She pelts more stones, hissing
"Stop it!"—words muffled by the rag, swallowed by jeers and the beast's fading gurgles.
One of the burly knight spots her vague movement, hurls a stone that slams her knee; she stumbles but grabs flint and a branch, sparking flame to billow smoke.
The burly knight scales the slope fast, yanks her hood (still intact over her hair), snaps the branch, shoves her into thorns—tears tear her skin, but she claws back, hood staying in place, rag firm over her mouth, features still hidden as she watches the beast slip closer to unconsciousness, wings going limp.
Friedrich nocks a final fire-tipped arrow, aimed at its uninjured eye.
The creature's good eye flutters open, locking on Hannah's masked form—slitted gold, hazy with pain, a quiet broken plea—then slips into unconsciousness as the arrow sinks in it body
It spasms violently, goes still, chest rising one shallow last breath before falling silent.
As it was not real, this lizard like beast turn smaller.
Emerald blood pools thick, steam vanishing entirely.
The boys cheer, high-fiving.
Marek drags Hannah down the slope, shoves her to the ground, dagger to her throat—cold steel biting skin, a trickle of blood seeping out.
Trapped, outnumbered, her face still fully obscured, conflict far from over.
Friedrich prods her hooded temple with his bow tip, sneering "Who is this dirty mouse hiding in the bush, disturbing my game."
Theo kicks her ribs hard—Hannah flinches, glares through tear-blurred eyes (hidden under the hood's shadow), voice muffled and ragged:
"Cowards… killing a tied-up beast for fun!"
Friedrich snarls, bow aimed at her hooded head, but Gareth restrains him
"Don't soil your hands, young master—Lord Voss will rage if you're bloodied over a faceless stray. We don't even know her lot; not worth the fuss."
Marek presses the dagger harder, growling, eyes locked on her masked face.
"Faceless gutter trash, saw everything and disrupted the hunt—silence her! Slit her throat, dump her with the beast for carrion birds. No one will track a dirty goblin."
Luka kicks the beast's flank, sneering, not sparing her masked form a second glance:
"Waste of steel. Toss her in the woods, wolves will tear her apart by sunrise—."
Gareth's jaw tightens, gaze scanning her obscured features:
"Village mutters enough about noble cruelty—no dead stray tied to us, even a faceless one. Punish her, don't kill her. Break her pride, then cast her out."
Friedrich shoves Gareth away, seething, kicking her side hard:
"Make her beg! Rip that rag off her face first, let us see the coward's face—then make her kiss my boot, lick the blood off it, then feed her to wolves slow!"
Hannah twists her head away, hood staying firm, voice muffled but defiant
"Never beg monsters in fancy clothes—you're just bullies with blades!"
Theo laughs, kicking her stomach—Hannah gasps, breath stolen, rag shifting but not falling: "Nobles make the rules!"
The knight leans in, breath reeking of wine, dagger digging deeper
"Rip that rag off and beg, or I carve your tongue out through the cloth, cut your fingers one by one—slowly. We don't need to see your face to make you suffer."
Rolf smirks, nudging Luka "Stupid faceless pride. She'll break when we start cutting—mask won't save her from pain."
Gareth snaps, patience frayed: "Two choices—beg and crawl away, or die slower than that beast. Choose fast, we waste no more time on you!"
Friedrich smirks, counting slow to drag out her agony, eyes fixed on her hooded form: "One… two… three… four… five… by ten, that rag comes off and your knees hit the dirt!"
Hannah's fists clench, nails digging into bloodied palms—her face stays hidden, pride unbroken, even as pain wracks her body.
When the knight's grip on her shoulder slackens to adjust his dagger, she slams her elbow hard into his ribs; he grunts, doubling over, and she scrambles up, darting for the clearing edge.
another knight tackles her down fast, his weight pinning her, fist slamming into her hooded temple—stars burst behind her eyes, the hood slipping but not falling, rag still firm over her mouth.
Copper fills her throat as she coughs, kicking his shins wildly, but he pins her ankles, slamming another fist into her stomach—she gasps, breathless, fingers scrabbling the dirt for the small dagger tucked in her belt hours ago.
Her fingers wrap around the cold hilt—her only hope. In one brutal, desperate move, she drives her elbow back into knight's groin as he leans in to grab her hood, he howls, doubling over and releasing her throat.
She rolls free, yanking the dagger fully, and lunges for the thick rope binding the beast's tail to the boulder—she hacks at it wildly, blade biting through frayed fiber, the nobles and knights shouting in fury as they realize her plan.
"Seize her! The rat's cutting the rope!" Gareth roars, drawing his sword. Friedrich snarls, nocking an arrow.
"Shoot her down! Don't let her take the lizard!" Arrows whiz past her, one grazing her arm, but she doesn't stop—one final hack, and the rope snaps clean.
The beast is still unconscious, breathing shallow and ragged, its body lighter than she expects despite its size.
Hannah hefts it onto her shoulders, staggering under the weight, blood dripping from her arm and temple, hood slipping further but still hiding her face, rag clinging to her tear-streaked cheeks.
She bolts for the cliff edge—she'd spotted the churning river below earlier, the only escape route.
"After her! She can't outrun us! She'll fall to her death or drown!" Luka yells, chasing after her with the other knights, Friedrich firing arrows that miss by inches.
Hannah stumbles, the beast shifting on her shoulders, but she grits her teeth, sprinting faster, the cliff edge looming.
The knights are feet behind her, swords glinting, Friedrich's snarls ringing in her ears: "You'll die, rat! I'll find your body and feed it to the crows!"
With no time to spare, Hannah leaps off the cliff edge, the beast clutched tight to her chest, wind screaming in her ears as she plummets.
The knights skid to a halt at the edge, staring down in fury as she crashes into the churning river below, the current swallowing her and the unconscious beast whole.
Gareth slams his fist into a tree, growling.
"She's gone—drowned or swept away! That dirty stray cost us the sport and escaped!" Friedrich kicks a rock over the edge,
"I don't care if she's dead or alive! If she surfaces, I'll hunt her down, rip that rag off her face, and make her pay tenfold!"
The nobles and knights stand at the cliff edge, fuming, unable to follow into the fast-moving river—Hannah's face remains a mystery, the conflict unresolved, her fate and the beast's hanging in the balance.
The winter river's chill sears Hannah to the bone, stealing her breath as the current tosses her like a rag doll.
For fifteen endless minutes, it carries her downstream, her arms locked tight around the beast to keep it from drifting away,
her teeth chattering so hard her jaw aches, her wounds stinging with the icy water.
When the current finally eases, she fights her way to the shore, dragging the still-unconscious beast with her, her limbs trembling so violently she can barely stand.
She staggers away from the riverbank, every step a struggle, until she spots a dark cave mouth half-hidden by brush—her salvation.
She hauls the beast inside, then hurries back to gather dry wood and branches, her movements practiced;
back at the count's manor, she'd been forced into brutal labor by the servants, even as the third daughter of the house, and starting fires was second nature to her now.
She stacks the branches, strikes flint to spark a flame, and soon a small fire crackles to life, casting warm golden light over the cave's rough walls.
She scavenges for soft rubble and dried leaves, piling them into a simple bedding, then strips off her sodden clothes, too numb from the cold to feel the bite of the cave's air.
She curls up on the bedding beside the fire, pulling the beast close to her chest, her trembling hands smoothing over its scaled flank gently,
wiping away clots of emerald blood and river grime as she speaks in a soft, ragged whisper, her voice raw from cold and strain
"I've got you. You're safe now—no more of them, no more arrows, no more stones. I won't let anyone hurt you again, I swear it."
She presses her cheek to its cool scales, her breath fogging faintly against its skin as she holds it tighter,
as if willing her own warmth into its limp body.
"They're cruel, all of them—playing with lives like toys, hunting something helpless just for fun. But not anymore. We got away. I'll keep you warm, I'll watch over you. Just hold on. Breathe. Stay with me."
Her fingers brush its uninjured eye, still sealed shut with pain, and her voice softens further, laced with a quiet resolve she rarely lets surface
"I know what it's like to be trapped, to be hurt for no reason..... but I won't let that happen to you. You're not alone now. I'm here. Rest. I'll be right here when you wake up. No one's going to hurt you anymore."
The beast's shallow breath fans her neck, steadying a little as her warmth seeps into it, and as sleep pulls her under, she holds it tighter—their fates, now irrevocably bound, hang on surviving the night.
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.
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Bess paces the cliff edge, hooves scraping loose stone long after nobles' roars fade.
Winter wind nips her glossy coat; she tosses her mane, whinnying sharply—no Hannah, no familiar hood rustle, only distant river churn.
Panic spikes, she rears then crashes into thicket, thorns snagging her silken mane, this stubborn, stunning mare not flinching one bit.
Ugh, that reckless fool of a master, she huffs in her sharp, vain equine mind, ears flattened.
Left me tied to oak like a worthless sack—off tangling with knights, rescuing scaly beasts, typical.
Who else has a coat this gleaming, a stride this graceful, to nudge your hand for extra oats? Who else stands between you and the cook's switch when you muck up kindling? I'm a prize mare, not a stray—she should've taken me along!
She gallops through underbrush, hooves pounding, directionless yet hooked to an unbreakable pull—warm, tight, like Hannah's fingers tangling her forelock when unobserved.
Tough facade, snarling at nobles in that muzzled voice, she frets, dodging a log, breath fogging.
But you cry quiet when you think I'm asleep, bruised from servants' cruelty. Stupid, lucky you have a mare this brilliant to fret over you.
Woods blur past, branches slapping her sides, but she pushes harder—legs burning means nothing for a mare this resilient and lovely.
Trouble, total trouble, her mind softens, a whinny bubbling out. But you're my trouble. Don't you dare drown, don't let brutes catch you.
I'm coming—this stubborn, stunning mare will track you to the river's end if I must. Hold on, Hannah. Your Bess, your prettiest companion is on her way.
She bursts into a clearing, nose twitching at faint smoke and Hannah's wool scent, and surges faster—hope flaring. Her master needs her, and a mare this remarkable never fails.
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To be continue