The Branding

She wasn't even trying to move quietly anymore, it was too late for that. One of them had been on her trail for more than half an hour already. She could hear his steady footfall as he ran after her, slowly gaining ground and quickly wearing her down.

She swept a curtain of low hanging branches to one side, wincing as it dragged its short, leafless spurs across the exposed skin of her arm, and dodged a moss-covered boulder that barred her path. The ground was slick here, wet from the humidity trapped below the solid canopy of trees. The faster she tried to run the more she slipped and fell. The muggy heat was affecting her breathing, making it harder to fill her lungs with the oxygen they badly craved. But she pushed on, propelled by the relentless, rhythmic stride behind her.

A faint pool of light through the undergrowth to her right caught her attention, and she changed direction swiftly. She needed to try and get her bearings if she could, and that gap in the trees might be her only chance.

She hurdled a rotting tree stump, ignoring the sharp scrape of the wood across her palm, and ducked two branches in quick succession. Her breathing was ragged with the exertion, almost as loud as the turbulent passage she was carving through the dense foliage, but she no longer cared how much noise she was making. Her sole aim now was to put distance between herself and her pursuer.

As she lurched headfirst through the final wall of vegetation, she realised too late that she was trapped. This small glade of long, sodden grass, that had looked so much like a clearing in the gloom, was a dead end. In front of her lay a steep drop that disappeared through a dark crevice to meet the sound of rushing water below.

She skidded to a halt at the very edge of the cliff, her shoulders heaving with exertion, sweat stinging her eyes, and cast her gaze about her wildly. The other side was too far to jump, and there was no safe route to climb into the abyss. The reality began to sink in but she was too exhausted to be truly afraid. The hunt was over. He had cornered her, like the prey she was. Hastily, she pivoted to face him. She was prepared to fight.

He was already stepping out of the shadows and into the break in the trees by the time Kylah had turned. He was cautious, deliberate, but barely winded after his long chase, she noticed.

The black hood - worn by all the Laochs - covered his head and cast a shadow over his face so she couldn't even tell who he was. Which one of them had been quick enough to run her down? He was taller than her, and broad too. Much more muscular than his easy gait had suggested. The black tunic clung to his shoulders and chest with sweat, the only giveaway that he had exerted himself at all. And strapped on his back was the telltale cross of the twin swords every Laoch trained with. She wondered, perversely, which one of those sharpened blades would be the one to end her life, because she didn't intend to be captured alive.

Slowly, and without her steady gaze leaving him, she reached down the outside of her thigh until her fingertips found the smooth wooden handle of the knife strapped there. She began to free it slowly, working it out of the binding with as little movement as possible, trying at the same time to get her breathing under control.

His voice was low but assertive, smooth and honeyed in contrast to their inhospitable surroundings. It almost took her by surprise when he spoke.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you", was all he said.