A small, infantile cry rang out, cutting through the silence of the night with a piercing wail.
Poura ran with all her might, escaping her pursuers as best she could. It proved to be to no avail, however, as the child in her arms gave her location to all in the nearby vicinity.
All of a sudden, an arrow sunk its head into the calf of her right leg. Before collapsing, she managed to sit herself upright, preparing herself for the worst.
A crowd soon surrounded her, weapons in hand, full of piety and bloodlust. The mob bore down on her in a frenzy, first ripping away any shred of privacy she might have had. To their surprise, the cursed child that they expected to find was nowhere to be seen.
Poura wore a calm face, speaking in a voice ripe with authority. "You sick monsters can do nothing more. You may kill me, but my boy lives."
"The witch lies!"
"Kill her!"
"End her cursed line!"
A young stable boy could no longer watch as the object of his love was brutally murdered. Holding the now quiet baby, now in a deep, gentle sleep, in his arms, he crept toward the same village where the mob came from. The roar of the crazed mobs covered almost any noise he could make, and soon he arrived at the village undetected.
Stealing a horse and cart, he escaped into the night. He vowed to give the unfortunate infant in his arms the safest life he could. Quickly, the two escaped into the night.