Updated: Jun 16
Rúna crouched in the tall grass. The soft golden glow of morning just a sliver on the horizon, she knew she had to think quickly and act fast. Heart beating a heavy cadence in her chest, her eyes searched the dimly lit campsite for Fiadh.
She counted three men and one woman, all broad shoulders and braided hair. One man stood by the dying fire, appearing to be assembling their slim and shoddy assortment of cookware from the evening before. The woman appeared to be keeping the last of the night's watch on the other side of camp, back straight, sharp jaw silhouetted in dim morning light. Another man was still snoring about ten feet off to her right. The last man was stepping gingerly across camp to where there appeared to be an inert form.
When he poked it with the toe of his boot, it moved, shifting upright and revealing familiar midnight locks tumbling over rounded shoulders. Rúna's breath caught, her rage cresting on a fresh wave inside her gut. Fiadh. Her posture reminded Runa of a snake, cornered, coiled and waiting for the right moment to strike.
Fluid and languid like a big cat, Rúna crept through the grass. She cut a slow, broad arc to the left. All she needed to do first was catch Fiadh's eye. Rúna was close enough to them now that she could make out what the man was saying to Fiadh.
"Get up, ya bloody fish. We gotta get moving 'fore that redheaded friend o' yours finds us."
Fiadh bared her teeth and snarled, making a lunge for him despite her bound hands.
The man scrambled away from her. "Oi, why're we doing this again, mate?" he called over his shoulder. The man collecting their things leveled a glare at his companion.
"Because, mate, we're teachin' that no good backstabbin' fae lovin' bitch a lesson fer turnin' on her own kind."
"Right, o'course," he grumbled, turning back to where Fiadh sat. "Come on then, lass."