Confrontation Prepared.
Isabella slid into the thick foliage, her footsteps muffled by the thick mist that clung to the trees. In sharp contrast to the flaming recollections she had of this location, the DeVargas border towered before her, its aroma a heady blend of pine and moist dirt. She felt a rush of danger with each step she took across enemy territory, but she forced herself to ignore her apprehension. Now she was too far gone to go back.
As it watched her trespass, the moon hovered high like a shining eye. As she ventured farther into the area she had once called home, her cloak, which was damp from the cold of the night, clung to her shoulders. The sounds of her early years, of competition and laughter, of hushed vows and sour betrayals, were nearly audible to her. Lorenzo. She
