Emmarelda squawked as the wagon bounced up to swat her on the ass. The blow flung her into the air to hit the canvas roof of the wagon before dropping her back into the bed in a pile of rattling clattering tools and pots. The knives and bonesaws of the knackers trade jingled as she scrambled forward, the rough cobblestone of the road doing its best to hammer her to pulp. The nag was well and truly terrified all but frothing at the mouth as it pounded up the road. A few minutes of this and the damned beast would probably have heart attack, which would make Emmarelda’s life significantly easier. She clambered up and onto the drivers bench and snatched up the reigns, only to realise she had no more idea of how to drive a wagon than she did to declaim a Brasilaian eulogy. For a moment she was frozen watching the thickening woods whip past. She tossed a glance over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of dark riders coming up behind her. She let out an undignified shriek and cracked the reigns, urging the gasping draught horse onwards.

A barrage of raindrops the size of marbles slapped at Emmarelda as she frantically flogged the draft horse. The violent hammering of the cart on the cobblestones grew even worse. It seemed that the cart left the ground all together at times, crashing back down with bone jarring force. The nearest of the riders was coming up along side her, leather cape fluttering like a storm crows wing. He had a black silk mask across his face and his eyes were bloodshot. He reached up to grab at her but Emmarelda seized  one of the clattering saucepans and hurled it into the man’s face. His eyes opened wide as the pan struck him in the nose with a crack that was audible even over the clatter. The masked man reeled back, over balanced and spilled from his saddle. The man’s horse, now riderless, stumbled towards the wagon, one of the spinning wheels snagged the bridle and tangled it, yanking the horse into the wheel. Emmarelda screamed in terror at the colossal crack as the horse was dragged under, its thick neck shattering the wheel and dropping the rear quarter of the wagon to the road with a deafening screech of tearing metal and shattering timber. The whole wagon slewed sideways, the momentum ripping the tired dray horse from its feet with a whiplash so violent it shattered bones. Emmarelda, still screaming, eyes wide with terror, leaped from the developing catastrophe, arms flailing. She crashed down into some bushes beside the road, the thick foliage saving her from breaking bones. She rolled off the wet slap to land in the ditch by the side of the road. The remaining two riders raced past her, hauling on their own reigns to avoid being caught up in the ruin. Emmarelda leaped to her feet and ran unsteadily into the woods, the wet leaves slapping at her. 


Emmarelda had no destination in mind. Her only goal was to get off the road and away from her pursuers. By now the rain had began in earnest. It hissed down on the canopy above, only one drop in twenty getting through the leaves. The result made her skin crawl, as though she were waiting for a second more violent storm to break. The terrain dropped away into a creek filled with moss covered rocks. Very little light made it through the gathering storm but there was enough for Emmarelda to pick her way along the creek. She could hear shouts behind her in the distance but she had obviously gained some distance on the riders as they either dismounted or tried to force their horses through the woods. Her heart felt like it was trying to break its way out of her chest but she forced herself to calm down. There was little chance she was going to outrun two men in the woods in the dark. She slowed her pace and stepped behind the lichen covered ruin of an ancient watermill, forcing herself to be still and calm. The voices of her pursuers grew louder and louder until it sounded like they were right on top of her. Abruptly a one of her dark cloaked pursuers splashed across the stream close enough to her that she could have reached out and touched him. The smell of blood and sweat and horse tickled her nose and she screwed up her face to avoid sneezing.

“Where is the bitch!” he snarled.

“She must still be ahead!” another voice cried out from somewhere off to the left. Emmarelda her breath for a long moment and then the men rushed on off into the darkness. She forced herself to breathe slowly, trying to remain calm. This became much more difficult when a snuffling sound drew her attention to the opposite bank. A pair of huge golden eyes regarded her from the darkness. A great white wolf, larger than any pelt Emmarelda had ever seen, padded silently down the river bank. It paused at the edge of the water and looked at her. There was an almost electrical jolt as their eyes met. The weight of the wolf’s regard hit her like a medicine ball and it was all she could do not to cry out. For a long moment they stood staring at each other, then the wolf cocked its head and let out a chuffing sound that sounded amused. As suddenly as it appeared it was gone. Emmarelda flung herself out of her cover and turned to run back the way she had came only to crash headlong into Wil. The pair of them went down in a pile of flailing alms, splashing into the shallow creek.