But she runs on, between charging soldiers, ducking a scything blade, vaulting over a falling soldier. On and on, ceaseless, unable to stop. A messenger, a carrier of words and private things. A courier for both rich and poor. A traveler with no allegiance but her own. A Runner. Screaming, but in words spoken so quick only the Frost Faeries flying ahead of her can hear. “Ican’tstop!Goddamnitstoplaughingandhelpme!” The faeries hear her of course, and they keep pace with her easily. Perhaps they could stop her, but they’re laughing too hard to reply.
Poor Ryoka
