Branwenn had spurred her horse to the forests to the north. Her tears spilling from her emerald eyes as branches and twigs whipped at her pale face leaving tiny agitated raised cuts along her legs, arms and upon her cheeks. That was it, she couldnâ€™t do this, she couldnâ€™t keep pretending like she was going to eventually fall under what her father wanted.<br/><br/>Clutching Rookâ€™s mane she urged him on, then she heard the distant sounds of hooves pursuing her, it sounded like one horse so she veered off the path and then through the creek that ran along the beaten trail. Water splashed up coldly onto her exposed skin where her dress had been ripped by her father. She rode a little longer until a small break in the woods appeared. Sliding from the dappled welsh she seemed to collapse in a pool of dress fabric and tears.<br/><br/>Her father had never gripped her in such a manner, nor yelled at her in public. The sound of Rook grazing filled the small clearing, it was silent other than the sound of Rook, and the creek that trickled nearby. The young maiden clenched her jaw as she trembled.