Definitely not one of my best pieces, but one of my favorites. A dream of a character from my 'baby story' (the one I work on consantly, but only let people read in pieces), inspired by a daydream of my own. It doesn't require much backstory, but if you'd like me to, I can give you a bit.
Anyway, enjoy.
She was in a forest. It was raining. The branches on the trees swayed and whipped above her head as the wind howled. She stood still and shivering. Movement to her left. She turned. A green-cloaked figure was rushing toward her, fighting its way through the brush. She didn't know whether to greet the stranger or to run. She could do neither. She was frozen in her place.
"Come." A woman's voice. No. A girl's. Not a cloak. A robe, tied with a braided belt of gold and scarlet.
Her dress and skirts, now soaked with rain, felt heavier as she took in the girl's long brown tunic, and the bare legs that moved with such grace.
"We have no time!"
The words were not English, nor French, but she understood. The urgency and authority in the voice compelled her. Where?
The girl pushed past the last trees and ran to her. "Here," she answered the unspoken question as she seized a wrist. "This way."
She had trouble keeping pace. The girl knew this forest. She was unhampered by layers of clothing. By boots that pinch and stockings that caught on the brambles.
Her chest strained against her corset, fighting to supply her with the precious oxygen she needed to press on. She longed to stop and try to loosen the laces, but the girl kept pulling her forward. "No time. No rest. No peace," she said as she scrambled through the trees. "They're coming." Her voice blended with the wind, a chilling effect.
Finally they entered a clearing. Here there were no trees to act as a buffer, and the rain beat down on them unmercifully.
Her hair, shaken loose during the run, had become a thousand tiny, golden whips, lashing at her face. She didn't care. She had to focus on the girl, who was now running at full speed to the exact center of the clearing, her robe flaring out behind her as she went. "Follow!" her voice came, carried by the wind.
She reached down to lift her skirts, then, ducking her head, she ran as fast as her rain-soaked boots would carry her.
She was nearly there when her foot sank in an unseen rut. She pitched forward, her ankle twisting in an unnatural fashion. She let out a sharp cry as she fell to the ground, only a few feet from her target.
The girl turned. The wind caught her hood, blowing it off. Her pale skin glowed in the eery grey light, her fiery blonde hair spills over her shoulders and wraps around her face, drawing attention to the blazing emerald eyes.
The image shifted. The tunic transformed to pristine white petticoats, the robe into a silk gown that was miraculously untouched by the rain. The familiar figure of Morrigan stood in the suddenly still clearing.
Her eyes met Morrigan's at the same instant that a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, silhouetting the tall girl with silver light as she whispered, "Hurry."
The thunder that followed was deafening. She had to cover her ears. She heard Morrigan try to shout something else above the noise, but her efforts were in vain. Nothing could be heard over the fury of the storm.