The wind blew her hair out of her eyes, creating waves in the grass and across her soul. Goosebumps rose on her arms as the destruction spread out below her. The ground was black, the tents were ripped to shreds, and bodies were littered over the ground. Emlyn sheathed her sword into the scabbard as she wiped tears from her eyes. The clan was dead. All of them. She caught her hair at the base of her neck and tied it with a leather thong. No matter, she thought, I will avenge them. Their deaths will not go forgotten. She swung around, climbed onto her horse and rode down to the valley.
Dismounting, Emlyn walked through the tents, stepped over bodies, and skirted fires, looking for her family. Approaching the middle of the encampment, she recognized her father's colors, surprisingly intact with a letter attached to the pole. Her family was nowhere in sight. Instead, a pile of ashes drew her eyes to the center of where the tent would have been. Anger immediately flooded her veins. How dare someone attempt to provoke her through the deaths of dozens of innocent people? She stalked to the pole, ripped off the letter, and unrolled it. She turned to block the parchment from the wind as she scanned the sacrilegious words.
Lady –
Do not doubt that your refusal to comply to my wishes wasn't the cause of your clan's death. You now have no one to care for you. No one will welcome you now that you have defied me. I won't have it and the people won't let it happen. It is futile to run. However, I am still willing to allow you to live under my protection. You need only come to me. I have men watching you. The moment you cease your reading, they will escort you to my fortress. Do not resist.
Your Laird1
"You are not my laird, you despicable creature. You will rue the day you dared to evoke my anger." Emlyn looked up, searched the woods for Laird Bonenffant's men. She spotted them, crouching in the trees, watching her reading her fate. "I will not conform to your laird!" She shouted at them. Before they could react, she whistled, her horse swiftly coming to her. As it continued to gallop, she swung into the saddle, drawing her sword and hoping for a miracle. She was only gone for an hour this morning, scouting ahead and bartering for milk for the children. The milk jug now banged against her leg as she raced into the woods, veering from the main road and plunging into a wilderness of chaos. Bonenffant's men were closing the distance between them, their horses naturally faster than her own tired mount. "Come on, girl, I only need you to get me to the hills. We both know they won't catch us in there." She felt the brush of an arrow against her shoulder, slicing her cloak and scratching the skin. Her horse began slowing down, the physical exertion too much for the old girl to bear. With a cry, she reined in and dismounted. "I'm sorry, girl, but I won't allow those men to get a hold of you." Emlyn grasped her sword in both hands and plunged it through her faithful mount's head. Pulling it free, she sheathed it and turned back to her pursuers. They fanned out in a semicircle around Emlyn. She lifted her chin in proud defiance as her pursuers closed in. "I told you before, I will not proclaim allegiance to a barbaric fool like Bonenffant. You will kill me first." She turned back to the forest, darting into the trees before they could reach her. Expletives issued from the mouths of the soldiers as they reined in before the forest.
She ran. She ran until her legs ached, her lungs burned, and the tears could no longer be held back. Emlyn collapsed beneath a towering oak, sobbing her sorrow. The forest quietly soothed her rattled state as she surveyed the area behind her, searching for signs of pursuit. Not noticing any, she staggered to her feet. She could no longer trust the surrounding villages for protection. There wasn't any way to tell whether or not Bonenffant controlled them or not. She looked around again, gathering her bearings.
"If memory serves me correctly, there should be a cave near here. But, if there is a cave that means Bonenffant will know of it as well. He will most likely send men there, so I need somewhere else to hide for the remaining daylight hours. But where? I don't know of anywhere that wouldn't be vulnerable to discovery." Emlyn glanced around again. She looked up, pleading to whatever higher power existed and noticed the oak's ample foliage. "Of course, 'The forest will always protect those who seek honestly'. I'd say I'm honest enough. Please, great forest, hear my cry. Protect me from the eyes of my pursuers so that I might avenge my family one day." The forest she escaped into was none other than the Great Forest of the Old Age, the age in which magic and supernatural powers were alive and strong. This forest was one of the last "magical strongholds" on earth; one of the last places magic was still evident. If the forest wanted her to be protected, it didn't matter where she was, she would not be captured tonight. She reached up and grasped the highest branch within her reach. Swinging up into the tree, she climbed until she found a relatively high large branch. She straddled it and leaned back against the trunk, rolling her neck in an effort to relax. Her sword pulled against her right side, causing her to be thrown slightly off-balance. She carefully unhooked it and pulled it from her waist. Hanging it from the branch above her, she swept the landscape with her eyes.
1 – Laird means landowner. It was commonly used in the Highlander's culture.