River is running.

She stumbles over numerous rocks and felled trees along her path, myriads of cuts form along her bare calves and forearms, one stray branch swipes along her cheek, drawing blood.

She does not stop.

The earth is dry beneath her feet. Frigid night air like razors slicing through her trachea and lungs with each pained inhale. She half-wonders if anyone would notice whether she had escaped. There were numerous slaves and the beasts treated them with indifference, her absence would hardly make a dent.

Right?

Then why is she frantically sprinting through the forest? Why is her heart slamming with a vicious intensity against her ribcage, rising her swelling throat and finally ears. She sees nothing but the twilight sky and dim dots of stars. There is no moon tonight. Her supposed final night of living.

If tomorrow is the day we leave, what do we do with them?

We discard them.

Discard them. Hadrius had spoken with such confident ease, such nonchalance... as though their lives mattered no more than a speck of dust.

We discard them.

River thinks on all the women and girls back at the camp, she wants to halt and turn and run back for them. Yet who would she start with? Anita would give her an earful and beg to be slain by another Beast rather than escape.

And the rest loathed her solely for being Hadrius’ slave.

It would be too late to return. She had run so far ahead, one step further from Him brought her a step closer to freedom.

But if you’re caught- River stumbles as the notion forms in her mind.

Whip me, she thinks and picks right back up.

The run eventually draws fatigue through her leaden limbs and she leans against the scabbed trunk of a tree, stomach heaving. The rough bark pricks her forehead, steadying her.

I must get away from them, from Him, she thinks.

Unable to continue running, and with the mind of preserving her energy reserves for later on, River walks further North along a dusty strip worn smooth by wheels and horse’s hooves.

A little beyond the camp is divided. One half-ran south and west, through grass and rocks and low hills; that’s the way she was meant to head. The other half twisted northwards, towards the mountains and then beyond, to the sea. Hadrius’ home.

River traces it with her eyes. It skirts the wooded foothills for some time before disappearing within them.

Yet she lingers. She had heard they were beautiful, the mountains - pears and cypress and streams of just-melted ice. It would be cool there and shaded.

You’re free. The thought is sudden, arresting.

She had come to the road meaning only to escape. But the path lies before her, and the mountains. River’s chest rises and falls rapidly as if trying to keep pace with her thoughts. She had nothing that belonged to her, not a tunic, not a sandal; they were the wolves.

I do not need to pack, even.

She hesitates a moment, thinking she might try to go back, to bring another slave along. But it is night. She has only the darkness to travel before He would discover her absence - so she flatters herself - and sends after her.

River glances back at the camp a distance away and sees no one.

Now. It must be now.

She runs.

Away from the camp, down the path towards the woods, feet stinging as they slap the cold-baked ground. As she runs, she promises herself that if she ever sees Anita again, she would ask for forgiveness. The ache in her legs, the knifing heaves of her chest feels cleans and good.

She runs.

Sweat slicks her skin, falls upon the earth beneath her feet. She grows dirty, then dirtier still. Dust and broken bits of leaves cling to her legs.

The world around her narrows to the pounding of her feet and the next dusty yard of road.

Finally, after an hour? Two? River can go no farther. She bends over in pain, the bright stars wavering to black, the rush of blood deafening in her ears. The path is heavily wooded now, on both sides, and the camp is a long way behind her.

To her right looms the mountains with the sea beyond it. She stares at its peak and tries to guess how much farther. Ten thousand paces? Fifteen? River begins to walk in the opposite direction.

Hours pass.

Her muscles grow wobbly and weak, her feet jumble together. The sun is well across the zenith now, hanging low in the western sky. She has four, perhaps five hours until dawn, and the peak is as far as ever.

Suddenly, River understands: She would not reach the woods by nightfall. She had neither food, nor water, nor hope of shelter. She had nothing but the sandals on her feet and the soaked tunic on her back.

Her ears buzz dully - with cicadas, with the shrill calls of birds, with the rasp of her breath. There is an ache in her stomach, like hunger or despair.

And then there is something else.

The barest sound, just at the limit of hearing. But she catches it, and her skin, even in the heat, grows cold. River knows that sound.

It is the sound of stealth, of a man attempting silence. It had been just the smallest misstep, the giving away of a single leaf, but it had been enough.

River whirls around sharply and pales significantly at the sight of Hadrius who stands between two large trees, darkness drifts around and about him, seemingly alive yet unwilling to touch his figure.

They regard each other for a drawn moment, her adrenaline-dilated pupils struggling to focus on him and the world suddenly feels louder.

Had he brought more men?

If he did, where were they?

Hadrius only tilts his head to the side, studying her with a sort of curious stare.

River shakes like a white narcissus beneath his scrutiny, and she can do nothing to hide the trembles in her hands, legs, belly.

“Stay back!” She snaps like a rabid animal, and lunges to her left, scrambling for any weapon. Her fingers curl around a stick. Turning back to his still form, River raises the weapon threateningly. “Not another move.”

The silence is surly, unnerving. She waits anxiously searching his imperturbable face for a sliver of emotion, but there is none.

Hadrius’ mouth suddenly shifts in a mocking, amused smile. “A stick,” he draws out softly, stepping past the shrubs and into the light, “I’m trembling.”

Despite her fear-leaden body, something sparks within at his condescending tone. River spreads her feet and squares her shoulders as though riding into war her teeth grind against each other. “I’m not returning.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not going back,” there is a diminutive quiver in her voice, the slightest trembling of her chin. “You already took everything from me. I will not lose my life to you as well.”

Hadrius seems to mull over her words genuinely but then something shifts in his expression, “Tell me, human,” he takes a step forward, forcing her back by one, “what did you have before you met me?”

River falters at his question then stiffens when he attempts another step, the dark stretch between steadily closing.

“Perhaps you would prefer if I paraphrased it?” Without awaiting a reply, he continues, “you were a slave, were you not? An orphan, no family, no home, only a mistress. Menial friendships that would surmount to nothing and a crush that did not see you in the same light as you did he.”

Another step.

Blood begins to pound in her ears.

“So tell me,” Hadrius begins, “you claim that I took everything from you, yet you had nothing, to begin with.”

“Freedom,” she whispers uncertainly, “I had free-”

“What does a slave know about freedom?” The genuine curiosity in his voice forces heat of displeasure and humiliation to spread along her cheeks.

“I took nothing from you, for you had nothing to give in the first place.”

“Is that why you’re killing me?” River whispers, something pained in her voice. “Because I have nothing to offer you?”

“Yes.”

“But you have not given me anything to do-” the words rush past her lips in desperation, “all I have done is cater to your basic needs... you do not speak to me, you do not regard me in any manner... how am I meant to prove my worth if you do not give me a chance?”

Hadrius’ lambent dark eyes linger on her face, then slowly scour each feature, as though seeking an answer somewhere in the crevices. “What do you offer me?”

“What do you want?” River counters quickly.

It is a rather tragic comedy how she stands before a creature, battering for her life. The tragedy in knowing that someone had placed a value to that which can never be priced, a life. The comedy lay in her glaring stupidity, daring to escape, daring to think that she could fight Hadrius off with the stick.

“Is your maidenhead still attached?” Hadrius’ sudden intimate question surfaces hectic spots of red on her cheeks and nose.

River grits her teeth, “It is.” She had expected it. The number of women he spent inside only proved his insatiable desire. And now she was his next victim.

Do it to survive.

Hadrius studies her a moment longer, then he grins - his mouth moves a little too slowly. As he does so, her skin grows.

Even in the night light, she sees his bared canines.

And that’s when he lunges for her.