Aralyn and Arwen yearn for freedom. Since the dawn of time those like them have been marginalized, exploited, repudiated, but now the time has come to change things, because no werewolf likes to submit, no man accepts slavery. Armed with tenacity an...
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With a sharp blow of the arms she lowered the large, ruined hood over the head and, sharpening the sight, began to peer into the grayness that surrounded them. The uninterrupted sound of the rain tried several times to distract her, falling between the leaves and the puddles, yet she was not bewitched: after all, something far more important required her total attention.
Bringing the fingers back into the huge pocket of the sweatshirt, the hooded figure vigorously pressed her fingertips on the rough leather of the lining that was inside it, guardian of an object that she would never have expected to be so small and at the same time threatening, and the heart jump into her throat again. It was strange to feel that thing against her, it seemed wrong. During the escape, it even seemed to weigh as much as a dead body, a corpse she would have been better to get rid off, but in reality what she had with her was no more than a span of silver and a few other centimeters of steel. A dagger, nothing more. But how could it subjugate her that way?
Biting her lip, she prayed silently in a final act of mercy from Arianrhod, Arawn, Segomo, Fenrir and all the gods that her species believed in. It would have taken only a few more minutes of their pity, nothing more. If they had pardoned her enough to make a few last meters of running she would have made sure to revere them in the right way, as she was sure her companions would have done - and thinking about them, she could not resist the temptation to look at them. They were there, if not all, at least most of them, and, all in all, they were also in good condition: no dangling limbs, nor copious flows of blood, even though distinguishing their from others' was an almost impossible undertaking. In the crowds of bodies it had been difficult to keep from hurting and getting hurt, so in the end they still found themselves looking like some splatter film stunts - pity that the murders and the huge crimson patches on their bodies were anything but fiction.
Of course, it had to be said, what had happened had far exceeded general expectations. Aralyn doubted that anyone, just like her, had hoped to get there in those conditions. She was certain that even Garrel, Fernando and the Vogel twins had undertaken that mission with the clear awareness that someone would die, or that none of them would return home; instead here they were, all with big breath and half-naked bodies to testify the efforts made that night.
