The moon had set and only the stars shone in the sky. A clink of metal on stone broke the stillness of the night and a shape in the water sank lower and froze. It wasn't a very loud clink, but the shape in the water had been straining its ears for this sort of giveaway exactly, and now it was cautiously scanning the eastern bank of the river with big, wary eyes. There was another clink, softer this time, then a snap of a twig, a muffled titter, and maybe a grunt. The sounds were coming from all over the woods and the shape in the water kept very still, its chin just above the surface of the lazy current.
A tall, lean shadow detached itself from the line of trees and moved soundlessly along the brook, its knees bent slightly, its feet light on the ground, its stance that of a dancer. It too must have heard those clinks in the woods because it pulled out a weapon from behind its back: a long slender blade, black in the gloom, with a razor-sharp edge and a stone-set hilt, glittering blue. Gripping the enormous sword with both hands, the shadow brought it forth in a slow arch and waited.
The shape in the water sank further still, its eyes on this new peril now. Careful not to make a splash and betray its presence, it sought an altogether different weapon: its fingers closed on a dark sheath hiding a short, uneven blade, and drew comfort from its stunted, blunt grip.
Sounds in the woods grew louder, whispers passed under the canopy of leaves. The crunch of gravel, the creak of branches, the soft clang of metal, the raspy breaths… they were closing in from all sides, but the tall shadow turned its head towards the river. Did it sense something?
A howl erupted in the dark and arrows flew and whirred. One of them found its mark and the tall shadow grunted as the stone arrowhead thudded against the plated armour. The shadow spun and brought the blade round in a wide, low cut just as the first goblin broke away from the trees, his battle cry ending in a terrible, wet gurgle. More arrows rained, and the shadow danced and weaved, more foes rushed forward into battle, and it slashed and hacked, littering the ground with twitching bodies. And at all times the shadow murmured and chanted softly as if it needed music to dance this dance of death. The forest filled up with taunts, jeering laughter, clangour of steel, shrieks of pain or fear, and moans of the dying. In the dark those who ran into battle collided with those who ran from it. You would not think that one solitary shadow could wreak such havoc.
Suddenly, just a few steps away from the dancing party, a woman burst out of the river in a spray of droplets flying through the air. She picked something up from the ground and leapt towards the woods, her form small and dark in the starlight. She sped past stunned and dumbed goblins before they could hinder her flight, sailed over a big clump of fern, dodged a treacherous thorny bush and quickly became a blur among the trees. Howls and screams woke up anew, arrows followed in her steps and some stunted, ugly figures threw themselves into a run. The chase was on.
The woman ran like the wind. She ignored the soft clunk of arrowheads on the tree trunks, she did not turn her head to see how close the pursuers were - to lose speed now was to die. Avoiding obstacles, jumping over clumps of undergrowth and diving under low hanging branches, she ran like a startled doe runs through the forest when the wolves are close. When a raised root or branch, invisible in the gloom, caught the tip of her foot and sent her flying forth, head first, she twisted in mid-air, landed on her hip, tumbled over and was back on her feet again, losing only a fraction of her momentum. A howl of anger followed and more arrows swished past, but she ran on.
She broke out of the woods and her feet, clad in soft leather, whispered in the tall grass. More arrows, more howling, and more angry taunts followed, but they sounded distant now. Was the pursuit slowing down? She did not look. Ignoring the searing pain in her chest and the stinging in her calves, she forced her legs to carry her forward even faster now. The ground began to rise steeply and she had to fight harder still, but fight she did, until she sailed past the crest of the hill and at last her body sent a shudder of protest. She stumbled and fell, her wet tunic steaming in the cool air, her breath a painful wheeze. With a groan, she raised her head and spat out some dirt and grass. There was no time to rest! She scrambled to her feet and, struggling against the leaden weight of her thighs, she pushed forward.
When the dawn blushed in the east, she slowed down and risked a glance behind: there was no one there. She halted and sank to her knees, panting, thirst and exhaustion queuing up immediately like ruthless creditors at the door of a bankrupt. She needed water, she needed food, she needed rest and… she needed answers. Who was the tall shadow and why was it there? Was it sent and sent by whom? Dread stirred in her chest. An assassin or a hunter! She had to get away from it! She got to her feet and forced herself onwards in a steady pace. The morning changed into noon and the sun started its slow descend, and still she marched on as if putting one foot in front of the other was the only thing she'd ever known.
