Run, Run, Little Rabbit.
Quick before the Farmer comes.
Maeve crashed headless through the undergrowth, her arms coming up to shield her face as much as possible from thorns, nettles and the rough scrape of bark. She couldn't care about it until she was as far away from the camp as possible. As far away form the elves who had held her captive. They would be after her, she knew it. That woman had promised it would be so if she had even tried, but Maeve had never listened to caution. Her father had said it was unbecoming of a Princess but so far it had been the only thing that had kept her alive and, most importantly, free.
The voices above her laughed as she wriggled her way through a particularly narrow path and it blew her trail from existence. She wasn't entirely sure if she could be comforted by the fact her invisible benefactor suddenly wanted her to move on after weeks of starvation and beating, or if she should be concerned that it was pushing her now into greater torments. She asked it where they were going but she got nothing but the impression of a smile, a gentle caress down the side of her cheek like a mother would a babe.
And then she was alone.
Maeve could never explain how she knew when the presence was there and when it was not but she knew it now like she knew her own skin. She could hear the sounds of running water nearby and realised how thirsty she was. The Lost Princess had been running for a good three days now. Every time she had collapsed against a tree with exhaustion the Wind had hurled her onward. Her legs trembled as she crunched over the smooth pebbles. Her foot twisted when she put it down wrong and it sent her to the ground with a hushed groan. She needed water. Through stubborn iron will she crawled the rest of the way to the streams edge and with shaking hands spooned it into her chapped lips like a woman starved. Only when she felt sick from drinking so much too fast did she splash some on her face and catch her own reflection.
Bruises littered her skin from beatings, whip welts burned into her skin. Her red hair lay like straw plastered to her sweaty grimy skin which looked pale and malnourished. She looked... tired. Beyond tired. Her head swam and even though she knew she should move on, knew that stopping here was stupidity itself, she couldn't help it. She lay herself down next to the stream and simply slipped into oblivion.
Quick before the Farmer comes.
Maeve crashed headless through the undergrowth, her arms coming up to shield her face as much as possible from thorns, nettles and the rough scrape of bark. She couldn't care about it until she was as far away from the camp as possible. As far away form the elves who had held her captive. They would be after her, she knew it. That woman had promised it would be so if she had even tried, but Maeve had never listened to caution. Her father had said it was unbecoming of a Princess but so far it had been the only thing that had kept her alive and, most importantly, free.
The voices above her laughed as she wriggled her way through a particularly narrow path and it blew her trail from existence. She wasn't entirely sure if she could be comforted by the fact her invisible benefactor suddenly wanted her to move on after weeks of starvation and beating, or if she should be concerned that it was pushing her now into greater torments. She asked it where they were going but she got nothing but the impression of a smile, a gentle caress down the side of her cheek like a mother would a babe.
And then she was alone.
Maeve could never explain how she knew when the presence was there and when it was not but she knew it now like she knew her own skin. She could hear the sounds of running water nearby and realised how thirsty she was. The Lost Princess had been running for a good three days now. Every time she had collapsed against a tree with exhaustion the Wind had hurled her onward. Her legs trembled as she crunched over the smooth pebbles. Her foot twisted when she put it down wrong and it sent her to the ground with a hushed groan. She needed water. Through stubborn iron will she crawled the rest of the way to the streams edge and with shaking hands spooned it into her chapped lips like a woman starved. Only when she felt sick from drinking so much too fast did she splash some on her face and catch her own reflection.
Bruises littered her skin from beatings, whip welts burned into her skin. Her red hair lay like straw plastered to her sweaty grimy skin which looked pale and malnourished. She looked... tired. Beyond tired. Her head swam and even though she knew she should move on, knew that stopping here was stupidity itself, she couldn't help it. She lay herself down next to the stream and simply slipped into oblivion.