that might pop out of the side of the road, for as long as we're with you." The catgirl said in a tired tone.

Lirien and Liriel could only nod in numb bewilderment and terror.