She tossed aside the useless bow and ran as if her life depended on it. The screeching call of a hunter told her that it did. She slid down the banks and into the stream. Her only chance was to confuse her scent until she could get to the river. If she could swim across the Ar—and that was a big if, for it ran wild between Shirath and Old Torrick—she might live another day, and so might her city. She kept moving, splashing as little as possible. The cold water, fresh from the high hills to the north, chilled her legs. After a league of travel, she paused to wash off the blood on her hands and face. Those hands were shaking as she scrubbed at them with the hem of her coat. The fear she had felt behind her all morning was growing, but that wasn’t the only terror in her heart. An image of what she had stumbled upon rose up, and she retched as an empty stomach tried to purge itself again. There was a hooting noise behind her, and she turned to see a Shrieker Demon sniffing along the bank.
