Together, man and horse trudged through the forest toward the safety of the kingdom's outpost. But as the miles passed beneath their weary steps, Sumendu's heart ached. His village was likely already reduced to ash. Nima was gone. In one night, he had lost more than he could ever imagine.
At last, the flicker of firelight appeared ahead—the outpost. Dawn was still hours away, but the camp was awake and watchful. As they neared, a sentry called out, "Who goes there?"
Before Sumendu could answer, an arrow whistled through the air, grazing his temple. Pain flared white-hot. His vision blurred. He collapsed like a felled tree, Hira neighing desperately beside him.
Shouts rang out. Soldiers rushed forward, dragging Sumendu and his horse into the safety of the barracks. One of them pointed into the distance—there, on a dark horse, a lone rider was retreating, the archer who had struck Sumendu down.
And then—silence.