A bolt of lightning struck an ancient tree and completely shattered it, followed a moment later by a thunderclap that sent the horses into a blind panic. Even though the weight of the carts impeded them and their handlers tried to pacify them as they walked alongside them, most of them managed to make a run for it. They did not get very far, as the narrow pathway through the dense woods was the only passable part of the forest. Men were run over as they made desperate and futile attempts to stop the stampede, unable to move quickly enough with their thick woollen coats swollen with the rain that fell from the skies in a continuous downpour. The frightened horses ran in all directions, often careering into each other or the carts as they did so, breaking legs and receiving gaping wounds in the process. Within moments the previously orderly caravan became a horrid mess of wounded men, dying animals and destroyed vehicles. The merciless storm overhead cared naught for what was happening underneath it and kept up its constant assault of wind, water and lightning.

In the midst of the mayhem stood a span of four oxen surrounded by an equal number of well-armed and well trained groomsmen. Behind those was a large wagon that had once upon a time been quite homely, but had since then fallen into disrepair. The paint was flaking off, the wood was damaged in multiple places, the iron parts were rusty and the wheel spokes had several cracks in them. Yet light still burned brightly behind the windows and it formed an island of calm inside the sea of chaos that surrounded it. The oxen held their peace, unperturbed by the horrid weather raging all around them and the groomsmen were the very image of bored guards on a sunny day, their only reaction to the vengeful elements being to hide their faces deeply within their sturdy coats.

Inside the wagon a small army of servants tried and failed to look away from their master yelling at the Guide. The man was tall, managed to be both fat and incredibly muscular at the same time and was bellowing at the much smaller woman, who looked tiny in comparison. The woman lazily leaned on her long walking staff, her eyes glazing over the interior of the wagon. Everything about her spoke of utter disinterest in the man shouting down at her. The way she casually toyed with her long, hazel-brown hair, the dead look in her eyes and the yawns that kept escaping her lips. Only when a particularly strong flash of lightning lit up the sky did a spark of life return to her deep, brown eyes. A primitive, hungry look settled on her face for the briefest of moments as she observed the violent, wild and uncontrolled display of nature, before it disappeared along with the lightning itself.

"You're not even listening to me, are you!" the man shouted, bringing his hand down on her like a hammer. The woman was hit squarely on the cheek and was sent flying into an old armoire that broke under the impact. "You stupid bitch! My entire caravan's going up in splinters because of you!"

The woman carefully picked her way through the broken planks and got to her feet again. A bruise was forming on her cheek, but her eyes remained disinterested as they turned towards the man.

"I told you not to take this path, Rumbar. You didn't want to listen. Such a shame you didn't inherit a shred of your father's wits."

Rumbar stomped over towards her, anger flaring in his eyes. "Do not dare to talk about him, Sanguilia! I'm twice the man he is! Thrice! He didn't know how to run a business! Always wasting his money on frivolities! Never having the gall to cut costs where it was needed! He was an idiot! A buffoon! He was—"

"A man capable of keeping his caravan together," came Sanguilia's bored response as she prodded a rotten plank with her staff. "And he kept things in order." She looked outside at the mayhem and shook her head.

The servants looked away as Rumbar smacked the woman again, sending the much smaller human flying into a closet, which was demolished as well.

Ignoring the blood running from several scratches on her face, Sanguilia grabbed a short plank with her fingers, before crumbling the rotten thing to dust. "See? You're so incompetent. I feel sorry for your father, really. Such a great man, yet he fathered such an inept clown like you." Her voice remained bored, as if the entire event wasn't anything that involved her.

Veins started throbbing on Rumbar's head as he threw himself at his guide with an incoherent scream of rage. He plucked her out of the debris as if she weighed no more than a kitten, her arms dangling limply beside her. Spit flew out of his mouth as he roared obscenities and explicit threats at her. The way he was violently shaking her, she seemed no more than a ragdoll, and still her eyes remained as dead and empty as before.

As she refused to give him the satisfaction of any sort of reaction, he spit in her face and threw her onto the floor. She landed awkwardly on her arm, and it held for but a mere moment before it snapped with a sickening sound. She threw a casual glance towards it and used her other arm to lift up the broken limb. Bone protruded from it, pearly white mixed with red as blood seeped out of the wound.

"Damaged goods aren't worth much, you know?" she mocked him, the tiniest sliver of emotion sneaking into her voice. It was not pain, neither was it fear, nor anger. It didn't hint at any of those dark emotions. If Rumbar had any sanity left, he would have recognised it as amusement. Sadly enough, the man was way too far gone, buried under layers of pure anger, and had reverted purely to his baser instincts. He wanted to humiliate this woman, break her, see her cry and beg him for forgiveness. He would take everything from her, and it was well within his rights to do so! Forget that she was an independent Guide who had safely steered the caravan through the wilds for over a decade, evading monsters and storms and traps alike! The look in his eyes changed from rage to lust as he saw the tears in her clothes and the skin underneath was revealed. He stepped over towards her and grabbed her again, not by the shoulders this time, but by her tunic. He leered openly at her as he pulled on it.

Life flared into Sanguilia's eyes in an instant and before Rumbar knew that something had changed, she had tightened her fingers together and rammed them deep into his throat and crushed his trachea. As the taller man crashed into the ground, fruitlessly gasping for air, Sanguilia stood up, her eyes still ablaze. She calmly patted the dust from her clothes before rearranging them for decency's sake. Ignoring the thrashing form of her previous employer, she went to pick up her staff.

The servants were peeking from their hiding spots, rooted to the ground with fear as their master's movement became increasingly erratic as his air ran out, before he finally ceased moving altogether. Pulling her hood over her head, Sanguilia looked over at the man whose father she had served faithfully and loyally for a dozen years. Then she spat at his feet.

"I am not for you to touch."

She turned around and walked out of the wagon, hiding her broken arm within her cloak. She nodded towards the groomsmen standing watch at the oxen, and received curt nods in return. Everything that had transpired within the wagon had been silenced by the sound of the raging storm. A particularly strong gale of wind ripped her hood off her face, and she moved to put it back in place when a frighteningly powerful lightning bolt turned an immense tree into a smoking crater. A wild grin formed on her lips and flames of excitement danced in her eyes as she lowered her arm again, letting the rain wash over her face.

She smiled as she hopped off the wagon's platform, and with a determined tread she glided into the dense undergrowth, leaving the caravan behind. She didn't think twice about those she left behind. The storm would end within a day, she knew, and then they would die. Not far from these woods was a nest of Wyverns, and the caravan would be easy pickings for the beasts, but that did not matter to her. This chapter of her life was over, and it was time to move to the next.