Hunted

The griffin looked at them. It let out a soft, sad sound. It nudged the glowing blue mushroom with its beak. The mushroom rolled gently across the valley floor, stopping at Bob's feet. A gift, returned.

Bob picked it up. It still glowed. He waved to the big, shiny bird. Then they turned and hurried away.

Traveller stopped by one of the sleeping figures in dark robes. They saw a small symbol on the sleeve: a stylized, cracked teardrop, stitched with dull grey thread.

"I know this mark," Lum whispered, her voice cold. "The Forlorn. I thought they were just a ghost story."

"The Forlorn?" Traveller asked.

"The exiled. The abandoned," Lum said. "Hunters of lost things." She looked away from the body, her gaze distant. "They might be looking for me."

That thought hung in the air as they began their race down the mountain. Every shadow looked like a threat. Every gust of wind sounded like a footstep.

They were halfway down when they saw them. Two figures in the same dark robes, climbing up the path.

Before Traveller could pull them into hiding, one of the Forlorn saw them. His eyes went wide. He did not look at Traveller. He did not look at Bob. He looked right at Lum.

He raised a shaking finger and shouted, his voice echoing on the mountain. "The Vessel! She is here!"

He did not get to say another word.

Traveller moved. Faster than the bandits. Faster than the golems. They were a flash of white and dark steel.

There was no fight. Only two soft sighs. Two bodies falling.

It was over before Bob even understood it had begun.

Traveller stood over the still figures, their sword dripping. They looked back at Lum. Her face was pale. Her worst fear was true.

She was the target.

The rest of the journey down was a blur. They did not stop. They did not rest. They ran.

They finally found a safe place to hide deep in the forest at the mountain's base. The fire they made was small, hidden between large rocks.

The quiet was heavy. Full of fear.

Traveller finally broke the silence. They looked at Lum, their voice low and serious. "Why do they want you, Lum? Who are the Forlorn?"

Lum stared into the small fire. Her one hand, her left hand, trembled slightly. She held it up.

"They are the ones who took this," she said, pointing to her scarred shoulder. "And they want me back because of what they failed to take."

Her eyes, one dark and one fire, moved to Bob. He was already asleep by the fire, hugging his glowing blue mushroom like a teddy bear.

"And now," Lum's voice was a dead, empty whisper. "They will want him, too."