HER MUNE
PROLOGUE
IF YOU DONâT WANT TO LISTEN, IâLL RUN INSTEAD.
HER feet pounded brutally against the uneven ground as her breaths became harsh and violent. She was running, but from what was quite a long story indeed. She hadnât the time to recall it though as finding a place to hide seemed more crucial at this very moment. Especially when the voices were getting closer and closer.
The young, pale maiden tripped over a tree root, sending her tumbling towards a big spiky bush that pricked her oh-so delicate skin.
âOuch!â she hissed as the bright crimson blood trickled down, illuminating itself under the waxing gibbous moon.
She was already covered head to toe in scars and bruises, and as for the rest of her appearance, it was almost depressing. Her grey, white spotted, hair was jagged; a complete mess, and her hooded dress was so torn and crinkled - even one of her sleeves were missing - when did it go missing?
She was fortunate that the hood of her dress wasnât torn as brutally as the rest of it, as it fitted over her hair, covering her forehead and the glimmer of her grey-white locks.
The other voices were becoming increasingly clearer by the second as they drew near. âI heard something over there!â someone shouted.
The maiden was frantic now. She knew she was going to be found if she didnât find a hiding place soon. She looked around before focusing back on the spiky bush behind her. Finding a little hidden passageway in amongst prickly twigs, she didnât hesitate any longer.
As she crawled through the small space in between, the thorns tore at her hunterâs dress more, making sure not to miss her porcelain flesh. She fought the urge to hiss and curse in pain as she hid herself amongst the bristly bush and waited.
âWhere is she?!â a tall, sturdy woman hissed.
The maiden peered through the little gaps to find a tanned woman, with red silk covering her neck. A metal weskeh sat around her collar, bearing two golden frames with a dark, pale green in the middle. This collar piece had a cross on the bottom of the golden frames, acting as an religious extension piece, despite the knightâs disbelief.
From under her weskeh, her bronze armour was evident, starting with pauldrons on each side, along with two almost isosceles triangles right next to them travelling towards the middle, and finishing off with then two sharp-curved pieces in between that acted like pincers getting ready to either pursue the cross or be its protector. The maiden couldnât tell its true purpose.
The woman also wore a lorikion; the sleeves stopping halfway across her biceps and the hem of the clothing stopping at just above her knees, that were also plated with armour. From her knees and elbows, scales travelled towards her hands and feet, stopping only due to the metallic armour covering both - the feet being covered by silver and black boots, and the hands by black armour that stopped at the middle crease of her fingers and in between the creases of her thumbs.
In between her lorikion and elbow, and knee plate and same cloth waving above; the red silk that covered her neck peeked, colouring her fingers and thumbs as well.
Most knights wore the same thing, minus her weskeh; the only other differences being the almost-isosceles and pincers design, and her osiris belt, that helped holding her blade and its pouch in place.
The maiden really couldnât help but focus her attention solely on this one knight; someone her sister praised and blabbered on about often - swooned, was probably the correct word.
Unlike the maidenâs white-grey hair, tucked firmly in the back of her hooded dress, the knight had curly leathery black hair. It was extremely untidy; bangs in an unruly but parted mess, fringe as unkempt as ever, bun frizzed in the frenzy and rest of the strands that didnât cooperate when tying her hair into a bun.
She wondered why her sister admired her at first, criticising the knightâs atrocious aroma and her natural demeanour, but soon came to understand why when she joined her sister as an audience.
It was dark, the light from the moon and stars barely touching the knightâs figure, the Wolf barely at her peak, and still the maiden could outline the womanâs every detail. After all, a General who led her disciples into battle was someone extraordinary, (and again, her sister was quite mouthy).
Everyone in the Kingdom and in the villages nearby knew of her. She was a leader who trained her disciples to the best of their abilities, never failing once - hence why she was voted to be.
The only thing that the General and her knights lacked, however, was their ability to find the maiden herself. She was the best at hiding, her and her sister being an unbeatable duo! Even though her sister wasnât with her now, she wasnât going to give in - not even the monsters that roamed the night could deter her anymore.
One of the disciples spoke up. âI donât know! I couldâve sworn she was over here!â
- and here she was, in a place that theyâd least expect.
The General grew irritated. âWell, find her! She couldnât have gotten far!â
The knights and the runaway trembled at the booming voice, one resistant to her demanding voice. It wasnât like they hadnât heard it before, but whenever the General got mad it was a time to worry - the maiden was just vulnerable to harsh tones.
The knights all scramble to form a straight line in front of her, the stray complying calmly, as they saluted.
âSer, yes, Ser!â they all synchronised, a solitary knight sounding flat.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Sooner or later they all left in the same direction. The maiden, who witnessed the scene, slowly crawled out of her hiding place. Not bothering to remove the thorns that made her flesh and dressing their new home, she took off once more, the echoing of a metallic sound wishing her luck from afar. She was smart not to follow, sheâd be crazy to do so!
Now looking back to where they all left, the maiden couldnât help but be proud of herself. She managed to escape the General and her knights! Who wouldnât be proud of something so unheard of? Surely she wouldâve won part of the land - if it werenât for her being on the run in the first place.
Tears pricked at her eyes, her lips twitching. Freedom was in her grasp at last. All she had to do now was take it and fly away. Do you hear that, Vykki? Adelfos? Weâre going to be free at last.
Without much warning, she bumped into a commoner.
âOwâŚâ she hissed. The maiden looked to the woman who fell, and quickly arose from the ground in a hasted motion. âIâm so sorry, maâam!!â
The runaway stretched out her hand, but the lady was more focused on the maidenâs torn dress and excessively damaged skin.
âOh my, dear! Youâre wounded!â
the commoner exclaimed,
as she picked herself up from the ground.
The maiden wanted to speak up, but found she was at a loss for words. She hasnât spoken to a normal human besides her hunter in years.
What does she even say to one?
âDonât worry, maâam! Iâm fine, truly!â Though that wasnât convincing in the slightest.
The older one clicked her tongue.
âYouâre not fooling anybody, sweetie.
Come with me.
Weâll have to treat those nasty wounds of yours
before they get infected!â
The maiden was a loss for words as she was dragged along by the commoner.
This lady is strong!, she noted.
The runaway saw no point in struggling or refusing the generous ladyâs help. Was there any need to? None of the citizens outside of the Kingdom knew who she really was and the personâs scent was comforting, almost familiar; familial.
As long as I stay hidden, itâll be fine, she convinced herself.
OH, HOW SHE WISHED SHE DIDNâT LET HER GUARD DOWN.
