A Forest Chase [closed]

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The sounds of hoofbeats broke the silence of the forest like a thunderous storm. The shouts of mounted soldiers in pursuit followed. Ahead of them, a single gray mare ran; its breathing labored, mouth foaming with exertion while struggling to keep up with the rider’s frantic demands. Daring a look over her shoulder at those chasing her, the woman begged the horse to go faster at seeing the men gaining on her. The mare was beginning to tire but she was not close to the sanctuary they needed, the safe place she so greatly required.

She had fled into the night undetected just a few days ago giving her a head start, until last evening when the men in black armor had somehow tracked her down; the sigil embroidered on their armor that of Teronna's Kingsguard. The tree with its twisted trunk and sprawling, entangling branches was one ingrained into her mind forever, the emblem of the vile, corrupt king. 

With a white-knuckled grip on the reins, she willed the mare to push itself to the limit and steered the exhausted animal off the dirt path and deeper into the woods where she prayed they would lose her pursuers.
The soldiers’ horses, being larger and weighed down by the heavily armored men upon their backs, were already having difficulty on such forested terrain. Among the trees, uneven ground with its gnarled, uplifted roots that threatened to trip the unwary rider, sent a panic into their minds. They couldn’t lose sight of their intended target lest their master have their heads. Failure was not an option. Nor was harming their quarry. They were under specific orders to apprehend her without serious, violent means. Their king wanted her intact.
The fear of failure increased the further she got, eluding them, expertly weaving her horse through the dense forest. In a last-ditch effort, one of the soldiers managed to draw an arrow to his bow, pulling back on the string to take aim. She could not be harmed, of course; the same could not be said for the horse.

This very thought seemed to dawn on Alais as she suddenly yanked the reins to the side, steering the animal to the left. Chancing a look over her shoulder once again, she found one of the riders taking aim. She attempted to move the animal further to the side as she sensed the sudden twang of the string, followed by the frightening whiz of the arrow through the air. Luckily, it had missed its intended target, yet it still got the job done.
The arrow brushed passed the mare, spooking it enough to draw them to an abrupt stop, thus causing it to lose its footing on a small incline. Beast and rider went down, sending her into a frenzied spiral from the saddle and into the brush. The men were quick to catch up; two dismounting as the Mystic struggled to find stable ground.

"Careful! Bind her hands, quickly!" one called out as another rushed her as swiftly as his feet could carry him. He wasn't swift enough, it would seem. Lifting her gaze up, she glared at the man from between tendrils of red hair, eyes glazing over into a vibrant gold as a single palm shot up. A sudden invisible and magical force made deep roots crash through the soil, tripping him and sending him sprawling. 
“Bind her hands now!” another called out, reiterating the desperate need because the chaos was beginning to frighten the horses. Gathering herself, Alais was climbing to her feet with a rage-filled gaze, her fingers curling into tight, shaking fists. She wanted badly to stay, to stop them, to end them, and do whatever it took to avoid capture, but the sound of the scared mare claimed her attention just in time to see it flee in another direction. A barely audible, whimpering sigh escaped her throat, feeling the fatigue beginning to set in, growing heavier and threatening to send her completely over the edge.

Not here, not like this...not now, she thought to herself over and over. Her head spun, her magic dwindling, but she gathered up more of her remaining strength to summon that power once more. The men were slowly inching their horses closer, attempting to devise a plan quickly before she lashed out. She was one against five. Certainly, they could find an opening.

“Give it up, witch,” hissed the man to her right, clearly displeased with the outcome of this hunt. “You’re tired and weak, girl, you’ll get no further.”
"And the king wanted to send a Warden," said another with amusement in his voice, sounding so sure of himself.
As attention flickered to the man nearest her, the Mystic woman felt that magic boiling in her veins, burning painfully as she had little strength to summon much more of it, let alone control the power now. Her desire to escape, however, was far more dire that she knew she had to chance it.

The air felt charged around her, lips murmuring words that would sound foreign to their ears. Her breathing labored, she continued on as heavy winds whipped around her in a vicious cyclone, ravaging knotted curls and that dirty, ripped tunic. 
When she could no longer contain it, a screaming cry emitted from her throat. Fingers curled tightly into her palms when both fists punched down into the earth at her feet. Two rows, like large snakes burrowing beneath the ground, charged towards the group until exploding underneath them.
The men called out and scrambled to control their frightened horses, being thrown this way and that before a few were forcefully dismounted. A resounding crack made her vaguely aware that one had struck his head upon a stone; his body now lying lifeless after his horse fled the way they had come.

Sounds were softly muffled in her ears, her vision blurring as she tried to stand there on swaying feet. With the very little amount of strength she had left to remain upright, she spun around precariously and rushed deeper into the woods, picking a direction blindly. The last of her adrenaline was what kept her going, what drove her to push her body to the limit and seek out a safe haven, to evade these men who thought it would be so simple to subdue her and bring her back to their king. Although full of fear and uncertainty, she did not stop running, not until she was vigorously gasping for breath and her lungs burned from the labor of it. Then, and only then, did she finally slow down; legs trembling beneath her until she could no longer delay the inevitable.

She collapsed to the cold earth.

She must have been out for a few hours, because it was truly dark in the forest when she awoke. Every part of her ached, and there was a slight moment of panic; reaching to her lower back to feel for the magical, sheathed blade. The stolen knife she had taken right from King Allarick's repository. It hadn't just been her that managed to infiltrate the castle, after many weeks of pretending. There had been five of them...and she was the only one left. It was up to her to get this back to Ruairc.

[Rowan DeGraff]

Rowan had seen the near capture of the mystic that the guards were so confident that they had. He wanted to laugh when they boasted about how a warden wasn't needed and that they could handle it themselves. Or hardly. He should have stepped in to help once they no longer had control over the situation, but he decided not to. They did not need a warden, right? He rolled his eyes.  Despite what the guards thought, the king had still sent wardens out to try and capture the mystic.

He remained in the shadows of the trees, hidden from view, despite being somewhat out in the open. His gift kept him invisible, so long as he stayed to the shadows. The woman had come close to his reach at one point that he could have easily leaped out and restrained her to help the guards. Yet, he wanted to watch the men struggle and fight. He watched to see what the mystic was capable of, and was rather impressed with what he saw. But she had gone against the king--stolen something that they did not wish to be in the hands of a mystic, which is why she had gotten herself in this predicament to begin with.

Once she was off running again, Rowan followed her, perhaps not as quickly because he chose to stay hidden within those shadows cast throughout the forest. But he was able to track her and the direction she had headed in. When he finally came to her, she was sleeping, so he quietly took a seat across from her, leaning against a tree. He'd let her sleep.

With the nightfall and the darkness, it was easier for him to stay hidden completely now. When he heard her stirring, he glanced up, his green eyes nearly glowed like that of a cat's in the darkness. Rowan silently watched her as she panicked, searching to ensure that she still had the stolen knife. He could have easily taken it as she slept-- Left her there and moved on, and she would have never known. Yet, he remained there, allowing her to feel, for a moment, that she had escaped and had succeeded in her task.

After a moment, Rowan finally spoke, his voice was deep yet calm, "why did you steal the knife?" Alais still would not be able to see him, but surely would be able to hear which direction his voice had come from.  "Do not run, I will catch you.  I just want to... Talk."   

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While her eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness surrounding her, she groaned softly with the ache in her head, the throbbing in her bones. Although she had rested, somewhat, she had pushed her magic to its limits and she was almost regretting it now. Not that she had had a choice, but her body was paying for it now.

Feeling the cold metal sheathed at her side still, she sighed a little bit in relief...until, once her mind was fully woken up, she felt a strange tension in the air. It was like this electrical buzzing all around her, as well as that sensation of someone watching.

Then that voice broke the silence.

Alais gasped and scrambled up to her knees, fighting through the exhaustion and sudden wave of dizziness. Her hand had curled around the hilt of that blade but she did not withdraw it. Frantically, she sought the dark woods for the source of the voice but couldn't see anyone. It wasn't another Mystic, was it? Perhaps one of the Unseelie? Or...maybe one of the Wardens had finally caught up to her.

Her heart was pounding against her chest and she almost forgot to breathe. After a moment, still carefully looking around her, Alais answered the invisible man with hatred in her tone, "That tyrant doesn't deserve it. He's already taken plenty of what doesn't belong to him." In truth, the weapon was dangerous if wielded properly, or so she was told. There was a reason Ruairc needed it.