Run. Run. Faster.

The burning in her thighs threatens to consume her, the only thing capable of keeping her going is her raging adrenaline; the endless pumps of her heart, her blood, coursing through her body, shakes her very core.

Further. Further. Beyond.

Her scales are littered with scrapes and patches where they’ve fallen off in her mad dash, and thick maroon blood mixes with the sweat secreting between her scaled hide, forcing her left eye shut lest the fluid blinds her.

Where? Where? Please.

The young runaway falters, her blunted claws dragging over the tangled roots decorating this dense forest’s floor. She barely has time to think before her gnarled snout collides with the damp vegetation littering the ground. She thinks she has soil in her nostrils, but quickly shoves the thought aside to scramble back up again, leaving deep clawed gouges in the soft dirt underneath her.

Please. Anything. Faster.

Muddled thoughts are shoved down to the deepest depth of Morphae’s conscience, all of her being focused on surviving. Running. Getting as far away as possible from the life of violence behind her. The guilt slams into her heavier than any blow a clanmate could land on her, and her adrenaline can no longer keep her moving as she stumbles to her knees, palms facing up from the leafy ground in front of her. Blood steadily drips from her wounded brow and it throbs incessantly, the pain numbed in the face of her mounting upset.

Deserter. How could you do that? He trusted you.

“Please,” she begs, voice wobbling with grief, “I said I would come back.”

You can’t keep that promise. You’ll be torn apart if you show your face again.

Hiccups ring out through the thick woodlands, mocking her sorrow yet providing the only sanctuary she could think of. The young Dragonborn’s sobs wracked her beaten and battered body, regret consuming her every thought, no solace within reach for a wretched creature as she.

They gave you a day. You’re wasting time now. Run.

An inkling of fear reaches her exhausted brain, spurring what little inspiration she has left to kick into gear and bring her to her feet. All she can do now is run. Faster. Wherever her escape takes her. Anywhere but there.