Ona shrank under the taunts and mocking laughter of the marauders, desiring nothing more than for the earth to swallow her up and provide an escape from them.
Acting on instinct, she struck the nearest assailant's head with her stick, swung around and bolted away, desperate to escape.
Her ragged breaths tore through her heaving chest as her feet pounded against the unforgiving mountain path. Terror lanced through her veins, propelling her forward with a frenzied desperation borne of mortal fear.
Behind her, the raucous shouts and heavy footfalls of the men echoed through the craggy peaks like rolling thunder. They were closing in, their bloodlust tangible in the alpine air. She dared not look back, knowing that to falter even momentarily would spell her doom.
Cresting a ridge, the woman's heart seized in her throat as the path gave way to a vast precipice. Jagged cliffs plunged hundreds of feet down into an abyss of mist and shadow. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Only the sheer, unyielding rock face offered any hope of escape.
With a fortifying breath, she swung herself over the edge, scrabbling for purchase on the uneven surface. Her fingers found razor-thin crevices and jutting handholds, and she began to climb, every sinew straining against the merciless force of gravity.
The men's cries of triumph reached her ears as they caught sight of her precarious ascent. Resolutely, she focused on the climb, daring not to glance down into the dizzying depths that awaited any misstep. Higher and higher she inched, the muscles in her arms burning with exertion.
Loose stones clattered down behind her, evidence of her pursuers' encroaching presence. Her lungs were afire, screaming for respite, but she could not - would not - allow herself to falter. Not when the penalty for failure was a brutal, unforgiving demise on the rocks far below.
With a strength born of sheer desperation, she hauled herself over the precipice's edge and threw herself flat against the ground, gulping down precious air. Her hands were torn and bloody, but she had made it. For now, the abyss had been denied its prize. But the chase was far from over.
The brief respite was fleeting. Ona's eyes widened in renewed terror as the men's forms appeared over the precipice's edge, clawing and grunting like feral beasts. With a ragged cry, she scrambled back to her feet and resumed her desperate ascent.
Her muscles burned in protest, already taxed from the previous climb. But the snarling pursuers allowed for no surrender. Already they were closing the gap, their grasping hands clawing at her heels as she hauled herself up the unforgiving rockface.
One of the men managed to latch onto her ankle, his grip like a vise of iron. With a strength born of sheer survival instinct, she kicked out wildly, her boot connecting with his face in a sickening crunch. He reeled back, temporarily stunned.
But the reprieve was short-lived. Another set of gnarled fingers found purchase on her calf, dragging her down with relentless determination. She twisted, struggling against their combined weight, when her shoulder slung and caught on the strap of the satchel at her side.
In that instant, the men renewed their efforts, heaving her back towards the yawning chasm. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly against the rocks as she slid inevitably towards the abyss, the satchel's weight now her undoing.
With a primal scream of defiance, she drew her leg up and kicked out with every ounce of her remaining strength. Her boot connected squarely with the bandit's jaw in a spray of blood and shattered teeth. He lost his grip, pitching backwards into the void with a piercing wail that abruptly cut off.
But in that same moment, the satchel tore free, its contents exploding outwards as it followed the hapless man in a deadly freefall, raining down precious supplies and meager rations.
Ona watched in despair as her means of sustenance scattered, consumed by the bottomless depths. But she was alive, clinging precariously to the mountainside by her bloodied fingertips.
It was a hollow victory - one that may have cost her everything in the days to come. With a weary exhale, she turned her face upwards once more and began pulling herself higher, ever higher, unable to know what fresh nightmares awaited.
Ona's battered hands trembled violently, her grip faltering as fatigue and hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. Each arduous inch upwards felt like a battle against inevitable gravity itself.
A loose rock shifted treacherously beneath her fingers, and she felt herself begin to slide. Panic gripped her heart as the sheer cliff face blurred past.
This was it.
After everything, she was going to plummet to her death on the unforgiving rocks below.
Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as her hands lost their purchase completely. Time seemed to suspend as she hovered on the precipice of oblivion, the abyss yawning hungrily to receive her.
But just then, as the first whisper of freefall brushed her senses, a hand – calloused yet remarkably strong – shot out and clamped around her wrist like a vise of salvation.
The jarring halt nearly wrenched her arm from its socket, but she was stopped, left dangling precariously over the chasm. Her startled gaze trailed up along the ebony, forearm in the dark to settle upon a weathered ...Tij.
What in the gods' name was he doing out here?
Tij's expression was a mixture of anger and relief as he grunted, flexing powerful muscles, hurling her up and over the precipice's edge.
She collapsed in a boneless heap, drinking in great shuddering breaths of sweet mountain air. Her savior knelt beside her, a look of frustrated curiosity crinkling his craggy features.
Ona could only gape at him, stunned into speechlessness. Of all the potential rescuers, Tij seemed among the least likely. Yet here he was, having plucked her from the maw of death itself, yet again.
As the rush of adrenaline faded, relief blossomed into profound gratitude. With a tremulous smile, she opened her mouth to address her unlikely savior, daring to hope that the worst might be behind her.
But he beat her to the first words, albeit a thunderous reprimand, "What were you thinking, wandering so far from Kebo alone?" he asked sternly.
Ona stammered, still shaken from her near fall. "I...I —"
Tij shook his head, his expression a cacophony of utter frustration. Before he could respond further, the sounds of pursuit reached them - the men were beginning to scale the rock face.
"Stay behind me," Tij ordered, drawing his sword. The blade gleamed in the fading moonlight as he took a defensive stance before Ona.
The first few warriors reached the ledge, swords raised to attack. But Tij was like a phantom with a sword. His blade was a blur as he disarmed and knocked back the assailants with swift, economical movements.
More warriors continued climbing, determined to reach them. Tij fought with skill and precision, but he couldn't hold them all off indefinitely.
"Ona, there's a cave system back this way!" he called over his shoulder, deflecting another sword strike. "You'll be safer if you can make your way inside while I hold them here!"
Though terrified, Ona saw the wisdom in his words. As Tij kept the warriors at bay, she scrambled along the ledge toward the cave mouth he had indicated. Ona's heart raced as she darted through the labyrinthine cave, the cacophony of sword clashes and dying men echoing behind her. Suddenly, Tij appeared at her side, matching her frantic pace. Warriors seemed to materialize from every crevice, as if they had been lying in wait within the mountain for ages.
Despite Tij's valiant efforts, he couldn't escape unscathed, each encounter leaving him with fresh wounds. A colossal warrior loomed ahead, prompting Tij to dispatch his foes with swift efficiency before turning his attention to the giant threatening Ona.
With a mighty effort, Tij plunged his sword into the giant's chest, leaving it embedded as he grabbed Ona, propelling them both away from danger. Arrows whizzed past them as they sought refuge around a corner, gasping for breath amid the chaos.
Tij shot Ona an exasperated look as they caught their breath in the alcove. "Really, princess? You just had to go wandering of by yourself in the dead of night! WHERE DID YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING?!!"
Ona held up her hands defensively. "How was I supposed to know? There aren't exactly marked trails or guide maps for these parts."
"Maybe because it's meant to keep daft blue-eyed witches with terrible luck like you from stumbling in unannounced!" Tij ran a hand through his his thick ruffled hair in frustration.
Ona's jaw dropped in mock indignation. "Blue-eyed witch? Why that's rich coming from a scruffy mountain warthog who clearly missed his calling as a tour guide."
Tij scowled. "You have barely said a word to me ever since I brought you here!" Tij almost yelled, then found composure almost instantly, "Need I remind you who just pulled your panicked self from a thousand-foot plummet?"
"Oh I'm quite aware, Tij of Kebo," Ona said with an exaggerated curtsy. "And I thank you for kidnapping me and bringing me to the cursed place! None of these would have happened if you had LET ME BE!"
Tij growled in frustration as he glared at her. Perhaps she was right!
The sounds of pursuit closing in once again. Tij's sword had been lost in the earlier skirmish, leaving him only with his wits and hard-earned skills to defend them.
He pulled Ona close, his expression grim. "Listen to me if you want us to make it out of these here alive," he said in a low, urgent voice.
Ona met his intense gaze, giving a small nod.
"When I give the signal, we run. No questions, no hesitation," Tij continued, his words clipped. "When I shout something like 'Move!' or 'Go! Go!' Simple and to the point, you fucking move or go-go!"
"Got it," Ona replied, her heart pounding.
The sounds grew louder, more menacing. Tij grabbed her hand, his calloused fingers tightening around hers.
"Stay close and be ready," he murmured."
Ona squeezed his hand back, adrenaline surging through her veins as she prepared to run for their lives.
Then, Tij's head whipped around at a sound further up the trail. His eyes narrowed.
"Move!" he barked.
They took off at a sprint, the harsh scrape of their ragged breaths the only sound between them as they fled into the winding mountain maze. No banter, no jests - just the will to survive driving their pounding strides as their pursuers closed in behind them.