The door crashed wide, splintering upon its hinges, and the night itself seemed to pour into the hut. Lanterns flared, blades caught the firelight, and harsh voices filled the narrow space. Snow swept in with the wind, scattering sparks from the hearth into a shower of light and shadow.
The girl shrank back with a cry, yet the beloved stood firm before her, the iron bar raised high in his grasp. His eyes, burning with defiance, met the intruders as though his arm alone could stem the tide.
"There!" one of the hunters bellowed, pointing with his sword. "Seize them!"
They surged forward, boots thundering upon the wooden floor.
The beloved swung his weapon with a cry, the iron whistling through the air. It struck a lantern from the hands of the nearest assailant, sending it shattering to the ground in a burst of flame and oil. The room blazed with sudden fire, shadows leaping wildly across the walls.
The men recoiled, cursing, their advance momentarily checked.
"Stay back!" the beloved roared, his voice fierce as the storm beyond. "She is under my protection—you shall not take her while breath remains in me!"
---
The shepherd cowered in his corner, his wrinkled hands clutching at his beard. "By the saints, ye'll burn the place down!" he cried, but none heeded him. The hut had become a battlefield, and his hearth the stage of fate.
The girl pressed herself against the wall, her heart hammering in her breast. She watched her beloved stand against the tide, her own terror transfigured into a strange, desperate courage. With trembling hands she seized a length of firewood from the hearth, clutching it like a weapon.
"Strike me if you must!" she cried, her voice rising above the chaos. "But I will not be parted from him!"
Her words rang like a bell in the smoky air, silencing the hunters for the briefest instant.
---
Then the melee renewed. A man lunged forward, his blade flashing toward the beloved's arm. With a cry, she swung her staff, striking the attacker across the temple. He staggered back, dazed, cursing her with venom.
"You fools!" snarled another, his eyes gleaming with fury. "We are many, you but two! Yield, or perish!"
But the beloved's gaze blazed all the brighter. "Better to perish free, than live as slaves to cruelty."
He drove his iron against another foe, forcing him back. Yet numbers pressed in, relentless. Their boots stomped out the fire's embers, their swords gleamed ever nearer.
---
The shepherd, trembling yet torn by conscience, shuffled forward at last. "Enough!" he croaked, thrusting out his arms. "This is my home—my hearth! Spill no blood here!"
But the hunters paid him little heed. One shoved him aside roughly, the old man stumbling to the floor with a cry.
The girl rushed to his side, helping him rise. "Stay back, sir—please, let us shield you!"
The shepherd's old eyes, dim yet sorrowful, lingered upon her face. And something within him shifted. "Ye're but bairns," he whispered hoarsely. "Nay devils, nay thieves—only bairns hunted like beasts."
---
The fight raged on. The beloved's strength began to falter, his arms heavy, his chest heaving with exertion. A blade grazed his shoulder, blood staining his sleeve. He staggered, yet stood unyielding, his teeth clenched in pain.
The girl sprang forward, striking another blow with her wooden staff. Her cry rang fierce, though her arms shook with terror.
"Stand aside, lass!" one hunter barked, raising his hand against her. But before his blow could fall, the shepherd seized his arm with sudden strength, pulling him back.
"Have ye no shame?" the old man thundered. "She's but a child of love, fleeing from chains! Leave her be!"
For an instant, the room froze. Even the hunters stared in shock at the shepherd's defiance.
---
But their leader, grim and merciless, stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the firelight. His eyes, cold as steel, fixed upon the beloved.
"Enough," he said, his voice like a blade itself. "Your struggle ends here. Yield the girl, or I'll strike you down where you stand."
The beloved lifted his head, his eyes burning though his body trembled with weariness. "Then strike," he said quietly. "But know this—you may kill me, yet you cannot break what binds us. Not steel, nor flame, nor death itself."
The girl pressed against his side, her hand entwining with his. Her voice, soft yet resolute, followed his. "If he falls, I fall with him. We are one."
---
A silence fell, heavy as stone. The hunters shifted uneasily, their blades wavering. The storm outside moaned through the pines, a mournful hymn to witness the moment.
The leader's sword quivered in his grasp. His eyes, though cold, flickered with doubt. At length, with a curse, he lowered his blade.
"Bind them," he growled. "Alive. The master will have them brought to heel."
Ropes were thrown about their wrists, coarse and biting. The girl gasped as her hands were bound, yet her gaze never wavered from her beloved's. His bloodied hand squeezed hers, a silent promise amid defeat.
The shepherd cried out in protest, but a rough blow silenced him. He sank back, his eyes shining with grief.
And so, as the storm faded into a pale dawn, the lovers were dragged forth from the hut, bound and bruised, yet unbroken in spirit. Their enemies had triumphed for a moment—but the fire of their love burned all the fiercer, awaiting its hour of vengeance.