The fires hiss in the pouring rain. Horses’ trampling under the screams and cries. The clinging of metal on metal, breaking of wood, things falling and splashing in the mud. It’s a night of fighting and killing. Now that the foreign armies have fallen back over the mountains, a civil war ensued in the beaten down land. The Nuncio’s troops are cutting out every resistance they can find. Once the Queen was taken prisoner all hope seemed lost for her faithful supporters. No one considered this even possible: the Queen was deemed untouchable. It seems she trusted her first advisor all too much. No one could find her weaknesses better than him.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

The Nuncio answered to both his own order and to the Queen. In the end he answered to none.

The xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" />Queens magic was never of the destroying kind, she was the one taking care of the land and all its inhabitants, big or small, man, beast or plant. She deeply felt all things living, as if she was the connection that bound all life of the land together. The Nuncio was often the one leading her fighting forces, which he turned against her in the end. Right when the country was weakened from the wars.

A pregnant woman tries to hide from the ongoing slaughter in the empty stables of the soldiers’ horses. She figures no one will look for anyone there, since all the horses are out. It won’t be long till the fire reaches these stables though, the barn next to it is already on fire. The contractions hold her down but she struggles to find a safe spot in the hay. Not too far from the back doors, but still sheltered enough not to be seen.

She knows she will give birth to her child alone. This woman is not from the city, she is one of the travelling people of the forests. She was raised in dealing with nature, for better or worse. Giving birth is a fight she is ready to take on alone, like every other animal. The water for the horses seems still clear enough in the barrels, odd that no one thought of getting it for the fires or to clean the wounds. People from the cities remind her of ants, without a queen to lead them.

Just outside, it must be against the very wall of these stables, she can hear the muffled screams of another woman. At first she thinks the woman is assaulted, more so even if she hears the dark tone of a man’s voice. In her own labour pains, she can’t put her mind straight to the noises she hears. Only after a while she realises the woman screaming is calmed down by that man. The other woman is in pain, and her cries are getting desperately weak. Did she stop screaming, or did she stop hearing anything herself? Her own cries get stronger, her baby is coming, the world and all its burning has to wait now.

The girl is born in a night of blood. As if it is death itself that welcomed her to the world of the living and suffering. Her mother can not give up now. She has to take care of herself, and of her newborn baby. The struggle is not over yet. Outside the cries have ended too.

The door opens, she crawls back, holding the wet baby onto her chest. A man enters, alone. She looks at him, trying to silently move further away. He knows she is there, she can feel it. Yet he does not seem hostile, although he does not seem friendly either. He holds a blanket in his arms, which he takes to the barrel of water near the woman. Without a word he takes some of the water, only than she realises he too is holding a baby. Instinctively she looks for the silence at the other side of the wall. He shakes his head, she understands and feels sorry for the motherless child in his arms. Just like she feels sorry for the fatherless girl on her own chest. The man washes the baby and she watches him like a wounded animal. He has several scars in his face and on his bare forearms.

Horses and cries. A group of soldiers are returning outside. Immediately the man reacts in a surprisingly calm and efficient manner. He takes something to put water in, he wraps the blanket tighter, motions the woman as she is trying to stand up. This man is not panicking, whereas the woman is on the verge of collapsing. She can not think or plan, but she is not afraid of anything that will come.

The group of soldiers is too near, and further outside there still is fighting going on. There is no safe way to get out of there unseen. The woman is not about to stop, but the man holds her back. Immediately she is ready to fight him but his eyes calm her down. He gives the baby in the blanket to the woman, who now carries both children in her arms. He tells her no name for the boy. All he does is put his hand on her hand and let her hold the boy tight. The man opens the door for her and pushes her behind a bundle of hay. He makes the ‘wait’ sign and goes back inside. She can see him still through the open door.

From his back the man takes a dark walking stick that was tied in a leather sheath. Both hands in a firm grip on the stick, he looks behind one last time. The woman sits there hidden, the two babies in her arms. She is ready to get them safe, even if it has to kill her doing so, weakened as she is. The woman can barely stand up straight, she can hardly see from exhaustion. The pain is overbearing.

With a single hit he strikes down one of the supporting beams of the stable. The splintering of such a large wooden pole makes a terrible noise. He looks behind, the woman realises she better gets out of there. He takes of his shirt and opens the front doors. His skin has a pale colouring to it, rather unreal. What strikes the most however, is the multitude of scars this man has on his body. The last thing the woman sees of him is the way he dashes outside and starts breaking random things within his reach. Not only wood is heard breaking, but metal as well, and even the splintering of stone. When the first soldiers arrive he rushes inside again, fast as a fox. He is not a tall man, but he appears extremely strong and fast. Outside the first shouting is about the ‘scarred one’, as if those scars are how this man is recognised. It is very clear the soldiers have been looking for him and he is giving them a run for their money. Already the soldiers are on him, but as many follow him inside the stables another beam is struck down. The building is collapsing.

While running the woman can make out the soldiers panicking and crying for aid.  Before she knows it more and more are called to help catch the scarred man. She can not wait to see what happens; she takes both babies and stumbles to the outer fences. The woman has no way of telling if the man lives but she simply can’t focus on anything else than moving now.

If she reaches the forest at least they will live.