The village disappeared behind her faster than Elowen expected.
Not because she walked quickly, but because no one stopped her.
The road stretched ahead in a dull ribbon of mud and frost. Winter had already begun to claim the countryside, turning the once-green fields into patches of gray earth and brittle grass.
Elowen adjusted the strap of her small bag over her shoulder.
The wind tugged at her hair.
She pulled the hood of her cloak lower, trying to hide the bright strands of red that never seemed to stay hidden for long.
Her father used to call it flame hair.
He used to laugh whenever the sunlight caught it.
"You'll light up every room you walk into, little flame," he would say, tying a ribbon into the tangled strands.
Her chest tightened.
Now her thoughts are crawling back to her Mother.
Is she still crying?
Does she misses her father the way that she do?
Will she ever get her hair braided by her again?
How could she go back to that night.
Before the whispers began.
Before the villagers started watching her like she was something unnatural.
Elowen shook the memory away and kept walking.
The road curved toward a crossroads just beyond the hills. A crooked wooden sign pointed in three directions.
North.
East.
South.
She stood there for a long moment.
The forest path to the east looked dark and quiet.
The northern road disappeared into distant hills she had never seen before.
The southern road led to the nearest city.
She had never been there, but she had heard stories—markets, factories, tall buildings made of brick and iron.
People.
People meant opportunity.
Or danger.
But staying alone in the wilderness would almost certainly mean starvation.
Elowen swallowed and started down the southern road.
Hours passed.
The sky slowly turned the dull color of smoke.
Then she began noticing things that made her uneasy.
A broken cart abandoned in the middle of the road.
A horse wandering alone without its rider.
Boot prints.
Hundreds of them.
Then she saw the first group of travelers.
A family hurried past her, pushing a cart piled with blankets and pots. Two small children clung to their mother's skirts.
Their father glanced at Elowen only once.
His eyes paused on her hair.
He quickly looked away.
"Don't stop," he muttered to his family.
More people passed after that.
Farmers.
Merchants.
Even soldiers.
Everyone was moving in the same direction.
Away.
A knot formed in Elowen's stomach.
Finally she gathered the courage to stop an old woman carrying a basket.
"Excuse me," Elowen said quietly. "What's happening?"
The woman looked tired.
"War," she answered.
Just one word.
It felt heavy.
"Rhaedor crossed the border two days ago," the woman continued. "The army is pushing south. Cities are already burning."
She offered Elowen a small piece of bread.
Then she noticed the red hair slipping out from beneath the hood.
The woman's expression changed.
Her hand froze.
Slowly she withdrew the bread.
"You should keep moving," she said stiffly.
Elowen nodded silently.
The woman walked away quickly.
The road grew quieter after that.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Elowen climbed a small hill overlooking the valley ahead.
When she reached the top, she stopped.
Below her, in the distance, smoke rose in thick black pillars.
The city was burning.
Flashes of light erupted along its outer walls.
A distant boom rolled across the fields a moment later. It was really like her hair.
Red.
Bright Red.
Too Red.
Elowen's heart pounded. Villagers voices echoing in her head, that word again.
The Curse
She is curse
Prophecy
She lit the sky red
She had never seen war before. How could she know.
Now it was all around her.
And she was completely alone.