Morwena, as long as we had walked together, bunked together, had told me that she would escape. Even if it was the death of her.
She had an air of mystery about her; her darkened eyes set below her strong, large brow, always deep and thoughtful, fiery and passionate. I knew nothing of her than of the desire that burned at her heart, and what seemed to me to be the magic that lurked at her fingertips. Bound together by our troubles, by our chains, we had become sisters of sorts, even with the few words exchanged between us.
I knew what her destiny was going to be--I knew the end of her path. I could not see the future, but it was only a matter of time. I couldn't stop Morwena, and I could only wonder if that was the proper action to take.
To end it now. To simply jump off the edge of the cliff, and hope to escape, whether survival or death would lead to that escape.
I hadn't the slightest idea how she slipped from her ties--it must have been her magic hands. But she did not taste the freedom for long, at least in her life.
They yelled, those demons on their black horses. In one motion, the arrows pierced the air, the silence, and struck the girl all at once.
And all at once the life, the magic, left her. Limp, she lay across the ground draped in her blood. In a way, she found independence.
We all watched, horrified, but said nothing. The killers did not say anything either, as if there had been a shift in the air. I myself believed it to be Morwena's freed spirit. Perhaps she would curse the murderers for eternity.
Uncomfortable, they broke the quiet and drove us onwards to leave the body behind. Though that unusual feeling still remained, as if they could not shake Morwena's iron will itself.
It only reinforced how close we all stood to the edge, the crumbling cliff of life, pain, and death; hope only a candle melting, flickering, drowning in the sea of Darkness and eaten by the Shadows.