He swore many oaths at himself for laying down his bow and quiver as he set their camp. Now, he had nothing to defend the woman with from this distance! “This way, Gudrun! Run!” Johann bellowed, still sprinting toward her. “Run! This way! Now!”
Three strides later, a gap between columns of rock allowed him another glance at where Gudrun had been. She was no longer there! A black wing swung down where she’d been flailing. Another gap. Wing. In just a few more seconds, Johann would blast into the clearing where he’d left Gudrun. His plan was no more complicated than to hurtle in fast and low. Beyond that, he’d hope to providence. And his sword. Already, his strong fingers were wrapped tightly around the hilt, his right arm holding it straight up in front of him as he ran.
A strange whistling roared over Johann’s head, followed immediately by a withering heat and brilliance that forced him to drop down, sprawling on the floor. An explosion of fire and broken stone erupted from the direction he’d been racing towards. A cloud of fume and grit enveloped him. Coughing on the dust, Johann jumped up and raced for their camp, which was now roiling in a plume of dirty smoke. Steeling himself for sword-to-talon combat with the obsidians, Johann burst into the open area of their camp at a dead run.
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