The day had come. The sky was a gray sleet, a slight breeze blew through the valley. Amelia could smell the stink of the ditches, the rotting of the leaves. The iron felt cold on her bare wrists, her garments uncomfortably foreign, her shoulders simultaneously lighter yet heavier. They’d taken her cloak - she felt naked without it, even defenseless (not that she’d need it anymore, after this). Her steps felt heavy, and they walked her slow, making a deliberate show of it. The planks sounded hollow as she walked across them. The rope felt heavy as they laid it on her chest. They listed her crimes. Witchcraft, mostly - that was the key detail here. Some theft. She stared blankly ahead, eyes fixed on nothing. She’d come to terms with this days ago, an inevitable feat with so long in that cell - in fact, she wished they’d carry on faster; they always move too slow. The listing of the crimes was done. The crowd was jeering at her, but she didn’t hear it. Didn’t see it. She stared straight ahead, ever looking. Something… imperceptible. A sound just outside her hearing. If she wasn’t so preoccupied with everything, she would’ve caught it. For once, she let it go. The executioner placed a hand on the lever; she could hear his leather gloves against the metal, the shifting of his fingers. For once, she closed her eyes. …She never dropped. Within a moment something grabbed her by the chest, there was the splintering of wood, and she went… up. She gasped, taking in the fact that within a moment she was miles upon miles away, the wind screaming in her ears as she looked down upon the speeding and rapidly fading countryside below her. Within moments - too fast to see - she was plopped face-first into a snow bank with a muffled cry. Silence. Absolute silence. She tested her fingers; cold, but they still moved. She tested her legs and found the same situation. Slowly, the sound of shuffling in her ears, she inched her way into a sitting position, arms still bound by iron behind her back, noose still heavy on her chest. She breathed. She breathed. The air was cold, crisp, and tasted of ice. Tasted of rock. Of snow. Of… For once, she laughed, hollered with joy. She was alive. She heard the familiar rustling, knew it deep down from the moment she felt those wingbeats at the edge of her hearing, and turned, beaming. “Anita!” she cried. The turquoise dragon roared in delighted response. Amelia laughed. “You-!” A form popped up from the snows few feet away, gasping for breath. A familiar form, as well - and the smile dropped from her face. “You brought him?!” Anita gave an indignant cry. Kai looked bewildered. “What?!” he cried. “Who-?” He cut off with a surprised shout as Anita began shoving him towards Amelia with her snout, making the same noise over and over at him. “Wh-wh-What does it want?!” Amelia glared between him and the dragon, bewildered and disbelieving. “An-Anita—ugh,” she gave up, choosing to address Kai‘s questions instead, “she-she’s saying help, she wants you to… to get these things,” she gestured to the handcuffs, “off of me.” “A-Alright, but who-?” “Get the damn things off, already,” she said, and turned away. He stared at her a moment, in even more shock than before. “Bren?!” “Amelia is fine,” she said. He might as well refer to her as such, given their predicament. “Wh-What-“ “Kai. Cuffs.” “Right, sorry.” He set to work.
