There was one thing that stalled her forward progression. Grabbing one of the fell Northerner’s blades, Halle hardened her heart completely and drew it across Baston’s throat. A horse had more blood than she expected, and it coated her hands. Halle considered the War-strider, the noble steed of Prince Fyba . Baston deserved to die a quick death rather than lie writhing on the ground in agony. She was beginning to have a suspicion that she would not be so lucky.
Halle checked her bag, running her b****y fingers through the papers. They were all accounted for. The compass in hand, Halle began her march upon wobbly legs. She stumbled and tripped over roots. After an hour, she collapsed for the first time. Dirt and blood mixed with hopelessness as the real possibility of death closed in upon
