It was strange. The way the evening sunlight slanted over the hills and through the trees, splaying deep, golden shafts of light upon the faded cobblestones. Even stranger that her mind noticed the sharp, beautiful contrast of light and shadow, the way the grass crept between the stones, hopeful, ignoring the fact that this was a heavily trod highway and not a peaceful field where it might flourish. You will not survive long, she thought distractedly.
The pain in her shoulder swelled, a line of stinging fire that protested with every movement, and when she drew her hand forward to inspect it, her slender, trembling fingers were wet with dark crimson.
She had sunk to her knees, it seemed, though she couldn't remember doing so. She knelt there, waiting, holding her breath between shuddering sobs, terrified of hearing the sound of hoofbeats again. The sun sank lower, and her senses began to return in some small measure. She had to get home. Darkness would only bring more threats.
Oh, Conrob, why aren't you here with me!
Her legs did not wish to cooperate, and her knees wobbled as she stood, threatening to collapse again. Her free hand took hold of the skirt of her dress, and she squeezed her mouth tightly shut, swallowing the whimper that sought to escape at the sight of the torn fabric.
I hate everything about you, he had hissed into her face.
She set her gaze forward and began to walk with unsteady steps. Tears leaked quietly from her eyes, and occasionally she would sniffle and brush the back of her sleeve across her cheeks. Her coin purse was gone, along with her knife, the one she'd brought all the way from the Mark. Her dress, her beloved, green dress, they had nearly taken as well, though in the end, some mercy had found her, so that she did not walk the Road in shame, stripped of her gown.
