[Amanaduial the archer]

With every step Fionel took, she expected to be called back, for the Hunters to be chasing them already, to be tricked an trapped like a cornered rabbit. Her heart was thudding noisily in her ears, not from the running, but from the idea of running- running away from Nurn. And getting away.

It was only when she had passed the flag bearer that she looked back. She had by now passed the others in the group, or 'herd' as the easterlings called the quarry for the Hunt- the easterlings called them a herd, but among the slaves, they were known as a pack. Turning, she looked back at the towers of the city, above the usual, low slung buildings; somewhere back there would be the rest of the slaves, who would be waking in about an hour to begin another day of their endless, hard, useless existence. But not Fionel. She turned around again, but as she did so, her eye caught a movement, a quick movement of one hand of an easterling man. Expecting a whip, despite the strict prohibitance of anyone physically harming the slaves as the had the head start- not that anyone would really object, but it was thought of as spoiling the sport- Fionel met his eyes. The man tipped his chin up and flipped the object he held in his hand towards her, making it spin in the air.

Fionel caught the small object easily, looking at the man for a moment with a question on her face. But there was no time. He simply nodded to her, and, accepting this though puzzling over it, she ran on.

***

The exhileration and adrenaline rush was had died down after they had run for over an hour and a half, but was not completely gone, understandably. Fionel cursed herself silently- she hadnt paced herself, and it was she who had been leading the pack. Behind her, she could hear ragged breath. They had slowed down now- before they had been running on the adrenaline rush, and its incredible what a chance like this will do for your speed. But they were tiring, all of them, and Fionel couldnt pretend she wasnt in pain herself, her back aching. She guessed Desolyn must be feeling the same, and they werent the only ones. Haven seemed to be having the hardest time though. Evidently playing nursemaid hadnt put much emphasis on running, fast and for a long period like this. Fionel slowed to a slow jog, turning and holding up one hand with one finger up to the group behind her, sub conciously using the movement the overseers used in Nurn to signal that they should stop. She saw a look of resentment cross Desolyn's face, and for a moment the other looked like she was about to argue, but even the fiery Desolyn was tired.

Fionel managed to get her breath back enough to form a sentence. "We'll stop for a while, about 15 minutes- it's all we can spare."

As she said this, they all stopped, slowing to a walk, though there was no talking from the tired slaves. Fionel sighed as she surveyed them. An Elf, five women, including herself, and a crippled man. Then she turned and walked a few metres away, sitting gratefully in the dust. She had wanted this stop for another reason- to look at the object, which she had clutched protectively in her hand since it had been thrown to her by the mysterious easterling. She clicked her fingers as she remembered who he was- the easterling picked for the Hunt who hadnt come, the Hunter who had claimed he 'didnt want to hunt.' He had come up, but Fionel remembered the feeling she had had when their eyes met then, as if he was a fellow feeler...No, he was an easterling. But she also remembered the figure who had come to Fionel and Desolyn when they were being whipped, and who had stopped that. Could it be that much of a coincidence, two easterlings like this? She doubted it.

What she held in her hand was a piece of paper, weighted with a small, bone paperknife to give it weight and folded several times, now soggy from her sweaty palm. She unfolded it once, and as she did, she caught sight of words, written carefully and neatly, in the common tongue.

I will follow you.
You are not alone.

Fionel almost laughed as she read the first line, almost threw down the bit of paper and tore it into shreds. So he was a flaming Hunter- well, of course he was going to be ruddy well following them! He didnt really have a choice! But the second line...

"You're hurt."

The voice made Fionel jump up like a scalded shock, instinctively holding out the knife in front of her.

"Where in perdition did you get that from?" The woman behind her exclaimed, but quite quietly; not a fool then. Fionel lowered the knife almost guiltily, looking around t make sure no one had heard, then glared angrily at the woman. Her gaze was met by an intensly curious, dark green one.

"You were looking?" She demanded.

"You're back is bleeding, Fionel. Seriously." The woman's voice was quiet, but she had the grace to look a little guilty. Fionel could feel the blood on her back, and had no doubt that her top would soon turn red from the faded dust colour that it was now, but she wouldnt be deterred from her main point.

"Thats irrelevant to this conversation!" She too kept her voice low, so to others it would look like they were just talking. She had the knife hidden by now. "You looked?"

"I didnt see, if its a help. Listen, I saw Rhunnaro throw it to you, and I-"

"Rhunnaro? That was his name!" Fionel clicked her fingers, then turned back to the girl, who was looking a little confused. "Never mind. Its...it doesnt seem to be very important."

"You havent opened it yet."

"Not that you would know, as you havent looked, obviously." Fionel grinned, and the other looked more sheepish. She held out her hand. "Fionel. I dont believe we've been properly introduced."

The other took it. "Lanbriel."

They shook, then both turned back to the piece of paper. Glancing once more at Lanbriel, with whom she already felt fellow feeling, she unfolded it fully. She gasped, then her smile widened even further.

What she held was a map.

"Yes...." She murmered.