"Run, Carmie."
Karis's last words would haunt Carmie for the rest of her life. However short that may be. She was running out of strength, and the hunters were not far behind. Her legs burned with weakness, and her lungs struggled to catch up with the pace of her flight. The sharp and frigid wind scraped past her cheeks and legs. She was a fast runner; she could've easily escaped the hunters if not for the garlic clouds that bombarded her only minutes ago. Her mind ran too. It ran laps around the image of the stake engraved with the cross and coated in silver at its end. The
wretched weapon that had swiftly robbed her of her brother's life. The thought swelled like poison in her heart. She could still smell the garlic when she tripped. A rock. Or a stick. Whatever it was that would be the reason for her life's end. Carmie did not curse it. She knew it was over. She knew that the hunters had won. Her only thought was to join her brother. Why not enter the land of the dead as gracefully as she had traveled through life? Footsteps. Louder and
louder. The chants of the hunters. The screams of the wind. She closed her eyes. She accepted her fate. And then, she was gone.