Misty morning rides on the back of her mother’s saddle were a prominent piece of Rosemary’s childhood. Shadows of the morning they would become, slithering in and out of pines as if not even the staggering trees possessed more power than the thundering horse. The late ELizabeth claimed not a single being was as swift as her beloved ebony stallion. Rose wholeheartedly believed her. Her rides through the trees here were the melody of her seldom adventure beyond the restricting walls of the cabin and later, the villa. Even when Beth had fallen so ill as to need help on her weary feet, she’d somehow summoned the strength to take Rose on their wild rides.

These memories were slathered now in poison. Fear washed her face of color. The pounding of her chestnut’s hooves - Buttercup - were not the only clomping strikes. Just behind her Erren raced, his own expression twisted with panic. These trails had served as the gateway to laughter and love; precious instances Rose would never trade. Now, as the band of thieves hounded after them, sent in search of Rose’s loud-mouthed sister, Lily, Rose could see only the danger the path held. Rocks that could trip the amber stallion waited around every bend. Low hanging branches slapped her arms and cheek as she passed them, scoring her with long, reddened scrapes. This stretch had no longer served as their home - but Rose could see the rising roof of the villa between the trees that sheltered the ledges to their right. Her parents no longer waited there; William had left them not long ago, but Scarlet and Vin still huddled inside. Erren pleaded with Rose miles ago to pay his aging mother and father a quick hello, as they would not stay much longer.

If Rose had denied as she’d wished, the trail would be left untainted. Had she given in to the aching desire to see the faces of their children, under the close watch of Elisimy and Arynn, her midnight races would not seem so ruined.

To her left an arrow sauntered through the bark of a nearby tree. A startled squeak popped from Rose’s lips, her head falling to the side as if to prevent the shards of foliage from touching her face. Buttercup, frightened by the soaring thing, kicked into a faster pelt that Rose wasn’t aware the stallion capable of.

Perhaps Bello was not the fastest horse, after all.

“We’ll cut through the river,” Erren shouted to her, his lungs deprived of the rushing air that sped by too fast to capture. “We can’t take them to the cabin.”

Rose did not answer, but held silent agreement. She knew the very bend Erren was talking about. To scare them, Beth would jar Bello roughly over the peak of a hill, forcing the horse to skid down a wildflower painted slide. As Rose toppled Buttercup over the edge, however, she came to find no flowers or bursting leaves. Only the death of autumn and promise of a harsher winter. Rose leaned backward, holding the reins with a fierce grasp as Buttercup fought ferociously to keep his hooving.

Erren toppled past her, clinging to his pinto’s neck as the mare shrieked with terror. She was not fond of anything less than a smooth trail. Rose saw the tensing of her muscles long before the mare craned her body to the side, tossing Erren clean from her back as the black and white Twilight went head over heels. Clacking of breaking bones and grunts of pain split the shedding of loose rocks. Rose knew long before the horse came to a stop that she’d already left the world for another.

“Erren,” Rose called breathlessly as he staggered to his feet breathlessly. He swiveled, catching Buttercup’s saddle buckles with his fists. Grief poured from his every inch, but Erren paid no mind to the still animal that had carried him so many places. He grabbed hold of his wife’s arm, pulling her from Buttercup’s back just as their pursuers breached the crest. Erren had little time to withdraw Rose’s sword, hissing under his breath when the point of an arrow sparked against the freshly polished steel. Together they propelled themselves through the thin protection of trees and were spit onto the banks of the river.

Erren raced directly for the shoreline, plunging into the waist deep surf. Rose willed herself to join him, but at the strike of the greedy water, she stiffened. Lips parted with staggering words, hands trembling madly with the snarling of the current that encircled her ears.

“Erren,” she finally spluttered.

The blonde squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what he would find when he turned his head. Rather than urge her onward, Erren fought the pull to reach her once more, taking hold of her hand with a fierce grip. Wordless, they raced along the bank in desperate search of means to cross. Behind them their attackers easily spilled over the trees, pounding their horses onward. Erren skidded to a halt, whipping about to fling his arm over Rose, wielding her sword with a fierce grimace. Horses carrying their men circled around them, all with pointing weapons.

“Give us the gold,” one demanded. He sat taller than the others, beard peppered with the oncoming of his last days.

“I am not who you seek,” Rose pleaded. It was Lily they searched for. “We haven’t money or power. Neither does the woman you chase!”

Glances were exchanged, but not a drip of understanding. From behind Rose one of the men slid from his horse, plowing his fist into her cheek. Like a fly to bones Rose’s knees gave way. Thankfully she collapsed in time to clear the swipe of Erren’s strike. The man fell with her seconds later. Though it was a grotesque thought, Erren saw the dead man over his darling Rosie as a protective blanket.

The strike of one of his men brought the taller of the brutes upon Erren. His strike was strong, bowing the metal of Rose’s lightweight sword the second it made contact with the large saber. The weapons screamed as they danced; a song Erren detested. He kept his bearings longer than most men would have, but he could not cut all of them down prior to his being restrained by the remaining two, along with the leader of the outfit. Erren saw what awaited him in the greedy eyes of the approaching man - no, not a man. Monster. Still, Erren lifted his chin to face the searing sneer. He would not cower in the face of a worthless man. Erren revealed his teeth to the squandering fool.

“I should let ye live just to see the blood of yer wench.”
“Rosemary,” Erren snarled. “Her name. Is Rosemary.”

Cruel laughter spouted from the men that held him. Bravery could only tether so long before the strings would fray. Before the towering man, twice his size, Erren sucked a shivering breath. Eyes darting slowly to search for the rise and fall of Rose’s chest, his lip quivered. She looked so peaceful - asleep. Erren was not foolish enough to forget the smoldering start of bruising under her eye. Anger severed the man’s chest. How dare they touch her with nothing but gentleness? How dare they touch her at all? At the raise of the bearded man’s sword, Erren glared from beneath his colombine curls. He waited for the right moment to press all of his weight into the man that held his right arm, shoving them sideways so that the blade struck not Erren, but his captor.

Fist served as ample retaliation, knocking air backward so roughly that his feet were taken from beneath him. Still, the younger man scuttled over the scratchy Earth, seizing Rose’s sword for one final swipe. He cut deep into the bordering man’s chest, but his hands were suddenly torn away from the hilt of Rose’s cutlass. Time held no meaning - something was wrong. Hands now limp at his sides, Erren blinked with a sudden wash of numb confusion. Head heavy, he drooped his head.

There was a dagger lodged in his abdomen. That was not meant to be there. The hands that held it were far too familiar. He traced the freckled forearm back to the frozen face.

Rose?

“Too slow, witch,” the bearded man cackled.

Erren felt himself fall backward, but he did not recall ever hitting the ground. His vision was full of Rose, her lips screamed his name, her face shook with her shrieks, those dimpled cheeks were creased with her howls - but Erren heard none of them. He saw only the sun through her chocolate hair, the blazing of her emerald eyes so much like her mother’s. The constellations of freckles that were so much more than the sky above. Her hands cradled his face - it bothered Erren that he could not feel their warmth. He fought to reach for her, to pull her sound from the silence that encased them both, but he could not. Something mystery urged him on, pulled him from her. He did not want to go.

But as he became darkness Erren found he hadn’t a choice. His father had warned him of this once; the inky blackness that would never bring forth the light of morning. Erren thought he should be scared, but he was not.

He would be afraid, nevermore.

“Erren!” Rose wailed, her voice slobbed with wet. “Stay awake.” His eyes fluttered. No matter how fiercely she clasped his shirt, he would not remain. Beneath her palms his chest refused to expand with breath. Crawling from her mouth a shrill scream that deafened the world tore her throat dry.

At some time the bearded man left, having pillaged both Buttercup and the pinto horse for whatever he felt they’d hidden from him. Dissatisfied, he’d left Rose to her wailing. It was said shrieks that crawled a bewildered couple from their den, both frightened of the eerily familiarity the tone concealed. They rushed to where the river danced, happening upon first the pinto horse, then, as Scarlet bounded down the path with terror for what she knew laid beyond, pressed her hands to the tree that lie just beyond where her daughter-in-law coddled her son.

“Mio figlio…” Vin breathed from behind her.

Vin flew onward, wrapping his arms about Rose in a tight embrace that she thrashed against. She bloodied his lips with the back of her head, straining for her release.

Scarlet found she could not inch any closer to the impossibility sprawled in front of her. An emptiness greater than any crevice forged inside. All the love, the time, the warmth, the very being she’d flushed into her son dribbled through the cracks of her eyes. Rose yowled incomprehensible words, proclaiming some ungodly vengeance Scarlet hadn’t the strength to question. On teetered feet, Vin guided her past Scarlet, calling for his tesoro to follow, but Scarlet remained.

She knew the designs of the dagger. She had carved them herself. Stiff legged, Scarlet wondered to the soft-faced boy. She knelt at his side, trying to recall his voice, his laughter - his anything; but they had gone with Erren to the void. Head bowed, Scarlet squeezed her eyes shut as she reached to clasp the hilt. From his stomach, she wrenched it, flinging her fist as roughly as she could manage. The dagger plunked into the water, beginning the journey it would partake to reach the sea.

Rose shattered the night with another cry and so shattered Scarlet's heart.

Her little Erren, not so little anymore, would light the world never again.

And who to blame, but someone who - perhaps - loved him more than she?

Scarlet, full of tears and dread, numbly drifted after Vin. He carried Rose close to his chest, trying to sobber her cries with tears of his own. How they would silence her, Scarlet didn't know - but however it would be done, it would not be done gently. Rose would not go gentle into that dark night. Neither would the men who hounded her, travel into an easy end. Scarlet knew these cries not for the sake of her time with the brittle daughter of her longtime companion, but for the same cries had left her lips once before. The men that cut the light from her day, that kicked the stars from her sky had once burned her every step.

And she had slaughtered them all.