The grip was slippery under my feet as I hobbled on the rocks. The roar of the sea and the taste of burning salt on my chapped lips warned me to my precarious position.
The sound of rocks chipping off in the distance, alerted me to a presence. My ears strained towards the source of the sound, compensating for my empty vision.
Footsteps.
Not one. An army.
I picked up pace.
Zing! Zing!
Two arrows grazed my skin, searing pain shooting through me.
I took a step back and felt emptiness behind me — the edge of the cliff.
Death beckoned.