“Doran, we need to stop for just a bit. I can barely keep your pace and Gonath is exhausted,” urged Myr'ia.
Doran stopped for the first time since they ran from the bedlam currently taking place in and around their home.
The warm wind that chased them made him cringe as it struck his skin exposed through the tears in his clothes. The smell of the charred dwelling they left behind still lingered on the clothing he was wearing and it emanated around
him, incited the urge of another panicked scramble deeper into the woods. He grab Myri’a’s arm and continued their
“We can’t stop. It’s still not safe. You can rest once we reach the river. It’s only a short distance from here.” Doran offered as moved further on into the forest.
After what felt like hours of running, the family began to hear the determined rush of the river began as the sound crept within earshot. Water slapped the rooted stones in the riverbed and wet patches of rock could be seen from the little amount of light trickling down from the moon.
“Quickly, drink what you can. We'll rest once we reach the other side.” Doran knelt beside his wife and cupped his hands to snare the cool water. “The bridge should…”
He stopped short as he reached into the water's flow to draw it up to drink. Unsure of what he was feeling beneath
the river's surface, he raised his hands and pulled out pieces of rope that once held a bridge in place. The
rope had been cut and had unraveled into several loose frays. Small drops of the river ran down each strand of the severed rope. Each wet bead of water dropped back into the river as if it were counting down to a perilous end.