The warriors moved with terrifying ease, their cries loud and triumphant as they hurled our supplies onto the muddy shore.Jules’ hard-earned furs—his prized beaver pelts—were tossed into the water like scraps, floating away into the darkness, mocking the ruin left behind.
“Come on!”Mary’s voice broke through my daze.She tugged at my arm, dragging me from the horror.I turned my back on the flatboat, on Jules’ lifeless body, on the firelit massacre—and fled into the forest’s cold embrace.
Branches tore at our skin as we crashed through the underbrush, every step a desperate bid for survival.My heart slammed against my ribs like a war drum, echoing in my ears louder than our footfalls, louder than the cries of our pursuers.
These savages will kill me!The thought clawed through my mind, panic blinding me, images of painted faces and raised tomahawks haunting every step.
“Elizabeth!”Mary’s voice sliced through the dark, ragged with terror.“LOOK OUT!”
I barely turned before pain ripped through my scalp—a warrior had lunged from the shadows, his hand twisted in my hair.I screamed, stumbling backward, his grip yanking me off my feet.The stench of sweat and smoke clung to him as his face loomed close, eyes wild with fury.
He spat, the hot saliva striking my cheek like a brand of humiliation.
I froze, shock and terror locking my limbs, my voice strangled in my throat.Helpless.
The forest spun around me—night, branches, firelight, his hand like iron.I thought of Mary.Of the child growing inside me.Of Amir.
And I refused to die here.
Time fractured, stretching thin, every heartbeat a thunderclap in my ears.Then—whistle, thud—an arrow sliced through the air, burying itself in the warrior’s throat with a sickening crack.His eyes widened, blood spurting in a dark arc across my dress, warm and jarring.
His grip loosened.He crumpled to the earth.
I collapsed beside him, hands clawing at dirt, gasping, retching, scrambling.Terror filled in my veins like fire.
Screams—my screams—ripped from my throat, wild and raw.Around us, arrows hissed through the air, finding their marks.Warriors fell.Chaos erupted anew.
Another tribe had come.
No cries, no warnings—only the snap of bowstrings and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the earth.
“Elizabeth!We must go!NOW!”Mary’s voice was a lifeline, her hands seizing mine, dragging me up.We ran, stumbling over roots and rocks, ducking beneath branches, zigzagging through the trees like hunted animals.
Where was the widow?Alive?Dead?There was no time—only escape.
Then—movement.A warrior surged from the dark ahead; muscles coiled to strike.Mary screamed—but her cry was cut off as he tackled her to the ground.
I spun toward them, heart in my throat.“MARY!”
Another figure darted from the shadows—silent, swift, deadly.Long hair trailed behind him as he closed the distance in an instant.His blade flashed—once—and buried itself in the attacker’s back.
A gasp.A gurgle.The warrior collapsed like a felled tree.
Mary crawled backward, eyes wide, face as pale as bone, trembling.The stranger turned to me, his gaze keen and assessing.
Not an enemy.
But… who?
“Shh, don’t be scared,” the long-haired warrior said, his voice low and strangely soothing in this setting.He knelt before us, extending a hand—not as a threat, but an offer.His eyes, dark as onyx, were gentle and warm.“I’m here to protect you.Don’t worry—you’re safe.”
His words pierced the chaos.English.My breath caught, confusion rising through the fear like a wave.
Did they speak English?My mind reeled.These were Indians—savages, my father would have called them—yet this man’s speech, though accented, was clear and comprehensible.They weren’t what I had been led to believe.They weren’t mindless warriors or wild men.This man’s voice carried understanding, and something that unnerved me more—intelligence.
Mary and I clung to each other, tears streaking through the dirt on our cheeks, as this enigmatic figure stood guard—a solitary flame in a night gone mad.
The world spun—a blur of shadow, firelight, and the clash of hidden combatants.My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding like it could break free.Mary’s grip on my hand was iron; the terror in her eyes mirrored in mine.
