My arms and legs were starting to cramp from the needles, and from the wounds taken to my abdomen, moving was starting to become much more of a strain than it has ever been. I don't know what Brenna is capable of doing, I don't know what she is doing to begin with. Was this a form of magic similar to what the herbalist could do with her tiny spark of fire? But this was on a scale much larger than a simple spark, the herbalist had to concentrate heavily just to summon that little flame. Brenna was throwing these things as easily as one would a normal stone.

Whatever it was she was doing, I couldn't know. My options were limited. I'll eventually collapse from exhaustion or bloodloss if this continues for long enough without treatment, the ice needles stuck within my flesh were melting and the water dripping to the forest floor. The needle wounds were harsh, but the worst one so far has been the icicle lodged into my back. If that melts entirely, I'll be heavily bleeding. My chances of survival are getting lower and lower every movement I make, the best option I have left is to stay still and wait for Brenna to come to me. I would not die from these wounds, and if I stay still for long enough she would eventually have to do something other than wait.

I had a knife. But I didn't want to hurt Brenna. I did not have a club, and wrestling her would only be to her advantage. I'm too wounded to really exert myself and if she preemptively removes the ice from my back, or does something worse, I'd be at her mercy. Within her hands, literally.

"Attie, come back! Attie!"

From the sound of it she hadn't moved at all from her little stream, her shouting reaching my ear as if from a long distance. Why? Was all my thinking unnecessary, was all I needed to do all along was to just walk away? Fortunate, I wouldn't have to hurt Brenna and she could be dealt with by her mother. She's dangerous but she's still thinking about her family, she's not completely unreasonable. I hope, at least.

That thought was squashed by the sound of leaves rustling behind me. She was running towards me, and it's obvious that she's running much faster than I was capable of jogging, my legs cramping beneath me. I slouched down and grabbed a rock from the forest floor and hid behind a tree. She would see my trail, both of disturbed leaves and the trail of my blood, and she would know I was hiding behind a tree. There's no escape for me, not from her catching me. I needed only a moment to catch her off guard.

Fast steps were coming towards me. The sound of crunching leaves could be heard, and the heavy breath of a young girl closely following the sound of ruffling leaves. It stopped. The breathing quieted, the steps became softer, and I could feel Brenna coming closer and closer to me behind the tree. But then even that stopped. I threw a rock ahead of me, counted a single second, then made my best effort to reveal myself away from behind the tree and catch Brenna off guard.

A single tree was what had separated Brenna and I, the thick and heavy trunk of the oak protected me from revealing any stray limb from sight. Now, I turned to the opposite direction of where I had threw the rock, which was thrown to my right, and tried my best to catch Brenna off guard and hopefully subdue her before she could do anything nasty to me. I did not want to kill her, but if need truly does arise I would be forced to use the knife.

Brenna already had her sight pointed at me by the time I had revealed my presence, she had most likely seen the rock being throw and had realized it was a trick. The rock wasn't a threat, I was, and she knew it. And she wasn't so stupid as to stand near to the tree I was hiding behind of. She had her icicles ready, her eyes wide open and her posture ready to run or attack if the opportunity or need requires it. An icicle was already being thrown at my face, I had to tumble to the side in order to dodge it. I've been running off of pure luck avoiding these fatal shots.

Seeing that I had dodged what was meant to be a death shot, Brenna decided she would use all her plays at once, all her devious tricks and all of what her mind could design into a single devastating blow against me and my chances of survival. She ran away. She was faster than me, and I was stronger than her, although I was wounded I had a knife. If I got her I would do much more damage to her than she could do to me. I had wanted her to be more rash, to irrationally charge at me and try to deal with me as quickly as possible. But it wasn't her that was under the stress of limited time, it was me. Bringing this entire engagement out for longer is to her benefit.

I did not give chase. I stopped my movement and moved towards the direction of the village. Not towards the herbalist's home, since I didn't know if she were in on this as well, and since the village had more people. The herbalist might not be home, it wasn't the correct choice to go there.

But Brenna also knew this.

"You don't have many options left, Attie. Stay still, you don't have to suffer so much. Once this is over you'll realize you should've just listened to me," her gasping voice came up behind me, another icicle making its way towards me. Not towards my head, but my abdomen. Unfortunately she's figured out I can rather easily move my head but can't do the same with my torso. I lunged to my right, so that I didn't accidentally aggravate the thawing icicle still stuck on my torso by rubbing it across the ground, dodging the projectile before it pierces my flesh.

But Brenna anticipated that. From the corner of my eye I could see another projectile coming in rapidly at me. I lifted up my left arm, already badly damaged from the needles, and guarded myself with it. The icicle pierced my forearm from one end and poked out the other. I wouldn't be able to use that hand for a while, and the sight of my body getting destroyed is starting to hurt me more than the actual pain did. Brenna was walking towards me now, a single more icicle floating around her. She was most likely aiming to finish me off now.

"It's going to take a lot more work now to preserve your body. The outcome was obvious, you are not gifted. You have not been chosen." Brenna was walking towards me, her breathing steadying, and her eyes watery. "You winning was never going to happen to begin with, you should've accepted my mercy sooner. Everything will be alright, I'm not a monster, I wouldn't do this without good reason." Perhaps she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me. If she wanted me dead she would've ended me already. In her heart she wanted me to acknowledge her as being right before killing me.

"See you soon, Attie." Perhaps she was stupid. I still had my left arm intact, and her projectiles while fast aren't fast enough not to be intercepted. Ideally with something that wasn't my flesh, but I can't be picky in a scenario like this. Bringing my left hand up to again stop the ice projectile with my arm, it stabbed true, deep once again into my forearm. It first hit against the previously embedded icicle, breaking both in a scream of ice, a suitable replacement for the scream I wanted to let out. The pain of the moving icicle within my flesh was becoming unbearable. Brenna revealed a shocked face, which slowly broke into real anger.

"What!? The fuck is wrong with you? Just stay still, why do you have to make this so difficult! I don't want to see you in pain!" Brenna growled at me. She wasn't rational. She didn't understand I didn't want to die. Why would I place my life not in the hands of Brenna, but in the hands of faeries which brought Brenna to this state? We sat in silence, watching each other, Brenna slowly making an icicle within the air and I trying to think up a new plan. I can't get up. I can barely move my arms. I'm probably going to die here.

Brenna formed her ice spike, about half a forearm in length, and grabbed it with her hands. I can't move, not well at least, and she's might actually be serious about not wanting to see me in pain. She's guessed I'd just keep using my arms to defend myself until I bled to death, and most likely resolved to instead stab me. In the heart I'd hope. My best chance was to sit here and wait for her to come to me. Conserve what little energy I still had.

Her walking was slow, she was probably convinced I no longer had the energy to seriously fight back. She stood in front of me, breathing deeply, staring at me not as an enemy but as if she were about to discipline a misbehaving child. I stayed still, my ass on the dirt, not willing to move. She wasn't close enough. The time when I could've resolved this peacefully had passed a very long time ago. One, or both, of us are going to die here.

Brenna stared at me as my breathing became less forceful, my limbs losing their feeling and my eyes losing it's ability to focus. The sensations within my limbs became fuzzy, and I could barely feel the knife that I kept tucked away under the leaves. This was my last lifeline. If I pass out here, I will die, there is no room for doubt with that. Finally she began to move, kicking me torso and forcing me onto my back. I could feel the remains of the icicle behind me break and turn under my skin, the pain nearly sending me to convulsions if not for how far away everything felt.

Standing over me, she crouched down and sat on my stomach and prepared for the mercy kill. Too merciful, Brenna, despite my losing focus and feeling I could still manage gross movement. Exploding with speed, my right hand, knife clasped tightly, stabbed itself deeply into Brenna's neck. I couldn't focus on her face, perhaps thankfully, I wouldn't want to imagine what her reaction was. There was no magic in my attack, nothing special, just pure will. Determining my target and taking actions to achieve my goal. Purely rational. I'm not the one to blame here.

The attack pushed her off of me, dropping the icicle safely onto the ground and her grabbing at her neck. I could see her fiddling and touching the knife, which had inserted itself deeply into her flesh, and her light and broken gasping. I struggled to focus my eyes, and to hear whatever she said, but that truly was the last of my strength. Perhaps it was actually the last of my will. Sorry, Brenna, but I don't want to die.

---

Unknown POV

---

The boy stabbed the girl. Surprising, but not very surprising at the same time. The girl should've killed him from a distance, or simply let him bleed out. Now she's clutching at the reward of her stupidity, the knife within her neck, and letting water out of her eyes. Why do the fathach waste so much water through their eyes? And her whimpering. What did she expect, did she think this was a game where she was destined to be the winner? Perhaps at one point she was. The trodding spirits had decided to teach her magic and she learned, not very well but she learned, and they had convinced her she needed to provide them a sacrifice in order to reach the next step.

Foolish. But they had said they will make the one killed into the fuel that will lead to the other's progress, and by their word they are bounded. The boy had won, the girl will soon die, if he survived long enough to live through the girl's death he will be rewarded. The trodding spirits knew better than to go back on their words.

I stood upon my branch and watched as the girl clawed at her neck, unsure of whether to pull out the knife or leave it in. If she pulled it out, she would simply bleed out faster. If not, she would experience a slow, lonely, and cold death. Dumb girl. Pitiful. I will watch her end in the boy's place, he had long since lost proper vision, and I am not without a sense of duty. I had watched you fight, and more importantly I had laid witness to your word, I will watch you leave this land and I will see the oath be fulfilled. Perhaps I should've told her beforehand, before she spoke to the trodding spirits, to not give her word so easily, to not agree to the words of a spirit you could not see.

Perhaps not offer the life she didn't own to them as well.

I was too wary of meeting a fathach out in the open, to reveal my presence to an outsider. Pitiful. But I won't let your word be turned vain, and I won't let your conviction be without fruit. If I can help it, the boy won't die, and I will insure he will get the reward that the trodding spirits had claimed to have. Upon my life I swear this. I am not truly an outsider viewer of this shame.

The girl sat next to the boy, realizing she was without chance of survival. Ten seconds had passed by now, if she pulled the knife out she would insure a quick death rather than a slower one. She looked at the boy's face, that very same water that had been falling from the girl's eyes had been falling out of the boy's. She looked over at the icicle that she had dropped, the one she hesitated to stab the boy with, and laid beside him, pulling out the knife with tightly clenched eyes and quivering hands.

At least with that she showed more virtue than the boy had displayed.

---

Attie's POV

---

The sun was upon my face. His rays of light pushing me to wakefulness. It was still fall. Leaves had decided that I would be the floor now, and had made me the color of the ground. Crimsons that, almost in defiance of the sun's splendor, had made it their dying goal to provide a greater display of brilliance than the sun ever could. Yellows that had more modest goals were upon my face as well. To my left Brenna's sleeping face could be seen, had we slept outside today? Did we take a nap for too long? The herbalist will be mad with us for not collecting enough foodstuff.

I got up, and noticed that I was without a tunic. I looked around to find it, but couldn't. Something was off. I looked over to Brenna so that I may wake her, but it was immediately obvious that she was without upperbody clothes. Wait, no, there's blood. A lot of blood. Below her neck, under her neck, on her hands, Brenna was bleeding! Wait, no this isn't fresh blood. I quickly moved my hands towards her neck, brushing off hands that were clasped to mine, to see what was wrong.

But this wasn't fresh blood. It was too flaky. There was a wound on her neck. Flashes of Toren's own neck played against my memory. Bad memories, don't jump to the worst conclusions. What happened? I placed my hands on her neck to feel for a pulse. Brenna wasn't dead, why should she be? I couldn't feel one. I moved to her wrist, and couldn't feel it. I moved to her mouth, she wasn't breathing. Her dried lips shut, and her eyes closed.

That's right. I stabbed Brenna. She was trying to kill me, and I stabbed her. She had lured me to her meditating area, tricked me into closing my eyes, I trusted her and she stabbed me.

With eyes wide open I moved down to my torso. There was no wounds. Stranger, there were no scars, nothing to show that I had just fought for my life, that I was on the brink of death. I looked to my right hand, were the scars of the bear's bite had left depressed areas of skin and scar tissue. My scars were still there. I looked towards my other forearm, no scars. I felt for my back, where an ice spike had been lodged inside. I could feel nothing.

Had I dreamed this? Was this a dream? Am I still in a dream? I moved down to look at Brenna, hoping this was just a prank from her. A very elaborate prank, but a prank nonetheless. She would be awake, wouldn't she?

Her eyes were still closed, as she was when I looked away.

I got up and ran through the forest, towards the small waterfall. I had not dreamed this. No, please, tell me I am dreaming this. The waterfall was where it should've been. Our clothes, Brenna's cloak and my own, were where we had left them. Blood where I had crawled out of the stream and onto the ground, leaving some of the leaves dyed with cracking and dark reds. I looked behind me, and the trail of blood I had left when I ran from here was still there. I picked up our clothes and ran back to Brenna. This was not a dream.

I arrived to the same spot where we had fought, the same spots where we bled, the same Brenna which refused to awaken from her sleep.

I went where she was laid, and sat beside her. I grasped her shoulder and rolled her onto her back, gently as to not cause her discomfort. I picked up her cloak and laid it over her, and waited for the fabric to settle down into place.

I stayed for a long while, listening to the sounds of the forest. Of the chirping of living birds, and the movement of living squirrels, of a land that would still move despite one's passing. I laid my forehead against hers and I whimpered.