(I'm so horrible at coming up with titles. Ah well... It's a post.) ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was one of those nights. One of those nights where you might wish the scattered clouds would just take over the sky and completely hide the pale glowing moon. Then there wouldn't be so many shadows. Shadows that darted and danced with each gust of wind, tricking the eye and mind. The wind... it doubled the anxiety the shadows caused. It rustled in the dry leaves and branches, fooling the ears. Old trees creaked and swayed in the wind, and the shadows darted patterns on the path and in the surrounding woods. Eyes seemed to stare from the brush, and footsteps seemed to be following behind, moving faster and closer with each heartbeat. Her breath puffed in the bitter night air, small, whispy clouds that disappated in her wake. Her panting breath echoed in her ears, and dried her throat, burning her lungs. Faster. She needed to move faster. Her limbs screamed at her, but she couldn't stop. She was exhausted and felt like she could collapse, just slip on the thin layer of frosty snow and not get up again. But everytime she doubted her ability to go on, another play of the shadows or howl of the wind would urge her onwards. She'd been running for a long time now. She didn't fully understand why, but knew that she couldn't stop. It was right on her heels. That thing that seemed to be spawned from the shadows. It didn't have any real shape... but then she'd never really seen it. Or had she? She'd only had glimpses out of the corner of her eye of a looming wraith. A dark cloud that seemed to hover over her. The cloud kept coming closer, and became more and more menacing. She'd left her home. The comfortable life she'd finally found for herself. A house and a warm bed that wasn't in the basement of some roudy, seaside tavern. The man that loved her was gone, off to fight a battle in some land she hardly knew. Fallen again from comfort and happiness, she ran. Like a puppet in a bard's sick tragedy, she wasn't allowed to rest. >From outside of Drache, she ran. With only the clothes on her back and a small purse. Across farmland and fields. She hadn't the heart to steal a horse, but she did find brief shelter in stables and barns. The occasional farmer fell victim to her innocent charm, and she would ride along with them in their wagons. She slipped. She cried as her knee struck the ground and her ankle twisted. A leg that was cold and numb now screamed with sharp pain. Get up. She gritted her teeth, and stole herself against the tears that burned in her eyes. Get up. Her fingers dug into the wet snow and moist earth beneath, giving her a hold to drag herself back to her feet. She staggered, and stumbled, limping on her twisted left ankle. Keep moving. She didn't understand what was after her, and she wasn't curious enough to find out. It had chased her through Drache, not allowing her any rest or haven. She had the sick feeling that she was being herded rather then chased, as she found herself cornered and forced to take the ferry that took her here to Myst Isle, where she was now. The trees broke and she stumbled into an open, rolling field. It was dusted white from the late winter flurry of snow. There was a light on the horizon. A pale yellow, welcoming light. An inn, a wide friendly building that was hiding in the middle of these woods. A relieved breath emptied her lungs. Safety. She could only hope. It had been a lively place, so she'd heard, a crossroads of sorts for travelers. She dared to glance over her shoulder and her breath caught in her throat. A dark shadow seemed to be gathering on the edge of the trees, a dark cloud that grew, blocking more and more of the path behind her. She lurched forwards, taking off in a staggering, desperate run for the building ahead. She didn't dare look back again, she was focused on the Inn. Her racing heart echoed in her ears and her chest burned for air as she forced herself onwards. Not too far now. She ran, her twisted ankle unsteady on the slippery path. She stumbled, caught herself, and started again. She was so close. Safety. Her hand caught the rail leading to the inn's porch. She leaned heavily against it as she pulled herself up the stairs, and staggered across the porch. Her hands, wet from the snow slipped upon the door's handle as she frantically turned it and pulled it open. She rushed inside and tugged the door behind her, slamming it firmly closed before collapsing against it. A loud bang on the door resounded through the common room after her, shaking the dust from the rafters, and rattling the windows in their frames. .... Then nothing. Melisande released her held breath in a whimper that became a quiet, choked sob as she crumpled to the floor. Too weak to do anything else, the young, tawny haired woman doubled over, trying to catch her breath inbetween the tears. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sarah (To be continued in the Inn tonight... Maybe tomorrow night. Don't worry, we won't have to rebuild again. ;) ) _________________________________________________________________ Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.com -- To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Archives & Other DMI Lists: http://islesofmyst.com/lists.php3
