all gone

THE cold air stung Anwen's pale cheeks, and the wind tugged her dark hair free of the string that bound it, setting the strands dancing on currents Anwen could not see. She shivered, pulling her cloak closer, but the old wool did little to keep the clutches of winter's wind away from her small frame.

She shuddered, looking around the small village before slipping inside her family's home, shutting the door firmly behind her. It was small, but what more did three people need? Anwen and her father spent most of their days outside anyway, so the house was Mother's domain, one she relished in having to herself after losing that peace when Anwen was small. At night, the time they were all together, the smallness served to keep warmth in, and Anwen rather liked being so close to her parents. She loved them, after all.

Her mother looked up from their meal as Anwen pulled her cloak from her shoulders, hanging it beside the door to let the snow dry. "Is your father coming?" she asked, her voice low, like Anwen's own.

The girl nodded. "He'll be just a minute, had to settle the animals." She took a seat at the table, tugging a scarf away from her neck in the heat from the fire. Her father was a farmer, and a relatively successful one. Anwen helped him a good deal, but she spent a great deal of her time running around and doing as she pleased. Her mother liked to say that she could only be a child for so long, so she may as well enjoy it. Of course, Anwen was sixteen years old now and nearly an adult, but Mother wouldn't listen to that. Besides, Anwen was enjoying herself.

Her father came in a minute later, stamping the snow from his boots and taking off his cloak as well. The smells of warm food filled the room, and the family sat for dinner. A perfect evening.

—

SHOUTS woke Anwen in the night. She started upright, eyes wide, gaze darting around the room. Her room had no window, so she could not see outside, but the shouts continued. And sounds that Anwen could only describe as slaughter.

She jumped out of bed, pulled on a dress and boots, and ran into the main room of the house. Her mother was there already, her hair in an extremely messy bun and her eyes wide. Father was nowhere to be seen. Anwen rushed for her mother, wrapping her arms around her and tucking herself against her. "What's going on?"

Mother held her close. "Nilfgaard," she said, her voice a shaky whisper, "they've come for all of us."

Anwen froze, her breath catching. "Already?" she whispered, somewhat surprised to find her own voice trembling. She didn't know why she was surprised—Nilfgaard's soldiers terrified her, and she knew very well that they would tear her apart if given the chance. "What do we do?"

She didn't get a chance to answer, as Father slammed open the door. "You have to run," he said, "Both of you; get out of here and you might live." He reached for a knife that Mother used to cut meat, and guided them out of the house.

Outside, all was chaos and fire. Soldiers—clad in thick black armor that made them look large and dangerous—roamed the fields and village. They were more terrifying than any of Anwen's nightmares about them. They seemed disorganized but brutal; no matter where Anwen looked, all she saw was murder and blood.

Mother pulled her along, towards the woods bordering the small village. "Come, Anwen, we must leave!" she said, not even looking over her shoulder at her daughter. Ducking to make herself smaller, Anwen followed as quickly as she could.

Her legs hurt, ached with every step, the uneven ground nearly causing her to trip. She shouldn't be this clumsy, not on ground she trod every day, but fear made her steps unsure.

In a blinding flash, her mother's hand was ripped from hers. Anwen cried out, falling onto her back. A soldier had pulled her mother from her, held a blade to her throat. He didn't seem to notice Anwen, focused on Mother. Tears bloomed in Mother's eyes, and Anwen scrambled to her knees. Mother shook her head, just slightly enough that the man holding her didn't notice. "Go!" she mouthed, "Anwen, go!"

Anwen's hands grew wet, planted on snowy ground, and though she wanted to stay, wanted to pull her mother back to her, she knew she would only get killed. So she ran. She was moving forward before she even stood up straight, running half-hunched over towards the woods. Snow crunched under her boots, kicking up onto her dress, and the air was so cold that she saw her breath. She could hardly see anything, not with so much happening all at once, not with her vision clouded with tears to match Mother's.

Branches scraped against her face, almost drawing blood, but Anwen kept running, pushed herself to go and go and go until she collapsed, falling to the forest floor. The snow cooled her flushed cheeks, stuck in her hair, but she couldn't bring herself to get back up. She curled there in the snow and cold, sobbing until she slept.

—

891 words.
Welcome to Black Blood, White Words! Poor Anwen's not having a good time of it, but here it is. I wanted to start here because it's where the show starts, and is a great way to get thrown into the story. Please do let me know what you think! I have been so nervous to start this story, but I'm also super excited about it!