Funnily enough, that had been the plan. Silent, deadly, like a lurking shadow waiting to strike. Now they had baying, salivating hounds on their heels, Hounds
. Why had she not thought of that? She had seen them, smelt them, hell she had stepped in their refuse, but had forgotten the hounds
. Scrambling up the rocky outcropping and rolling up over the top, Erudwën
panted lungfuls of air, pale eyes rapidly scanning the surroundings as she ran, sweat running down her brows as she turned to Douglas and gave him a look that said it all, she had no idea
. It was dark, she was not thinking straight and frankly, she had no idea which direction they had even fled.
Then she heard it, the sound of flowing water, sharp ears perking. "Forward, run run!" She shouted after the man, up and down dark crags, across pitch-black rocky chasms that would have surely broken limbs had they fallen. It was not until she crested another tall boulder that things truly went downhill.
Behind Douglas, Erudwën let out a cry and stumbled, sliding down a rock and slapping into another, no doubt her ribs and arm would be bruised but more concerningly was the glinting tip of a crossbow bolt protruding from the left side of her chest, just below the collarbone. Stumbling once, she coughed and heaved a breath, gingerly touching the bolt tip as adrenaline funnelled its way into her bloodstream, allowing her to snap the head with a teeth-gritted shout of pain.
Onward she stumbled, catching her rhythm into a steady run, fueled by survival instinct, laboured breaths and a splutter of crimson across her lips as she clutched the wound tight, the feathered bolt still protruding from her back with no time to have it removed "Run, find Greyfall, find the boat!" She roared after the man, before changing direction. Sliding and stumbling down another rock, she looked at her blood-coated hand and grimaced, before scrawling a hasty glyph across the stone, leaving smeared lines and smudged dots.
"Curci... Syeti sur san srar~
" She sang, pain lacing the soft, chanting tune she weaved her spell with, before slapping her bloodied palm to the glyph. Three crude maroon shapes formed, wavy and unclear, but clearly silhouetting the caster's figure and mannerisms, each ran in separate directions. By the way the bolts flew through the darkness and the sound of hounds spreading further apart behind them, in the dark the arcane shapes were enough to fool their pursuers for now.
Erudwën pushed on, legs feeling like lead, wound burning as the raw cast she committed claimed its price with deep black lines sprawling across pale flesh beneath her leathers.
They just needed to get far enough down the stream, and use the crevices for cover and concealment. If she made it that far.