"They're here," the older man rasped as he jolted awake, his voice cutting through the night.
Figures slipped between the trees. The first Garrion stepped into the fire's glow, a rag masking his face, a crooked knife flashing in his hand. His eyes caught the firelight. More followed behind him, seven, maybe eight in all, each armed with a blade or wooden club.
"Well, well," the leader sneered. "What do we have here? Thought you could crawl off? And with our spoils?"
The older man staggered upright, hands raised, trembling. "We've nothing left! Take what you want and leave us!"
The Garrion's laugh was jagged and cruel. "Oh, we'll take it. And you'll pay, but this time, you pay in blood."
He lunged forward, only to halt as light burst in front of him.
Sonder stood there, sword of light drawn in one hand, the other raised with power already gathering.
The raiders drew back in surprise. "What-?"
"You'll go no further," she said.
The bandits wavered, muttering, then jeered to mask their unease. "A little girl with tricks. You'll regret it."
The first rushed, thinking she posed little threat, even with a sword.
Sonder stood strong. Sonder thrust her palm out and pushed power through it.
A sharp pulse of force hurled the man back, hard enough to send the knife spinning from his hand, clattering into the darkness.
Another swung a cudgel down at her head.
She caught it with her sword, the light-blade shearing into the wood. For an instant they strained against each other, then Sonder shoved, strength flooding her limbs. The man was sent flying off his feet and into the dirt.
The rest froze. Their "prey" was not what they thought.
Sonder's eyes narrowed. Something inside her stirred, deeper and darker than ever before.
Destruction in her mind.
She raised her free hand high.
Flames roared to life, not the soft glow of campfires but wild and hungry. They stretched into the night like grasping fingers, writhing. The trees shuddered with the monstrous shadows they threw.
The Garrions faltered.
"Leave them in peace," Sonder said, and though her voice was steady, a current of darkness threaded through it.
The cudgel-man scrambled back, eyes wide. "She's a witch," he hissed.
That was enough. One after another, the Garrions broke, fleeing into the trees, their bravado scattered.
Silence fell heavy in their wake. Only the dying campfire remained, crackling low.
Sonder let the conjured flames gutter out, their grasping shadows vanishing. Her sword dipped, suddenly heavy in her hand.
Behind her, the three travelers stared. The woman covered her mouth. The older man bowed his head. The younger whispered, "Gods preserve us."
Sonder turned. Their fear was plain, sharper and clearer than they had shown the Garrions.
She sheathed her sword and smothered the last light so darkness could take reign of the darkness. Without a word, she stepped away from the firelight and into the night, walking alone.