To us, they were blind to the ongoing war – the one we still fought, the one that left our souls wounded, bleeding, and then scarred. The one that cried out to us, demanding a lashing out, an eruption of violence. If only to break this brittle illusion of peace, which we knew to distrust.

But I dreamed of being among them, away from the killing and the terror. I dreamed of peace in every instant of war in which I lived.

Why, then, could I not find it? Why did it all seem so weak, so thin, so hopelessly shallow? So… false?

The trackers moving parallel to her had begun converging, while those in her wake had drawn close enough for her to hear their thudding footfalls. Desperate, Sharenas looked for somewhere to make her stand – the bole of an old tree, the root-wall of a toppled giant – but there was nothing like that nearby. She was among young dogwoods, elm thickets and young birch. No fire had rushed through any of this, and the leaf-mould was thick beneath the melting snow.

The soldier on her left voiced a strangled cry. Snapping a glance in that direction, she searched for the man, but could no longer see him.

At that instant, the two behind her rushed forward, even as the third scout swung in to flank her.

Mouth dry, sword-grip feeling greasy in her gloved hand, Sharenas spun round to face her attackers.

Both were women, and known to her, but now hatred twisted their features, and the blood was bright in their eyes.

There was no conversation, no pause in their attack.

Blades lashed out. She caught one, deflecting it, while sidestepping to evade the other. At that moment, the third hunter reached her, lunging with his sword.

The tip pierced the rounded flesh of her right hip, slicing it open to the bone. As the cut muscles and tendons parted, she felt them roll up beneath her skin, and her right leg simply gave way beneath her.

A blade struck her helm, dislodging it. Stunned, Sharenas fell on to her side. A savage blow against her sword knocked the weapon from her hand.

Disbelieving, she looked up into the face of one of the women, who now stood above her, bringing her sword around to push through Sharenas’s throat.

The woman paused, confusion clouding her face.

An arrow’s iron point was protruding from her neck. Blood was rushing down from the ragged tear its passage had made. The life in the woman’s eyes retreated, and then she dropped to her knees atop Sharenas.