Marcus hit the ground hard.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
He landed right at Elowen's feet.
He didn't have time to groan. He didn't have time to even think.
Above him, Elowen raised her leg.
She wore high-heeled boots. The heel was sharp.
She brought it down, aimed straight for his chest.
It was a stomp meant to crush ribs.
Marcus felt a chill scream through his nervous system.
His body moved on pure instinct.
He rolled to the right.
The heel slammed into the dirt where his heart had been a second ago.
Thud.
The ground vibrated.
Marcus scrambled backward.
He didn't stop moving until he was ten feet away.
He pushed himself up. His legs were shaky.
He gripped the rusty dagger with one hand and held it out in front of him.
His stance was wide. His knees were bent.
He tried to look dangerous. He tried to look ready.
Elowen didn't chase him.
She left her heel embedded in the dirt for a moment.
Then, she slowly pulled her foot free.
She looked at him.
