70th Spring 517
Rikar flew straight up like a dart from behind the dilapidated house, flapping his wings wildly and cawing. It was followed almost immediately by the flame-haired woman hurtling around the corner, feet pounding the cobbled pavement and slipping awkwardly on the smooth, rounded stones. She glanced behind her for just a splinter of a moment, but it was enough to make her lose her balance as her left foot slid off one of the cobbles. She managed to right herself for a second, but only at the cost of lurching forwards so that her right leg was forced into a stretch. As her foot made contact with the lopsided cobble, her ankle bent sickeningly underneath her and a searing pain shot up her leg. She sank to the ground, clutching her ankle and gritting her teeth, waiting for the initial sharpness to subside. As soon as it had, she looked behind slowly, as if expecting pursuit but almost reluctant to find out if it was coming. The crow had noticed her on the ground and flew down to land on the stones beside her. He pecked at her cloak repeatedly and cawed as if urging her to leave. She tried to stand up but her face immediately twisted in pain and she collapsed again, fighting back a desire to cry out. Her breathing was still coming in gasps from the hard running, and she looked behind her nervously again, but nothing came. She allowed herself a few moments rest and sat rubbing her ankle, which was starting to swell although the pain was no longer blinding, and caressed Rikar's feathers until he stopped cawing.
Sorla looked around. She was in a narrow street lined with shops and houses. It looked just like any other street in Alvadas, except for the fact that it was completely empty, and that the houses were all in various stages of disrepair. The one closest to her had a faded sign of which she could only make out a few letters: ‘W….s…al…..T…..elle….plie..’. The pale blue paint was peeling and cracked, and the window beneath was grimy with what seemed like years of dust. Through the muck she could just about make out what looked like a pile of rope, but beyond that was just shadow. The building across the street looked like it had once been a house; there were still flowers growing in pots outside the door, seemingly oblivious to the decay that had overtaken the rest of the area. There was a greyed rag flapping in the broken window that must have been the remnant of a curtain, the floral pattern still just about visible.
All Sorla wanted was to leave this place as soon as possible. Her heart was still pounding from what she had seen, or thought she’d seen, and even the mere buildings made her skin crawl. They were so melancholy, so desolate. What was worse, the... thing could reappear at any time. But when she tried to stand, the pain in her ankle returned and she it was all she could do to hobble over to an upturned crate abandoned by the side of one of the old, decrepit shops, still panting from the run and from the effort of withstanding the pain, with Rikar hopping about anxiously in front of her.