It wasn't until the moon was high and he was far into the churning sands that full realization of his deed hit Krelian. He stumbled to a halt, swaying on his feet, and fell to his knees with his precious, bloody burden held tightly to his chest. Sand gritted in his teeth and bit at his face; a storm was coming, and the lush line of the Kuro forest was still only a smudge on the horizon.

Traitor. That's what he was. The shivering bundle in his arms was proof. Her hair drifted teasingly on the currents of the wind, deepened to the color of blood in the darkness.

Despite the terrible implication of that word, he felt empty. Any sane man would fear the punishment waiting for him with capture. Many had died for lesser crimes during his time at Nimrod's court. If they did not gut him for disobeying an order, they would flay him for trying to spirit this child away.

The king always punished the wrong criminals. Should he not stand on trial for the innocents he had killed, rather than the one he did not?

Trembling, muscles burning, Krelian rested the girl gently on the sand, settling more comfortably beside her to rest. He hadn't stopped since he made the decision to drag her out of the monestary and into the desert, where the imperial guard couldn't follow them. She'd tried to keep up, and finally collapsed a mile into the desert. Poor girl. She was frail and sickly, still small and spindly despite her age. This was the threat to his majesty's throne? She barely had the strength to walk.

He pulled her into his arms again and brushed sand from her face, combing her hair back with his bloodstained fingers. Despite their predicament, she slept peacefully. He envied her. If she knew what awaited them should they be caught, she wouldn't find any peace tonight either.


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The word: bloody
Finished: 15 minutes