Orme had been in many a battle in his long life, but always on a ship, and always with weapons and allies. In this one, he was tied, his pack nowhere in sight, and on land. For the first time in a very, very long time, he was scared.

Suddenly the leader jumped from their seat to land in front of him. They cut his bonds and pointed to a spot on the other side of camp.

No need for words, Orme understood. Pack up and get the hell out.

He didn’t have time to be surprised, he was too busy running. He went to the area pointed out to him, and rummaged in all the tents until he found the packs. Wren and Iyona were close behind.

Orme cut their ties, threw them their bags and weapons, and took a defensive stance on the spot. They did the same behind him.

The battle was coming closer way too fast for them to avoid it this time.

The humans were advancing like a relentless machine, pushing the fae back. They killed without checking who was in front of them. Some killed their own allies.

The noise was too close for Wren’s ears. The dust was blinding. They couldn't see the battle anymore, they could barely feel Orme and Iyona behind them. It was going to be hard to survive this one.

The battle was on them, and Wren’s mind blanked.

They could only see the tip of their sword, only hear their own breathing. Their body tried to relax into a fighting stance. They were as ready as they could be.

The fight itself passed like a blur. Orme’s sword hacked and slashed left and right. He could hear his allies grunting. Could feel the tension in his foes. Could taste the bloodthirst of the attackers, the rage that empowered them, the sheer savagery of their wills.

And just like that, it was over. The fighting kept going on the other side of them, leaving them panting, bruised, but alive.

Iyona turned around, shouldered her pack, and pointed to the river in the distance.

They ran.