I am silent. I am a shadow.
I look at Betty. A small, pale ghost in the dark.
Stay.
I move.
I am Urog with honor. My feet are silent on the snow. My body glides through the shadows of the pines.
I circle the clearing, keeping to the rocks.
I see them. Larda, a black stain of rage by the cabin. The elves, moving with a deadly, fluid grace. The human-soldiers, clumsy, angry, cold.
Joric. He is shivering by the fire, useless. Good.
I need to pull them away. Away from her.
I move to the far side of the clearing. The opposite direction from the crevice.
I found a dead branch. It is as thick as my arm.
I wait. I listen.
Now.
I snap the branch.
CRACK!
The sound is louder than a thunderclap in the silent, frozen woods.
Every head in the clearing snaps toward the sound.
"There!" the elf screams. "To the north!"
Yes. Follow me.
I run.
I do not run silent. I run loudly. I crash through the bushes. I slam my shoulder against trees as I go. I drag my wounded leg, painting the snow with a bright, thick trail of my blood.
I make it easy for them.
Come, little elves. Come, little traitors.
I hear them behind me. The clink of armor. The shouts of men. The singing, cold orders of the elves.
They are fast.
But I am Urog. I’m a warrior.
The pain shooting through my leg is a fire. The cold burns my lungs. I do not care.
Run.
I lead them deep into the woods, away from the cabin.
A human-soldier cuts me off. He bursts through the trees, spear raised, his face wide with terror and greed.
