Part 1: The Unwilling
Theo didn’t know what to do, so he ran.
His gasping sobs were lost under the thundering rumble of the earth, the icy wind’s howls above and the shrieks of dying soldiers echoing through the ravine. Rocks tumbled from the mountainside like leaves in autumn, crashing into campsites. Theo’s freezing feet were blistered in his too-tight boots. The terrible, pained gurgles of the wounded left to be trampled haunted his thoughts as he ran.
The battle was over. The Giants had won.
One of the foul creatures lumbered up to him, covering the half-mile between it and Theo in just a few short seconds. The Giant’s silhouette shrouded Theo in darkness, grey against the shimmering, red-stained snow. A small head was between hunched, hairy shoulders, like a shivering vagabond, and long arms outstretched. Theo screamed, jumped blindly, and narrowly dodged a hairy hand.
The monster roared. Arrows shot past Theo, and he gazed up in disbelief. Someone was here to save him!
He staggered to his feet as his saviour, a knight clad in Atharron’s colours of grey and white, wielded a bow on a bay stallion. Theo didn’t look back; to do so would mean certain death. He sprinted towards the sanctuary of the south camp. Tears frozen on his cheeks, icy breath caught in his chest, Theo knew the thundering rumbles and sounds of crunching bones would haunt him for the rest of his days.