Lizbeth fled through the trees. Guilt gnawed at her, but she didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare think of Darrick. Her breath came in sharp gasps as her feet pounded on the uneven ground. She had to get back to the village, maybe Master Oweyn or the other men could do something. In truth, she wasn’t sure who or what was coming for them. She hadn’t stayed long enough to find out, but Darrick’s reaction told her that it would be nothing good.
The village wasn’t far from the spot where Darrick, and she, had been playing. She knew these woods well; they were a little way from the village. The games she played with the village lads required a bit of privacy. There was talk, of course, but it didn’t get back to the elders. Besides, it was all harmless fun. A little teasing, a little exploration, and afterward Darrick and the other boys were always so grateful.
The chickens scattered, clucking wildly as Lizbeth barreled into the village. If that wasn’t enough to raise attention, her screams were. Master Oweyn came out of his smithy, hammer still in hand, to find out what the commotion was, and soon the other elders were gathering.
It was already too late, though. Even as she summoned the breath to explain, she heard the sounds of steel-shod boots approaching the village. A look passed between the elders. For just a moment they froze, then the whole village sprang into action.
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