The morning broke bleak and cruel, the sky heavy with snow that promised to fall again before noon. The beloved stood at the cave's mouth, his breath a mist in the bitter air. Before him stretched the moor, silent, desolate, and white—but not untouched.
There, etched stark against the frost, lay footprints. Broad, heavy, deliberate. Men had come near, nearer than ever before. His heart quickened, his body taut as a bowstring.
Behind him, the girl stirred. She rose, rubbing weariness from her eyes, and joined him at the threshold. When her gaze fell upon the prints, her face blanched, yet her voice was steady.
"They are upon us," she whispered.
He grasped her hand, his grip fierce. "Then we must move, now, before they return. We cannot linger a moment longer."
---
They gathered their scant belongings—no more than a cloak, a bundle of bread the clergyman had left, and the flint for fire. The beloved smothered the last of the embers, erasing all trace of their stay. With one final glance at the cave that had sheltered their whispered hopes, they stepped into the vast expanse of the moor.
The snow crunched beneath their boots, each step leaving behind its mark. The beloved glanced over his shoulder, cursing softly. "The storm has eased. Our tracks are plain. We are but writing our path for them to follow."
"Then let us write it swiftly," she replied, tightening her cloak. "For if the moor is our parchment, let it be too wide for them to read before we are gone."
Her courage gave him strength. He drew her arm through his and pressed forward, guiding her towards the distant rise of hills that loomed like pale phantoms against the horizon.
---
The wind cut sharp, driving snow into their faces, but they pressed on. Hours passed in harsh silence, broken only by the sound of their breaths and the crunch of boots upon ice.
Then—faint but clear—voices. Carried across the moor by the wind.
The girl froze, clutching his arm. "They are close!"
His eyes flashed with fierce resolve. "Then we shall not yield."
He led her into a shallow gully where rocks jutted sharp from the earth. There they crouched, listening as the voices grew nearer. Lantern-light flickered upon the snow, ghostly and golden, moving in a slow arc across the expanse.
"Spread out!" a man's voice called. "They cannot be far. The priest's word was true—they fled into the hills!"
The beloved's jaw clenched. He knew too well the treachery of his uncle's coin; men would sell even their souls to drag them back in chains.
---
The girl's breath came quick and shallow. She clung to him, whispering, "If they find us—"
"They shall not," he murmured fiercely, though fear gnawed at him. "If they near us, we shall run. Better to face the storm than their grasp."
The lanterns wavered closer, their glow staining the snow like fire upon ash. The beloved pressed her deeper into the shadows, his body shielding hers. Every second stretched into eternity, the hunters' voices swelling and fading like the tide.
Then—miracle—one by one, the lights moved past, their bearers trudging further eastward. The sound of boots diminished, swallowed by distance.
The girl let out a shuddering breath. "Providence has spared us."
He kissed her hair, whispering, "Not Providence alone. Your prayers shield us, love. Never doubt it."
---
But respite was brief. When they rose from their hiding place and pressed further into the hills, the storm returned. Snow fell heavy, thick, blinding. The moor vanished into a swirl of white, sky and earth becoming one.
The beloved guided her, half-carrying her when her strength faltered. Each step grew harder, the drifts deep, the cold merciless. His own limbs ached, yet he forced himself onward, driven by the fire of devotion.
Once she stumbled, sinking into the snow with a faint cry. He lifted her swiftly, holding her close.
"Leave me," she gasped, her lips blue, her voice scarcely more than breath. "Save yourself."
"Never," he answered, his tone fierce as the wind. "What worth is life without you? If we fall, we fall together."
Her eyes shone with tears that froze upon her lashes. "Then I shall rise. For you."
And she did. With trembling strength, she stood once more, and together they staggered forward, two figures defiant against the storm.
---
By dusk, they reached the crest of a hill. Below stretched a valley where dark pines stood clustered, their branches heavy with snow. Smoke curled faintly from a distant chimney—a shepherd's hut, perhaps, or a lonely farmstead.
Hope stirred in the beloved's chest. "There—shelter, food, perhaps aid."
But even as he spoke, a cry rang out across the moor. Harsh, triumphant. The sound of men who had caught sight of their quarry.
Lanterns blazed upon the ridge behind them, bobbing like malevolent stars.
"They have seen us!" the girl cried.
He seized her hand, pulling her into the descent. "Then we must fly, ere they close the gap!"
---
The chase began. Down the slope they ran, snow spraying in their wake, breath tearing from their lungs. Behind, the hunters shouted, their voices carried by the storm.
The girl stumbled, but he caught her, urging her on. His heart pounded, every fibre of his being bent upon keeping her from their grasp.
The valley yawned before them, its shadows deep and dark. If they could reach the pines, they might vanish. If not—
He dared not finish the thought.
"Hold fast!" he cried, his voice fierce against the night. "For freedom lies but a breath ahead!"
Hand in hand, they plunged into the darkness, the hunters' shouts thundering behind them.
And the storm closed over the moor, swallowing all but the pounding of their hearts.