Lyra's breath came in shallow gasps as she stumbled forward, the relentless pursuit echoing in her mind. Her ragged dress clung to her, torn and smeared with streaks of dried blood. Shadows seemed to stretch, almost sentient, curling and twisting to block her path.
Desperate, she pressed on, the cold biting of the night grass, into her bare feet.
"The Halfling—she's here! Don't let her escape!" Voices from behind clawed through the mist, hammering down on her like a death sentence. She couldn't see her pursuers, but she could feel their malice, their heavy footfalls echoing through causing tremors in the ground.
"I...I can't..." she whispered, legs trembling. Her hands grasped at the rough trees, her strength waning with every step.
Panic surged through her, tightening around her chest as she pushed herself forward, refusing to let them catch her. "Sister," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please… come and save me. I… I don't have much left…"
