The cloaked rider tightened the reins of the horse, trying to coax it to gallop faster. Both were tired, as they were riding through the night, attempting to put distance between themselves and their enemies. It was nearing dawn, but they had to keep going.
The rider, short and pint sized, rubbed the mare's neck, offering encouragement. The steed responded by a burst of speed, as they rode through the thicket of the forest.
This was not the place to be caught, which was why the rider was so urgent.
The clearing was just up ahead! Just a little further.
Fwooosh! Thunk!
The familiar sound of an arrow passing by and hitting a nearby tree alerted the rider.
They caught up to me. I just need to make it a little further…
The horse emerged from the edge of the wood and the open clearing awaited them. They had to trek through this clearing to the frozen wastelands of the north in order to make it to their destination: Winterfell.
The pursuit heightens.
The lone rider leans forward against the horse as another arrow shot past its head.
"That was close."
Next there was a excruciating pain radiating from the right shoulder.
The rider hissed in pain, as an arrow shot straight through the shoulder blade.
I cannot fight them like this. This is not my expertise.
One of the five riders came up to the right flank and drew a sword.
The lone rider instinctly drew the dagger from the hilt and jumped, stabbing the rider, taking both of them tumbling.
The pursuer, lay dead. The other figure slowly got up, wincing from the fall.
The cloaked figure retrieved the dagger and took the dead man's sword, preparing for the wave of the other four riders.
The riders surrounded the cloaked figure and dismounted, drawing their swords.
"Surrender yourself!"
A chuckle resonated from the cloaked figure, "And what makes you think I would do that?"
And with that, the clash of swords became the song the figure danced to, ever so smoothly, with a rhythm of a music that was long lost in the depths of winter.
A lunge, a twist, and a stab.
A quiet feint, then blood.
Only two remained before the figure.
"So, what will it be?" The figure calls, whilst panting from the exertion, "Your life or your death?"
They charged.
"So be it."
This time, the enemy did not rush so foolishly.
They managed to get a few slices and a stab to the leg, before meeting their fate in the fresh fallen snow.
The figure leaned heavily on one leg, limping towards the horse.
Soft scarlet droplets trailed the snow with every step.
With a great effort, the rider mounted the horse and rode on towards the North.
/
The dawning sun was almost beginning to peak out, when the guards noticed a distant rider approaching their gates.
As the horse grew near, the main guard noticed the rider slumped forward on the horse, almost unconscious.
The guard yelled for a healer.
As the guard ran towards the horse, the rider slid off the horse into the snow.
The figure stirred, though faintly, as the guard attempted to assist the healer.
"Need to see San-" the figure croaked before passing out again.
/