Subtle words led the horse to the creek’s nearly empty bed where Alessandra slid limply from his back. She crumpled to the ground, heaving up the bile of fear that laid thick in her stomach. For a moment, she was caught imobile, vulnerable to any assault. Her bow was broken, her knife and hatchet gone. She shoved herself up onto her knees and crawled toward the parched bed of the creek. The dim light of dawn was blocked by the thick smoke. Cupping her hands, she drank deeply from the trickling stream, the muddy water tasting far more satisfying in that moment than the purest spring water would have in any other moment. Gathering herself together, she focused on the soft sounds the horse made to express his concern. Alessandra assured him she was fine with soft words and gentle touches.

She didn’t really feel, or even look, fine. She looked ragged and wounded, barely hanging on. Alessandra struggled out of her leather tunic and pulled off her soft undershirt. Setting the overshirt aside, she struggled to rip strips of her undershirt for bandages. She winced and bit back a pained cry as she pushed herself to her knees once more. An awful silence had descended over the world and fear seemed to surge up within her again. She struggled to shove it away as she searched for a healing herb often found near the creek’s original bank.

It took far too long to find the plant, dragging herself agonizingly over the cracked and dried mud. Alessandra clutched the herbs to her chest, looking back toward where the bandages were and she despaired. It may have been only a few dozen feet, but it looked like an impassable desert in that moment. The horse stepped up next to her placing his feet carefully and nuzzled the side of her face. His warm breath and soft nose against her face helped her to find the strength to crawl the distance. He stayed by her side the entire time.

When she reached the bandages, she gently lowered herself into a seated position and set the uprooted plants at her side. Taking up a small quantity, she chewed it carefully. Her tongue and lips quickly went numb. She reached into the creek, coming out with a handful of mud. Alessandra mixed the mud with the chewed plant and carefully spread the salve on the cut in her arm. She bound the wound tightly with some of the bandages. Soon the pain would leave her arm and the mud would seal the wound, preventing bleeding. Both were only temporary measures, but it was the best she could do for now.

After removing her pants, she cleaned the deeper wound on her leg. The process was painful and she bit her tongue bloody trying not to cry out. Again, she mixed chewed herb and mud to cover the wound. Once her bleeding wounds were bandaged and salved, she looked down at her wounded ankle. There was little she could do beyond binding it tightly with the remaining bandages.

Alessandra dressed with care and climbed back onto the massive golden horse’s back. The silence that still coated the world left a sick cold feeling in her core. This did not sound like triumph for her people. She trembled as she sat on the horse’s back and he stamped a foot in response. She did not want to know what was going on, did not want to see the dead, find her people defeated, or even discover the source of the flames. She hesitated for a long moment, straining to hear in the silence.

Nothing.

Not the beat of a hoof.

Not a scream.

No clashing of arms.

It was eerie, the palpable silence in the wake of all the sound. Shaking her head she tried to clear it, she could hear herself breathing, she wasn’t deaf. She urged the horse forward and guided him slowly toward the village. She did not move with urgency, caught instead by dread.

Finally, sounds reached her ears, screams of pain and torment. The screams of her people. The sound chilled her and she urged her horse to a more rapid pace. Her eyes scanned the ground, seeking usable weapons. She finally found the weapons she needed on a corpse. Though the body was so ravaged that she did not recognize them, She said a quick prayer for their passage to the next hunt and took up their bow. It sickened her to take from the dead, but she had no choice, her people were screaming. Alessandra gathered her flagging reserves and the tattered remains of her courage and urged the horse again toward the village.

She could hear them more clearly the closer she got to the village and above their panicked cries, the roar of flames. The sound of those flames burned at her soul. Her home was burning, her people destroyed. The horse’s hooves thundered against the ground, rattling her bones with every pounding step. Her heart seemed to beat a rhythm with the gold horse’s stride. The whole world seemed to be working to the same music, the throb of it was echoed in her wounds, though they were quickly going numb. It felt as if her body was an ocean of pain that ebbed and flowed with the music of this horrible dawn.