Shiloh was indeed more than ready to begin training maneuvers again with Erik and Mina. She still a lot to deal with, but her break down had helped in ways she never knew possible. That day she saddled RainStorm and called to Sampson as they began to back in the swing of things. At the end of the day, she saw Kryton and as he stared at her with sad eyes she gave him a small, brief smile. That small gesture was enough to have the older man's face lighting up, telling him that there was a chance to get to know his daughter if he was just patient.



Miranda was out riding, she'd been gone for 4 days and was weary and dirty. She sported a few battle wounds from small battles with lesser Lizonians, but nothing serious. As she rode into the mountain stronghold holding the Varden and the rest of the rebellion, her aggravation showed in her green eyes at not finding any information about her aunt. A boy from the stables came and took her mount to care for and feed as she went in search of the healers for her minor wounds. She sighed thinking about a bath in the warm springs then a talk with the leader of the Varden. Her thoughts strayed for a moment to Mhoram and she wondered if he was okay. The chieftan had taken good care of her and Shiloh after he'd rescued them from Serena and she'd enjoyed his company for the brief stay at his castle. Shaking her head, she chided herself. Now was not the time to think of matters of the heart. Now was the time to find her aunt and destroy her once and for all.

In the early morning, Mhoram woke wrestless, he had a terrible night, tossing and turning having flashbacks of strangers who he must have known, but names he couldn't remember. Adventures of flying above the treelines, over hills and rivers and swooping through pastures...surely this is a dream and he would wake up. Mhoram would listen to the crickets and watch lighting bugs, his struggle to stay awake in the darkness lasted only minutes before sleep took him deeper into his dream. Seeing a castle in the distance, of addressing Soldiers in a courtyard; practicing swordplay with his men.He tossed and turned as he swung his sword in this dream. He squinted his eyes and rubbed them...reopening them in his sleep, to see a beautiful young maiden warrior wounded. It was she, he remembered the most. One moment he is courting this beautiful young woman in his garden and the next he chuckled in his sleep as he remembered she fussed over the dress she was forced to wear and always wanting her sword back. His smile left him, at once he was falling and hitting big boulders as the water pushed over him, tossed into a rage, twisting, picking up his two handed sword and fighting off the ugly creatures. The charred remains of the farmer and his wife. Tossing, he woke up screaming, sweat pouring off his body. He had to move and move fast. He jumped up and gathered things, he grasped the childs toy that he found at the farm, hoping to pick up on the trail and find the thieves who murdered the family and stole their baby. Saddling Donner, he fed the horse with a couple of carrots, found in the garden behind the barn, then grabbed the reins and moved through the forest on foot. Picking up the trail was easy, these fools didn't care who found the tracks, it appeared they had at least days ride ahead of him.

The Forest dominated the landscape of this region and extended for miles across. It appeared that someone or something was watching Mhoram, he could feel their presence. The forest, the most ancient in all, extrmely wild and thick, more so than any other he had ever seen, The trees in this land were tall and the oldest. Many of the species in this area he found nowhere else. These forests appeared to be protected and home to a wide variety, and abundance, of wildlife, that had Mhoram had time, could be very profitable trip. But the true test for Mhoram was his skills in tracking as this terrain made tracking difficult. It is no wonder why these thieves went this way with no path to follow, people willing to travel through this forest could be lost for days. Mhoram knew whoever watched from the trees, waited for the right time to attack. He moved through the forest and headed east. The trees blocked the sunrise from the west until midday when it stood above him, he knew the moment the sun dropped in the east, shadows would play tricks and his adversaries would spring an attack.


He heard the cry of a young screaming girl in the woods and moved in that direction. When he was close enough, he could not believe what he saw. The creatures were on top of the girl, their leader, a female sorcerer watched. The group of more than nineteen turned and circled him and he knew the time had come. They attacked in precision from all sides at once. Overrunning his perimeter, Mhoram swung Donner around as he swung the sword at these evil men from hell.


During the first blows, Mhoram concentrated on his defense and let his muscles settle into the rhythm of swordplay. The ghostly like creatures of men outfitted with good swords attempted to get past Mhoram's defenses, but Mhoram lost his temper and began to swing his sword more violently, slicing the men in half.

The sorcerer, a female leader had expected a quick defeat and easy humiliation, not an equal opponent, and her simmering anger now boiled. She jumped into the sword fight and attacked with her own vengeance. Only a handful of her army remain. Mhoram thought desperately for a way out of the mess. He slipped past her defenses and slashed toward her throat. When the sorcerer slashed backhanded in a return blow, Mhoram thrust his blade vertically and caught it before it cut him in half. She laughed “You're one of the finest swordsmen I've ever seen." She blinked as if coming out of a daze but continued to go for blood. Laughing and spouted praise for almost a minute before the warrior's attack began to ease in its brutality. Their weapons caught each other high in the air, and they stood belly to belly, face to face.

Mhoram whispered, "What the bloody hell are you?" The woman laughed "Dying is a messy, bloody, ugly thing. I will kill you in front of the girl.” Mhoram spoke “Where I come from that's not acceptable.” Mhoram glanced toward the girl who stood white and silent, her hands clinched in painful distress, the image of the girl raped and brutalized body flashed through his mind.

It was then she sprang on him, flashed...an explosion of white lightning just in front of him that blinded Mhoram. Mhoram fell backwards tripping on a dead tree stump, his foot caught in the tree branch, he began to fight for his life. Blinded, the evil warrior wouldn't be content with pretend wounds and victory; she was out for blood. She fell on top of him. Her mouth invaded his mouth, he heaved with nausea. For the first time, he understood the violation of rape. She weighed more than he did. Her cold hands slid against his chest. As she touched him, he realized that it would need to die. No middle ground of this creature surviving was acceptable to him. Bringing his sword forward, his other hand opening and closing in nervous energy He hit her then, a blow to the throat and shoved the sword through her ribcage, piercing the heart. She gurgled and arced like a woman in orgasm and went limp. Two remaining foot soldiers, who had chattered and cheered their local favorite, became completely silent, and the air rang with the tintinnabulation of the singing blades and the hoarse rasp of their leaders’ last breath. Without looking back, they grabbed the girl and flung her up on the saddle and left the scene as fast as possible.