A/N- Sorry I am late. I had papers due this week. But I heard your cries of "Nay" from Twilands, dear readers...


Chapter Seven:

Sir James panted and pressed his body against the tree. It was all for naught.

That damned child was fated to be his, and now...

He hadn't understood what had happened. One moment he was prepared to take his prey, and the next, he and his men were shot like swine.

He had crawled to the nearest isolated tree, with an arrow sparred into his back. Gritting his teeth, he pulled it out, savoring the burn from the pointed weapon.

I shall search beyond the river and through the forests for whomever did this, he thought, and I shall make them beg for their life!

Wrapping his wound with the linen from his hidden sack, he coughed and glanced outward at the vast terrain. Aside from the armor on his back, he had nothing. No food, no weapons, no means. He already knew none of his brothers had not survived. Even hidden amongst the bush, he could smell the smoke and ash.

He couldn't stay here for long. Barbaric nomads would trample these woods, eating his body bit by bit. Thats if the Beasts of the Night didn't find him first.

He longed to make a fire for warmth, but the pain seeping into back meant he wouldn't have the strength to even gather the kindling.

Instead, Sir James held the arrow in his hands, and closed his eyes, resting his head against the foilage under the darkened sky.

One arrow, he reasoned. To plunge that of the girl, to kill whomever murdered his comrades, and lastly, for Lord Edward.

He would cut the throat of e'ery one, for he blamed them all for the position he was in.

The War of the Era might have been done, but the battle...

'Tis not over, Sir James brooded savagely. 'Tis not over by far.