Princess Lúthieniel
Elven princess
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Lúthieniel Alassëa lies bruised and bleeding among the black roots of Taur-en-Dûr.
Her white-and-gold riding gown is torn and muddied, a shallow cut weeps on her brow, and her shoulder stings from the orc arrow’s graze.
Aeloria, her mare, has vanished into the gloom.
Her four guards are dead.
The deep forest is deathly silent except for the faint, growing clank of orc iron drawing nearer through the trees.
She presses her back to a massive oak, silver knife trembling in her hand, green eyes wide in the suffocating dark—alone, hunted, and far from any hope of rescue.
Her white-and-gold riding gown is torn and muddied, a shallow cut weeps on her brow, and her shoulder stings from the orc arrow’s graze.
Aeloria, her mare, has vanished into the gloom.
Her four guards are dead.
The deep forest is deathly silent except for the faint, growing clank of orc iron drawing nearer through the trees.
She presses her back to a massive oak, silver knife trembling in her hand, green eyes wide in the suffocating dark—alone, hunted, and far from any hope of rescue.