I am lost.

Not only that, but I am so not used to this much cardio. I've been running for what feels like forever, but according to the timepiece on my wrist, it hasn't even been half an hour. Just that short amount of time has me nearly collapsing from oxygen deprivation.

At first, it had been easy following the Outlander. Markee had been throwing barbed comments at the long-haired Outlander, ranging from demands to insults, even bodily threats. More than that, her screaming left no question about which direction they were heading. But after a while, her shouts and curses ceased, which truly scared me. If he wanted to kill her, he wouldn't have taken her alive in the first place, right? I prayed that she only wore out her voice, not that the long-tressed brute had knocked her out.

Tracking them has been a lot harder since Markee went silent. I'm trying my best to follow the sound of crunching leaves and twigs, the minimal trail Markee's kidnapper is leaving behind. It feels like the forest will never end. I'm not even sure what direction I'm facing right now. I jog to a stop, like I have been every once in a while to make sure I'm still on the right track.

Holding my breath, I close my eyes and train my ears on the forest around me. With my vision suppressed, my other senses detect the subtle things more easily. There's the sweet scent of foliage permeating the air. I can hear the distant sound of bird calls, their happy chittering completely out of place in my worrisome mind. The gentle rustle of leaves surround me as the slight breeze sends them tumbling across the forest floor. Then my ears pinpoint what I'm listening for. The steady crunch, crunch, of footfalls ahead of me, and slightly to my left.

I release the breath I was holding and breathe deeply, both to keep myself steady from panic that threatens to boil through my determined facade, and to pack as much air into my lungs as possible. I start after them again, adjusting my route.

A few more minutes of running, stopping, and breathing pass by as I only let one thought occupy my mind. Catch up with Markee. I'll worry about what comes after when I get there.

Only that mantra is interrupted. My ears have been trained on retreating footsteps and my eyes glued to the ground to avoid tripping on fallen branches, so the clearing of the trees takes me by surprise. Out from under the tree canopy, being bathed in sunlight so suddenly jolts me out of my routine, causing me to skid to a halt. I look up and it takes me a second to realize just where I am.

The wall.

More precisely, a hole in the wall.

Over the years, the border patrol have identified and reinforced different ways the wall could be breached. Most commonly, a tunnel is dug under the wall, the soft dirt giving easy access to power-hungry Outlanders. When discovered, soldiers would pour concrete into the tunnels, sealing them shut. Other, more daring, Outlanders would make crude ladders and set them up against the wall, hoping the impossibly-long structures won't collapse. The risk of falling to one's death is as high as the wall is, so not many Outlanders try it. But to have blown a hole in the wall...

That's desperation. Not only would they abandon stealth, but they would risk the entire structure crashing down on them. How would the barbarians even get their hands on the right kind of explosives? The implications cause fear to constrict my throat.

There are large chunks of stone around the gape, and I toe some of the smaller pebbles that flew further into the surrounding trees. The amount of force it took to blow the ancient stronghold to bits must have been astounding. There's a layer of stone dust on the fallen leaves and dirt, interrupted only by footprints. Hundreds of them. Just how many Outlanders are involved in this? And what happened to cause them to become so desperate to get in and destroy us now? As if it has the answers, I look into the hole and get my first glimpse of the Outlands.

I'm not sure what I was expecting--maybe a dark, desolate plain, or burnt up trees and devastation. After all, while the wall was being built, the Council would constantly burn acres and acres of forest just to keep the Outlanders at bay.

"We would set the woods on fire, burning everything in the area until nothing was left, then we'd set fire to a different section and burn some more," Mr. McCann had told us. His favorite topic to teach was on methods of keeping Outlanders away. In a past life, he could have been some sort of military general instead of a history teacher, with the passion he exudes when talking about Outlander warfare. He's drilled into our heads so many times the great lengths we've suffered to keep ourselves safe.

But of all the lessons we've garnered from him, none of them have adequately prepared me for what I would do when faced with the Outlands. Through the giant hole, all I see is a sunny forest, the same as it is on my side of the wall. Sunlight filters through the canopy and brings out the greens and rich browns of the trees in summer. It's hard to associate the bright forest with the same rugged people who are attacking my city. My wide eyes focus back on the threshold and follow a fault up the stone structure, the crack jagged and ominous.

If I leave Herald and cross into the Outlands, there is still a chance I could get Markee back. But the Outlands...

It's a savage world, we're told in school. Uncivilized and rough and full of disease. Only barbarians live out there in the wilderness and if we step foot outside our wall, they'll kill us.

Just like we kill them, inside our wall.

Then I think of everything that has already happened, and what will continue to happen. The abductions and the murder and the constant fear I've lived in--the fear all of Herald lives in. What is the point of it all? I ask myself for the thousandth time, why did the Outlanders take Rhett and Markee? How does that contribute to their "obliterate and conquer Herald" agenda? If they want to cause fear and turmoil, they would only have to keep murdering in cold blood. There would still be grieving families, unbridled hate, and terror throughout the city. Enough outrage to uproot the stable livelihoods of Heraldites.

So why come into Herald, just to take someone out of it?Then a thought shocks me. No one has ever willingly gone into the Outlands, but what if someone did? Has an ambassador from Herald ever tried to peacefully stop the attacks? What if I crossed over the wall and came back? There's no recorded history about anything like that. None we've been taught, anyway. Herald is known to have the strongest defenses, but an attempt at offense has never been mentioned. Suddenly, I feel the need to do something about it, to create an offense. Markee's will is rubbing off on me.

Markee!

My wandering mind slams back into my consciousness and brings total panic with it.

A shrill whistle echoes through the forest. It makes the hairs on my arms rise. It doesn't sound like any bird call I've ever heard. The sound is so foreign in the calm forest, it was almost as if I had imagined it. But there's no way what I hear next could be a figment of my imagination.

I can't place the noise at first. It sounds like gurgling water of a creek, or the rush of air in windstorm, but it grows louder with each passing second. I glance back at the wall and see the crumbling stone around the edges of the hole. Is it collapsing? But the wall does not move. I turn back to the wilderness, trying to place the sound when it hits me. It's not a babbling brook nor a tempest raging through the trees.

There are footsteps beating forcefully into the ground.

Hundreds of them.

The whistle must have been some kind of signal to retreat, because it sounds like there are countless Outlanders running straight toward me. To the hole in the wall.

Something in me snaps.

I am stuck. To stay is to come face to face with a stampede of savages, but to follow the Outlander who has Markee... I'll have to go outside the wall.And I may never make it back.The horde of Outlanders is getting closer, the noise from their feet hitting the ground steadily growing louder. I've got to get out of here. Maybe I could climb a tree and let them run past me? But then what about Markee? I would surely lose her trail then, and she would be lost to me, forever. I've already wasted enough time. I need to make a decision, and quick.

What should I do, Rhett?

There is a cacophony of voices in my head, each demanding a different decision. Run back to the city. Go after Markee. Hide. There is no clear win-win.

But then, aren't the hardest choices the most important ones?

With the Outlander stampede gaining on me, and the wilderness of the Outlands in front of me, I am sandwiched between two seemingly impossible choices. My next move is decidedly most important. My choice carries the weight of Markee's life. My life.

What would Markee do?

And I know, without a doubt, if I was the one dangling helplessly in that Outlander's arms, Markee would not hesitate to go after me. She would bring me back, no matter what it took.

It's that truth which I cling to. I block out all the conflicting feelings and choices. If I think about anything else, I won't be able to do what needs to be done.

I quell the instinct to save myself, because that never got me anywhere. Then I lift my feet, one by one, until I have crossed through the hole in the wall, and am standing as a foreigner in the Outlands.