Elowen stood at the crossroads, the cold wind brushing against her cheeks.
Three roads stretched before her.
South.
East.
North.
She stared at the southern road first.
She knew what waited there.
Crossbows.
Soldiers.
Death.
She had already walked that road once.
She had already died there.
The cursed girl.
The omen.
Her eyes slowly turned toward the eastern path.
The forest.
Tall dark trees stood close together, their branches weaving into a thick canopy that swallowed the fading daylight. It looked quieter there. Hidden.
Safer.
Berries would grow there. Water too, if she followed the land carefully.
Her mind began to calculate.
If she stayed away from the road…
If she avoided people…
If she hid long enough…
Maybe the war would pass her by.
Elowen reached into the small bag slung across her shoulder and pulled out the worn ribbon her father had given her years ago. The cloth was faded now, the edges frayed from time.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she tied it around her unruly red hair, pulling the wild strands back.
Her father used to say it looked like fire.
Her little flame.
Now people only called it a curse.
She took a slow breath.
Then she stepped onto the eastern path.
Into the forest.
The deeper she walked, the quieter the world became.
The sounds of the road faded behind her.
Only the wind moved through the tall trees, making the branches whisper softly above her head.
Leaves crunched beneath her boots.
It felt strange.
Peaceful, almost.
Better than the frightened crowds fleeing the city.
Better than the soldiers shouting orders.
Here, the forest seemed to breathe slowly, as if war did not exist beyond its borders.
Elowen walked until the sky began to darken.
Eventually she found a small clearing beside a narrow lake. The water was still and dark, reflecting the dim gray clouds above.
She knelt beside a bush and carefully gathered berries into her palm.
Not many.
But enough.
Her stomach growled as she ate them slowly, savoring the small sweetness.
When the wind began to sharpen, she realized how cold it had become.
Winter's breath was creeping through the forest.
She needed fire.
Elowen gathered twigs and dry grass, piling them carefully near a fallen log. Her hands moved slowly but deliberately. Her father had taught her this during their winter hunts.
"Fire keeps the cold away," he had said.
"And sometimes the wolves."
She pulled out the dull knife he had given her during her first hunt. The blade was worn, but it was still useful.
With careful strikes against a small piece of stone, she coaxed a spark into the dry grass.
The wind bit at her fingers like tiny daggers.
Come on…
Another strike.
Another.
Finally, a small orange glow flickered to life.
The twigs caught.
Then the flame grew.
Relief washed over her.
Elowen sat beside the fire, warming her stiff hands.
Is this a gift from the gods?
Or part of the curse?
If she had truly died…
Why had she returned?
Was she meant to change something?
Or suffer forever?
The fire crackled softly.
The warmth loosened the tension in her shoulders.
For the first time since being cast out, Elowen removed her cloak.
Her long red hair spilled down her back, wild and bright in the firelight.
The wind moved through it gently, lifting the strands like dancing flames.
She closed her eyes.
Just for a moment.
But fate, it seemed, had its own sense of humor.
Because the very fire meant to keep her alive had sent a signal into the darkness.
Footsteps echoed through the trees.
Slow.
Heavy.
Elowen's eyes snapped open.
Voices followed.
Rough voices.
Men.
"See that?" one of them muttered.
"Firelight."
Another voice laughed.
"Well, look what we found."