(Previous version) Queen of Ice, Sword of Iron, Heart of Crystal

Chapter 3 ~Teela

Late that night, I managed to sneak out from the slave shelters, making a pretense of fetching more work tools. My heart was racing. I had just barely gotten away from the troll guards, and a few of them had given me suspicious looks. I knew it was because it was now nighttime. There were less and less people now. Slaves who worked in the mines had a curfew, and were only allowed out under certain conditions. The troll sentries would be guarding the far walls surrounding the mountains.
When I tried to explain where I was going to the troll overseer, he had flicked his whip at my heels. "Hurry up! I've been too lenient on you!" He'd snapped. "And whatever you do," the troll growled, his eyes boring into mine, "Keep your sorry self out of trouble; otherwise you will face my dire consequences, and you will not escape my wrath." His eyes flashed darkly in the lamplight. Upon hearing that, I had the urge to smash his stone face into the stone wall behind him. But what could I possibly do? It took all of my energy to suppress my rage and resist, as I grit my teeth.
Outside in the darkness, my feet crunched through the frozen snow. With my right hand, I held up a glass lantern, its small flame flickering on the wick.
I tried to pull my cloak closer around me with my other hand, as icy winds needled my skin and pulled strands of my hair in different directions. The night air was freezing, and I could hardly bear it. I trudged and stumbled across the uneven, rocky snow covered mountainside, and across a barely cleared side path that led into another cavern used for storing some of our tools. I went as quickly as I could into the cavern to take the work tools I needed, taking note of the various pickaxes, scalpels, ropes and buckets that leaned against the far rock walls.

Setting my lantern down, I grabbed another pickaxe as well as a knife for cutting through stone. The metal tools felt like pure ice as I gripped onto them with my fingers. The cold was numbing them. I tucked the knife into the makeshift rope belt at my waist, took the pickaxe, and lifted it to rest on one of my shoulders. Then, I took my glass lantern in my other hand again. The flame was beginning to sputter. My lantern was going out. I set it back on the rocky ground and decided to leave it there. The bright firelight it gave off might have given me away, anyways. What good would it do if one of the trolls caught me out here, about to do exactly what they warned me not to do?

Shivers went down my spine. The snow had stopped, the clouds clearing enough to reveal a full moon in the frigid night. A few northern lights shimmered above in the sky. This might be harder than I thought. My heart pounded in my chest.
It was a wonder that I hadn't gotten frostbite yet. Or had I?
Keep your sorry self out of trouble; otherwise you will face my dire consequences, and you will not escape my wrath...

He could say and do whatever he wanted. I had no intention of obeying the stupid troll overseer. I'd had enough. I had done enough to Rhea. I would do anything help her. I couldn't let her freeze to death out there, in this awful cold! The trolls thought they could try and play mind games, manipulate us, and torture us, but I would show them.

My trembling feet stepped through the snow, and instead of heading back to the shelters, I turned right, taking another narrow, winding pathway, the one that led me down to snow covered grounds, outside of the mines.
At the far side of the snowy field, surrounded by stray trees, I could just glimpse her small, slumped figure underneath the pale moonlight, her arms stretched out around the thick wooden post which rose from the small courtyard I knew all too well. The whipping post. My throat constricted; I was getting a terrible feeling in my chest. Those rotten trolls had actually left her out there to die. I rushed over as fast as I could, carrying my tools.
As I came closer, I dropped my pickaxe to the ground. My knees sinking into the snow, I knelt at her side. I was greeted by a grave sight. My chest heaved, taking in the sharp night air, which then rushed back out in smoking swirls.

Illuminated by the dim moonlight, I could see that Rhea's back was bent over forwards, her arms forced around the wooden post, like she was crudely hugging it, her wrists bound in shackles and tied together. Her clothes were all dirty and torn, especially at the back of her tunic. Angry, raw gashes gleamed on her back, visible through the ripped fabric, smeared with frozen blood. Evidence of a recent round of whipping.