On an abandoned bridge, deep in the heart of a forest, the smallest of twelve year old girls limped over cracked stone, scarlet droplets racing down her useless arm. She had to keep walking, or they would find her again. She couldn’t survive another night in that horrible place. Her weak mind forced her to take another step towards freedom, but her battered and broken body was unable to hold its own weight. She stumbled and hit the ground with a soft thud, dogs braying in the distance. As her vision slowly faded, she saw two worn leather boots step into her line of sight. A gruff voice said something she couldn’t quite decipher. Her only thought was that she hoped that whoever it was, they were there to help.
    When the girl regained her senses, she was confused to realize that she was comfortably warm. She snapped opened her eyes to the dancing lights of a small campfire. She quickly sat up and frantically swiveled her body to assess the all too familiar danger that was bound to be near. Unseen horrors swirled through her mind as she tried to anticipate what was to come. Suddenly, she realized that she wasn’t on the bridge any more. The memories were all coming back to her, running from the men, breaking her arm during the chase, collapsing on the old bridge, that strange voice . . . where was she?
    With new found fear, she took in her surroundings. She was near the middle of what was obviously a small campsite. On one side of her was a lean-to made of a thick padding of leaves and undergrowth, supported by several strong branches. It was sheltering a crude bed, more of a mat than a bed, with an old stump next to it. On the stump was a skinning knife and a leather pouch.
    In front of her was a small hand-made table with an old rusted pan and a large iron pot on it. Resting against the side of the table was a large bow and a quiver of red fletched arrows. Behind it she could glimpse a garden of carrots fenced off by small sticks with points on the ends.
    On the other side of her was a young man sitting on a large stump, whittling knife in hand, rounding out a long stick that was probably about to become a new arrow. He had short, bristly brown hair, topping off a face full of rock-hard features with glacier blue eyes, all together giving him such a serious demeanor it sent shivers up her spine.
    “It is good to see you have awakened,” said the man, “I hope my bandage has held.”
    The girl frantically ripped off the blanket she had been wrapped in. She shrieked and scrambled away from him as fast as she could, only to run face first into the post of the lean-to, crashing it down on top of her. She shrieked again, terror clenching her heart in an iron grasp. Pain jolted through her arm, now unusually restricted by something rough and heavy.
    “Whoa, whoa, girl. Be calm. I’m not going to hurt you. Stay still and I’ll get you out,” he said in a reassuring tone.
    The girl knew from experience not to trust him just because he spoke kindly to her. She screamed again as loud as she possibly could. Nevertheless, the stranger began to cautiously lift the roof of the lean-to off of the trapped and terrified girl. Once he could get to her, the man grabbed her around her waist, keeping her from running away from him. He scooped her up and cradled her in a reassuring but restricting position. All the time, he spoke to her in calm, soothing words, coaxing her to stop crying because she was safe. She screamed and struggled persistently, but the man had a firm grasp and she couldn’t get out.
    The man sat back down on the large stump, still cradling the trembling girl. He began to gently stroke her hair and comfort her, as if she was a small child afraid of the night. She slowly began to calm and her terror subsided. Her sobs dwindled to quick, distressed gasps, and finally her breathing slowed to normal speed.
    “Why?”
    It was the first word she said to the man.
    “Why what, little girl?” He asked, still gently.
    “Why . . . did you save me?”
    “You needed saving.”
    There was another long pause.
    “Who are you?” The girl asked.
    “Call me Hunter, little black bird. What is your name?” Hunter cooed.
    “Slave. Mistress says that is all that I am and all that she will call me.”
    “Then I will call you Raven,” Hunter stated, decisively.
    “Who were those men who were chasing you?” he continued after a pause.
    “They are my master’s slave hunters. They will kill me. They will kill you, too, for saving me,” Raven said, straight-faced.
    “No they won’t. You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you little black bird,” said Hunter, “But we need to leave soon. I need to get you out of here.”
    “Ok.”
    Raven crawled slowly out of his arms, her stiff legs slowly stretching. After a few minutes of slowly walking around the campfire, she decided she was well enough to walk for a decent amount of time. And she told him so. She trusted him, she decided. He had saved her life and was going to take her away from the slave hunters and away from her master and mistress. She trusted him to keep her safe.
    They soon set out in a direction decided by Hunter, to a destination unknown to Raven. The forest was rough, and Raven was slowed down by exhaustion and hunger. She was slower than Hunter, and perhaps too slow, she could tell he thought, by the tense worried expression that Hunter adopted as they were hiking. Even though Raven only took what she wore, the splint Hunter had put on her broken arm was slowing her down also, along with her lack of shoes. Soon, the hunger pangs were too much and she collapsed against a tree.
    “Raven, what’s wrong?” Hunter asked, concern and fear evident in his voice.
    “I’m so hungry . . .”
    “Alright, its ok, I’ll go get some food for you. Sit down and wait here. You’ll know when I’ve come back because I’ll come from up this hill, ok?” He pointed up the steep incline. “If you need me, yell for me and I will come.”
With that, he trotted away, quiver full of red fletched arrows bouncing across his back.
    He disappeared behind a group of trees near one side of the hill and Raven stared after him. She sunk slowly to the ground where she laid sideways, with her head resting on one of the tree’s thick roots. She closed her eyes, focusing only on breathing, in and out, in and out.
    Suddenly, a meaty hand clamped over her mouth from behind. She struggled and writhed, finally heaving her way out of his grasp. The man was huge and towered over her, but she could still recognize her most hated enemy. She shrieked and stumbled away, adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she tried to get up, the man grabbed her ankle in an iron grasp and she screamed more, in hope that Hunter was near enough. She knew the end was near. She would die there. Her life would be wasted, gone at the hands of her master’s hunters. She cried out another scream, begging anyone to save her. The man roughly flipped her over by her broken arm, dagger glinting in the sunlight. Terror and panic overtook her for one second, until a red fletched arrow appeared out of his chest.
    The man fell on top of her, dead. Raven scrambled out from under him, knowing the rest of the slave hunting party was quickly approaching. The only thing she could think about was getting to Hunter, so she started frantically climbing the hill, right below the spot that he had said he would be. Three dogs tore up to her and started ripping at her pants, slowing her ascent up the hill to where she knew Hunter was watching. She kicked a rock into one of the dog’s eyes and it fell into another dog, crashing them both down to the forest floor. There was still one dog left. She scrambled faster, panic setting on her again as she saw two burly men start climbing the mountain behind her. Raven slipped, and the dog took a leap, about to be on her, when another red feathered arrow lodged in its chest.
    “Hurry Raven!” a familiar voice called from up ahead.
    The men were gaining now that the incline got steeper, and Raven was forced to slow down. She frantically reached for holds, hand - leg, hand – leg. She was terrified. She  reached for another hand hold, but instead of grasping solid rock, her hand rested in the calloused hand of Hunter.
    “Let’s go, little black bird.”
    The End