The air is thick with smoke. Every breath she takes is more difficult to swallow. Screams echo throughout the hallways as she stumbles along, feeling the wall to guide her way. She cradles the basket close to her chest. She can’t let them find the baby. If they do, all will be lost. The prophecy will only survive so long as the child lives.
She feels her way down the steps. The stone walls, normally cold to the touch, feel like fire themselves, but she must use them to guide her through the smoke-filled hallways and down the winding stairwell.
At the bottom of the stairs, she shoves the heavy wooden door open. The cold night air knocks the breath from her, and she nearly falls. Steadying herself on the fence, she rushes away from the violence and fire behind her.
Snow crunches under her feet as she runs toward the forest. Shouting is heard behind her, but she doesn’t look back.
If I can make it to the river, the baby will be safe.
An arrow zooms past her.
They know she’s out here. She tucks behind a tree momentarily to readjust the basket. The shouts move closer. She grips the basket as close to her chest as possible and sprints forward. The river is only moments away. She hears the rushing of the water.
PHHHFFT. PHHHFFT. PHHHFFT.
She screams as an arrow lodges into her shoulder, knocking the basket from her arms. She hits the ground with a thump. The world is spinning, but she must complete her mission. With her good arm, she pulls herself to the basket, and opens it. The baby looks up at her.
Good. You’re still alive. She rips off her necklace and ties it around the handle to the basket.
Shoving the basket into the rushing waters below, she watches it swiftly float away to safety.
“May She guide you with grace, little one.”
The footsteps are upon her.
Escaping the real world by writing worlds of my own.