The chase was slow, methodical even, a grinding pursuit that wore down both pursuer and pursued. The Harrowhold soldiers were exhausted, their bodies pushed to the limit.
They stumbled and fell, their legs giving out beneath them. Each time one of them fell, the Vrethka warriors were there, cutting them down without mercy.
One by one, the Harrowhold soldiers fell. The Vrethka warriors took their time, savoring the hunt. They had been fighting for days, had lost so many of their own, and now, they were finally getting their revenge.
Marrick could see his men falling, their bodies scattered across the field like discarded dolls. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
He knew he was losing. He knew he would not survive. But he kept riding, kept hoping, kept praying that somehow, he would find a way out.
