Her feet were pounding on the wet forest floor. An arrow whizzed past her and hit a tree. Frantically she changed directions and weaved between the trunks. Despite her efforts, the next archer hit his mark and sank his arrow into the running girl’s shoulder. She stumbled, clutching the crystal globe in her arms and fell. In an attempt to protect the orb, she twisted her upper body away, hitting the ground with her side. Though this kept the ball from shattering it also upset her balance and she tumbled sideways, off the path and down the hill and into the underbrush. Somewhere along the way she hit her head and the last thing she heard before the world went black was the shattering of glass.

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Blood, everywhere. On my hands, on my legs, on the floor and the wall. Her head on my lap, voice weak: “Go, Iona. Go and be free.” Then, silence.

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