Heya! Finally convinced that I had to write! I'm sooo sorry. I don't know. Writing isn't coming as easily now. But if I give up now I'll never finish this. And there's only. . . wow, a couple of chapters to go. And I apologize in advance if this is short, but I don't have much to go. I'm just wrapping it up now.
Guest: Yep, whoever you are, you're the one who finally convinced me, simply cuz you
made me feel like slime for quitting.
Jezebel: I know. . . she is naïve, isn't she? Poor thing. . . Haha thanks so much for the
compliment, I'll try my best to write up to it.
Dilemma: Yep, you made me feel like slime too for being so nice while I was playing the
lazy pig.: ). I guess I'll have to thank you for that. So thanks!
Kathleen McCrory: Why is everyone making me feel so lazy : )! Haha probably cuz I am.
Thanks for the review! Pleaaaaaaase continue!
Anduin: My first flaming. . . I don't know why I'm laughing. Not at you, Just at the fact
that. . . I got my first flaming! Now I really am no longer new! Haha: ). Hm. . . I've already apologized about the shower, but I'm not going to redo that chapter, sorry, cuz I save all my chapters over previous ones. Daëmor. . . Well, I never said that he does not sweat. Frankly, the picture I have of Daëmor is a toweringly tall, emaciated-looking beast with blood-red eyes, a foaming mouth, burning hot and very sweaty. I think he needs electrolytes. He may not 'colic with the drop of a hair', but not all well bred competition horses do that, either. Even ponies can be fed on those foods. As for Maie, well you'll have to remember that she is only eleven or twelve. She is going to have trouble with the feed bins, and the hay. She doesn't mount Daëmor; remember in Arrows of the Queen, how Rolan gets Talia on board? Exactly. Aie, this is a really long review reply thing. I do hope you enjoy the story otherwise. : ) no offense taken?
Bookwyrmk: Yay! sigh, it's nice to feel appreciated: ).
Tessabe: Thank you so much for your understanding and all your reviews! But Daëmor
isn't really a companion, remember? Or not in that sense. But yes, you made me
feel like a lazy thing and got my butt up and working again: ). I'll be better : ).
Icekube: Hey: )! Horse riding's the best thing on earth: ). Of course, since someone I
know fell off the other day. . . : ).
Dolphingirl32173: Yay it's you again! Oooh, I hate to disappoint you. . . but it seems as
if she does. . . mwahahahahaha! But honestly I don't like it much either.
Wizard116: Thank you, thank you. I've been meaning to read your When I Toll but I
haven't been on the net for such a long time! I'll catch up on it, though!
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She ran.
She ran further than she had ever been, further than she had ever dared to go. There could be wyrsa. There could be colddrakes. She didn't care. How could she care?
Tears blocked her vision and her heart pounded violently. She smelt fear, and knew it was from herself. The back, little section of her brain that still was able to process told her it was from herself. And still she ran.
They say that animals can sense fear. That predators are drawn to the sharp, tangy scent of horror. That may be, and yet none came. The forest was silent but for her heavy footsteps and the laughing, laughing wind.
And still she ran.
She didn't care about the Queen, not anymore, nor about Valdemar. She abandoned duty when she ran, abandoned honor and pride and fight. Yet she didn't care. But how could she care?
Is it not too much to ask of one? That her soul be damned forever? That she stay forever in torment? That she have no relief after death? The wind whistled, and the wind whispered, and she thought maybe she saw the little wisps of the souls of the past, she thought maybe she saw herself, crumpled and ruined, in it.
To have nothing; no memories, no joy, no soul. It was too much to ask of her. It is too much to ask of anyone.
She hadn't a mirror and so could not see her reflection. It was probably for the better. The dark brown of her eyes had shifted into a deep, dark ebony. Her hair had never been neat, yet it had never been this unkempt mess of tangles it was now. She hadn't combed it for weeks. She didn't know. She couldn't remember to.
She had never been fat, but had never been this lean. Right now she was whipcord and muscle and very little else. A comely face had turned sharp and angular, with lips having forgotten the meaning of a smile.
No, it was probably for the better that she could not see herself.
Fear had taken her, sent her fleeing. Yet it could not sustain her, nor give her the energy to run and run and never stop. And when she collapsed at the foot of a towering oak, she hadn't any idea where she was. The forest was without many landmarks, and she had not thought beyond the stages of escaping the waystation.
Now that she had, though. . .
A forest could only be so big, she thought as she slowly hefted herself off the ground. She could survive, if need be, off the forest. It was not winter. She could brave the elements of nature, if need be. She had magic, had she not? She was able to summon fire and water if necessary. She could hunt if she had to.
She could make it back to her village.
She must.
Panic still clouded her mind, but it only fueled her, gave her purpose. She strode through the woods, marking trees, making landmarks for herself as she headed towards the lightest areas of the forests.
Minutes past, then candlemarks. Gradually, Maie felt the air grow lighter. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she clung to it, let it carry all the hope she had. See, she told herself, I'm near the end of the forest. See? I'll go back and live an ordinary life.
Then came the final bombshell.
The first tree she had marked, a burning slash of panic.
Again the first tree.
Backpeddling as fast as possible, Maie swerved around to see the last tree she had been to. Marked. As was the first.
No. She was just going in circles. Quickly, she hurried on a different direction. She would not turn. She would go straight.
She ran. Air burned through her lungs as she ran. She had to get out.
Minutes tore by again. And then candlemarks.
And then the first tree.
Where was she?
What was this place?
A thought burned its way to her mind.
There was no way out.
No. . .
No. She would get back. She would get back to her home, to her parents. . .
Her parents? Did she have parents?
She had a mom. . . didn't she? Dimly, she could recall distant screaming, a flash of auburn hair. And her father? Who was her father?
Wooden bark splintered as she dug trembling nails into them. Who were her parents? What were their names? Who was she?
Maie. I am Maie.
I am. . . Maie.
Am I?
No, she whispered to herself, tears unclotting the caked dirt on her face. No. I'll always know who I am. I will.
But she didn't.
Who were her parents? Who was her horse? Who was she?
She didn't know.
She sank down against the trunk of the tree. And cried.
And that was how Daëmor found her, candlemarks later, with no more tears to shed, no more hope to cling to. This was her life now. She knew that. She could not fight it anymore. Even if she had the strength, she no longer had the will to. What was the point?
:Come: Daëmor said.
And she followed.
