The crooked-nosed man's heart had grown as cold as the forest's shadows. Despair clawed at his chest as he tightened his grip on the worn blade in his hand. Then, as though steeling himself for the inevitable, he shouted:
"Young Miss Natalie, run!"
The desperation in his voice rang out like a thunderclap, startling even the creatures lurking in the underbrush.
Natalie, frozen in place moments before, snapped out of her daze and bolted. Her legs churned the forest floor, driven by fear and reluctance. Her once-arrogant demeanor had dissolved entirely, her pride crumbling like a sandcastle under a rising tide.
The crooked-nosed man glanced at her retreating figure, a fleeting sense of relief passing through his weary eyes. If nothing else, he had fulfilled his duty.
