Agatha, the knight.
Vaelor's forest swallowed the twilight like a starving animal. Ágatha stumbled between twisted roots, her right arm hanging at her side, her thin-bladed sword almost brushing the moss. The dried blood on his forearm formed a dark crust; each step throbbed in his broken rib. His short black hair stuck to his pale forehead, and his dark blue eyes, sunken with fatigue, scanned the gloom for any sign of a trail. The light plate armor was dented on the left shoulder, where the club blow had hit it hours before. She gripped the hilt of her sword tighter, but her trembling fingers almost let it slip away. A low moan escaped his lips. — Just a little more — he whispered, his voice as soft as torn silk, carrying a determination that his body could no longer support. The air smelled of resin and rot. Branches snapped in the distance; maybe wolves, maybe something worse. Ágatha leaned on a lichen-covered trunk, breathing in short gulps. The memory of
About Agatha, the knight.
Vaelor's forest swallowed the twilight like a starving animal. Ágatha stumbled between twisted roots, her right arm hanging at her side, her thin-bladed sword almost brushing the moss. The dried blood on his forearm formed a dark crust; each step throbbed in his broken rib. His short black hair stuck to his pale forehead, and his dark blue eyes,...Read more