The Point Of Exile

° left behind

A cool night breeze haunts the forest, singing a melody through the trees meant to be heard by any one of its uneasy inhabitants. One of those in particular looks upon the woods with disquietude as he desperately tries to tear through the final strands of rope binding him to the grand Ponderosa. Kalen grimaces as the ragged bark grates against his shoulder once again, dripping blood down the center of his back and onto his already scarlet palms.

He stops clawing at the ropes for a moment, taking the time to breathe and stare down at his twin sister in the early light of dawn. He can't just abandon her, especially not after tracking her so far. Despite his personal druthers, he knows that dawn is fast approaching, and time itself sides with the enemy. The hours wasted tearing through his own bonds will not allow him to free his sister as well.

Kalen bites his lip - frowning at the miserable selection of options.

Stay here, left to face the same wrath that will surely plague his sister if he leaves; or flee and prove loyal to Babette, his kingdom, which needs an heir to rule. Staying even one more night could prove to be an unpredictable, and even deadly, outlier.

He slams the back of his head against the trunk of the great pine, biting his lip and releasing a silent scream of trepidation for what he must do next. Kalen resumes his assault on the tattered rope. More strands snap apart until he finally winces, unable to bear the pain of the shredded twine carving into his already bloodied fingertips, which are raw from a long night of rubbing.

Guilt proves to be an effective painkiller.

He can ignore the deep gashes in his fingers and the raw marks on his wrists when a silent promise to save someone he loves is at risk. Deciding to change tactics, he drops the rope from his grasp and instead rhythmically yanks it against the tree. Back and forth, back and forth, he grinds the rope down until the sweet sound of the final strand snaps in the air. Immediately, Kalen shuffles to his unsteady feet. The blood rushes to his head, followed by an unimaginable number of stars speckling across his vision. He staggers forward, one step after the next until the dying campfire is several paces away and his mind is cleared enough for the drunken wobble to morph into a steady trot.

Bile rises up his throat when he reaches the gruesome scene of battle. Corpses still obstruct the path back home, but the magnificent horses are gone and the carriage itself is beaten to pieces.

He muses, counting himself lucky to be spared from such a dismal end: one which he leaves his sister to face on her own. Kalen shakes his head as if chasing away the guilt gnawing at his heartstrings and instead veers down the road towards the palace. Dawn begins cresting over the valley, and he desperately tries to outrun it.

With the sunrise comes violent fugitives, who will no doubt take their anger out on an unsuspecting sibling of his.

That assurance urges him into a sprint.

:

Dawn shines through the canopy above, warm light pouring down onto the bed of grass below. Milan's eyes flutter open to glare at the impeding rays, her restless sleep interrupted once again.

Not that she had gotten much sleep in the first place.

Raw sores disfigure her wrists, and her shoulders ache from having been pulled back into an unnatural position for hours. Try as she might, being a captive was uncomfortable, and unpleasant. With a pained moan, Milan shuffles into an upright position and leans heavily on the flimsy tree behind her. It rattles under her weight, spooking a pair of doves that had been roosting in it for the night. Their cries fade into the wood, sparking a fond memory from Milan's childhood.