She ran through the woods frantically, jumping over fallen trees, twisting her way around bushes and plants she couldn’t identify to save her life. And she might need to. She could hear footsteps behind her, and fought back a scream. A figure dropped down from a tree right in front of her. This time she couldn’t stop the scream escaping her lips. The boy held his hand to her mouth. She looked him up and down with petrified eyes. His dark brown hair was close to black and was tousled every which way, as if it didn’t know how to lie flat. His deep green eyes studied her, the same way she was to him. He looked to be three or four years older than her. He slowly took his hand away from her mouth, putting his index finger on his other hand over his lips, gesturing to be quiet. She obeyed. He motioned for her to follow him. She hesitated a moment. She didn’t know him, had no idea where he was leading her to, no clue which side he was on. She heard shouts behind her, and quickly made her decision. The boy was a lot faster than she was and it was hard to keep up, but she managed to, somehow. She had asked him where they were going a couple times now, and he always responded with silence. He finally slowed to a stop by a large oak tree. He firmly knocked three times, then twisted a knot on the tree. A rumbling noise came from the tree and a door was pushed in, revealing a winding staircase going down. The boy looked back at her, smiled, and started down the staircase. She didn’t know what else to do, so she reluctantly followed him down the stairs. A little gasp escaped her mouth as she reached the bottom. Light flooded her eyes and she blinked to get used to it. There was a huge room, dozens of tapestries lined the walls, of many different things, from people, exotic animals to abstract, patterns, and maps. The rugs that covered the floor were plush and had every color she could think of. A woman that seemed in her mid-thirties was asleep on a sofa with too many cushions and pillows. Two men who looked like they were fifty were playing chess in one corner. A boy who looked around her age was tinkering with something in the middle of it all. Why was she here? Of all people, of all places. Where was ‘here?’ The boy who had brought her here, wherever that was, was leaning against a wall nearby, smirking at her. “I never introduced myself,” His voice was husky and low, and he nearly whispered it. “Daelyn Ashford.” “Marty Jordan,” Her voice came out more quiet than she expected. Her face was calm, a slight smile, relaxed eyes. But her brain was working fast. Daelyn rang no bell, but his surname. Ashford. Something told her she had heard that before. Then it clicked. She stared at him. He stared back. She could see it now. How had she not seen it before? Ashford. His father. Her mother. Her sister. His father had murdered her entire family. She couldn’t believe she trusted him. She slowly backed away. His eyes showed question, concern. She held a hand to her head. Spinning around, she ran up the stairs. Daelyn called after her. She didn’t turn back. She stumbled out of the tree-house. Right into the soldiers looking for her. “You’re coming with us, little lady,” The soldier glared down at her. He grabbed her arm, she barely resisted. She knew there was nothing she could do. He was trained, his grip firm, and she was a fourteen year old girl. The soldier threw her into a wagon. Her left shoulder hit the wooden floor of the back. She curled up, her eyes watering. She shut them tightly, but the tears flowed anyway. She relaxed. She let them come. The wagon began to move. She didn’t know where she was going, or why. But she knew there was no more hope left for her. Everybody else got hope, except her.
