Sephir's shaking hands closed on the sand of the forest floor. It ran out between her fingers like time slipping away from her. Her voice broke the silence, unsteady, fear and defiance tangled in it. "I'm just a potter's girl," she said. "What I carry is nothing special. A few silver coins' worth."
The bandits had stopped thinking about her cargo. They were looking at her. One of them grinned. "Robbing people isn't all we do. A woman like you fetches a good price in our line of work. You, my dear, are perfect merchandise."
Fury and resolve flared in her at once, and in that moment she made the choice that changed her fate. She shot to her feet and flung the sand into the eyes of the men closing in. While they clawed at their faces, she ran, leaving her cart where it stood, straight into the depths of the forest.
Half-blind, the bandits stumbled after her, cursing. "Damn you, you little rat! If we catch you, you won't get off easy!" one of them bellowed. They crashed into the trees, driven by rage.
Sephir tore through the woods, her heart slamming, her breath ragged as she forced herself to hold the pace. She knew what stopping meant. These men would sell her, and she would spend the rest of her life in a brothel. Death was better than that. But wasn't choosing death a coward's way out?
She ran as fast as a mortal body could, until the body began to fail. Her strength drained away. She needed a moment, just one, and ducked behind a tree to find it. Fate wasn't offering any. As she caught her breath and tried to plan, a hidden root caught her foot and put her on the ground.
Their sight was clearing. They heard her fall and fixed on where the sound came from. Sephir, filthy and bleeding, tried to get up, and understood there would be no rest. As she pushed to her feet, she saw them closing in behind her, grinning in the pale moonlight.
Mud on her clothes, blood running from her knees, she ran again, refusing to be taken. She cut through the winding paths and changed direction at random, anything to shake them.
They stayed on her heels. Nearly spent, Sephir tore a strip from her skirt and tied it around her bleeding knees while tears cut lines through the dirt on her face. She cursed her own beauty. Maybe her face was the reason she had become prey. Maybe if she were plain, they would have let her go. The gods had given her a lovely body and a frail one.
She kept moving. Every second brought them closer. She prayed for the strength to turn and fight, but against three grown men she knew she stood no chance. Her beauty had always been a gift and a curse. Tonight it was only a curse.
She reached the edge of a small clearing, her heartbeat pounding like a plea for rescue. She pressed behind a tree, gasping, muffling her sobs. Then she heard them coming, footsteps heavy with menace, and whatever rest she had hoped for was gone.
"Where did that wretched girl run off to?" Ajax grumbled. He was the biggest of the three.
"She can't have gone far," Jack said, scanning the forest for a sign of her. "Let's keep searching."
"I'll make her regret this," Flint added, malice thick in his voice.
Flint was nearest her hiding place. He spotted blood on the ground, a trail leading straight behind a tree. He signaled the others, and a single nod settled what came next.
"Yes, she'll pay," Ajax growled, his eyes glinting. "Let's not waste any more time."
They closed on the tree and circled it like animals. Sephir had nowhere left to run. Whether from shock or from accepting what was coming, she fainted. The three of them stood over her limp body, and their eagerness curdled into disappointment.
Their cold eyes stayed on her while they worked out what to do with her. "What a waste," Ajax said, and his words hung in the heavy silence. "She's worth far less if she isn't sold the way we found her." The rest of the crew felt the same, and their satisfaction drained into the same sour look.
"One taste wouldn't hurt, would it?" Jack said it like he was owed. Men in their trade took their pleasures where they found them, and he saw nothing to argue about.
Flint's single sharp word was the only reason left in the clearing. He hauled their captive up without effort and bound her slim frame with rough rope, quick and practiced. "Settle down, Jack," he said, and the rebellion went out of the air. "We've got the woman. She's merchandise, ready for sale. That's all there is to it." Ajax grunted his agreement, and the peace held. Jack's face said he wasn't happy about it.
They carried her unconscious body back to the carriage, ready to set off into the unforgiving wilderness again. Her limp form had barely hit the carriage floor when a howl split the quiet night. Fate, it seemed, wanted a word. It never retreated and it never stopped following, and it was time for the hunters to become the hunted. The sound left the three of them uneasy. Was something answering for what they had done? Were there gods watching after all? Only time would tell.