The cold wind whipped around the ruins, carrying with it the distant scream of birds. The girl moved like a shadow among fallen walls and buildings, her cloak billowing behind her frayed edges and whipping out. Her boots made little to no sound on the crumbled stone; steps measured, yet her body shook beneath the weight of the night. The air was thick with the stench of decay, but it wasn't the smell that set her heart racing; it was more of the sense of feeling watched.
She had no memory of the life she once knew—no family nor no name to cling to. The only memory of her past was a blur of fragments that somehow would not piece themselves together. What mostly lingered in her mind was the hunger, cold and eternal nights of being alone, and the sky. The sky that once was her home, and the connection with these creatures she hardly knew.
But such memories only served to bring her pain now, with winds no longer whispering kindly to her. Everything in her life had shattered, leaving her adrift in a world much too big, much too cold.
Her hands trembled; she pulled her hood tighter around her face, the weight of her gloves; the peculiar runes stitched into them like some anchor dragging her down. She could hardly feel them anymore, not like before when the birds followed her when the sense that she mattered still lingered. Now, there was only silence. And fear.
The fire danced weakly in the distance. She could make out the figures around it, the shape of their rough clothes, and their huddled forms. It was the men—the slavers. The same sort that had taken everything, who took what little was left. Her stomach twisted with a wave of fear, her throat closing up as she tried forcing herself closer. She had to know; she had to understand what they were doing.
But the fear gnawed at her and held her in place, making her breath come in sharp gasps. Her golden eyes flickered nervously over the figures by the familiar, yet still strange and terrifying. The slaves they guarded were just barely visible, their faces hidden behind the grime of their captivity. But she could feel their fear, their hopelessness, like some dark weight that pressed upon her chest. She wanted to help. She wanted to save them, to be the rescuer, but thinking of those men, of putting herself in danger, it seemed impossible.
She pulled her coat tighter around her, retreating deeper into the shadows. But even as her body shook with fear, something inside her stirred. A whisper-soft at first, like a gentle breeze far away. The birds.
It was little more than the flicker of a thought, but it proved to be enough. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation. Her hands curled into fists as she attempted to reach out, to pull the wind to her—anything that might give her the strength to move.
But no bird came. The wind didn't blow. The crackling of the campfire far away and the beating of her heart were the only sounds, but the fear—it was crippling. She was fragile. She was alone. The thought of failure and more loss buckled her knees.
And yet she remained. She couldn't run anymore. Not like this.
She was taking far too long. Her fingers were shaking like leaves as she grasped at the edges of the cloak, having watched the slavers with their fire. One misstep and she'd been too close; the faint crunch of loose gravel under her boots was barely heard but heard enough.
"Oi! Did you hear that?" one of the men growled, his voice sharp as steel scraping stone.
She froze, her heart pounding against her chest. The men lifted off the ground, the heavy boots crashing on the rocky ground as they headed for her hiding spot.
Run, run... RUN! The thought screamed in her mind, but her legs refused to budge. Fear rooted her to the spot, a cold sweat breaking out on her pale skin.
"There's someone out there!" another, more modulated voice said, but in no way less dangerous. "Come out, little rat. We know you're there."
Run! It was like a spark that finally ignited the urgency preening inside her body. She wheeled on her heels and plunged into the ruins, breath catching in her throat in shallow gasps as she ran. The damp stones made her boots slip; she stumbled, catching herself just in time to avoid a fall.
Behind her, the men yelled as their voices carried across the still night air.
"She's fast! Don't let her get away!"
Her wiry frame danced around the broken walls and twisted rubble of buildings, but her steps were frantic. She knew these ruins better than they did, but the fear coursing through her veins clouded her mind. She didn't have a plan, just the desperate instinct to survive.
A hand reached out from behind her and clutched her cloak, hauling her backward with a savagery that sent her sprawling to the ground with a cry. Her head spun from the impact against the cold, hard stone. The man who had seized her cloak laughed, a low, cruel sound that ran her blood cold.
"Gotcha, little bird," he sneered, his grip on her coat tightening.
"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice raw from panic. She twisted and kicked her small frame wildly in his grasp. She scratched at his hand, her fingernails scraping against the rough leather of his gloves, but it was no use.
Another slaver joined him, grabbing her arms and pinning them behind her back. The pain shot through her shoulders, yet she didn't stop fighting.
"Feisty, isn't she?" the second said with a snide overture.
"Doesn't matter," the first replied, yanking her up by the arm. "She'll fetch a decent price once she's broken in."
She snarled as desperation overran her fear. "I won't let you take me!"
Her voice was fierce, but her body betrayed her. Too weak, too fragile to fight them off. The slavers bound her hands with coarse rope; every fiber bit into her skin as she squirmed and twisted in their grasp.
One of the men rummaged through her cloak, drawing it back from her head to reveal the unkempt red hair and golden eyes.
"Well, aren't you a rare find..." he muttered, staring at her features. "The buyers will love this one."
Tears seared her eyes, but she managed to squeeze them back, refusing to give them that satisfaction. She turned to the men then; her eyes, those shining gold, glittered defiance even while her body went lax in their grasps.
She had fought for nothing. They had her now, and there was no escaping the cold reality of her situation.
But even as they dragged her back toward the campfire, something deep inside her refused to break. She might have been caught, her body bound, but her spirit will to survive remained unyielding.
For now, she was a prisoner. But silent vows she made to herself: This isn't the end. Not yet.