The Ring Master's Fair

PART 2

The Ring Master's Fair - Part 2

Lark gazed into the sea green eyes for quite a while. They held her captive. There seemed to be a story within them that wanted to be shouted out and told to the world. And she was curious about what it was. "You okay there?" came a rich accent from the man.

Lark nodded her head clueless, "I'm fine," she muttered.

The man gave her a heart stopping white smile. "I'm not going to hurt you if that's what you think. Okay?"

Lark nodded again. "Okay," she said a bit uneasy.

"Now what might you be running from?"

She stood there silent, not wanting to tell the man, in fear of being taken back there. Maybe even being taken by that Prince Atticus, who was the last person she wanted to go with. "I am not running from anyone?"

"Don't believe you love. Sorry," he said shrugging his shoulders, and rested a hand on her upper arm.

A sharp toll of a bell suddenly rang throughout the field, signaling that the fair was coming to an end. Lark's eyes went wide as she watched various groups of people milling around the field. "You are right. I am running from someone, who will surely catch me if I don't escape right away."

"Let me at least help you then," stated the man.

Lark shook her head, "I don't trust anybody, and I especially don't trust a stranger."

"Ah!" the man exclaimed. "Where ever might my manners be? I am Prince Rylan Lucas Abbottotant III. But you may call me Rylan."

"Rylan," Lark liked the way his name rolled easily off her tongue.

"Now we are not strangers," Rylan said proudly.

Lark just shook her head, "Strangers or not, I refuse to lay any trust in you." She knocked Rylan's arm off her shoulder. Rylan stood perfectly still as he watched the girl with no name dart through the crowd like a gazelle; elegant and beautiful, even dressed in rags.

Finely dressed men and women ambled along with their servants and purchases trailing along behind them. Lark scurried around, dodging people at the last second, apologizing to anyone that she nearly crashed into.

Since the field was going to be filled with multiple tents for people to stay the night in, she had to get out of there and to the surrounding forest. As for the girls who have not been sold, they were shoved into a flimsy tent where they would stay the night. Then in the morning, they would be forced to trek back to the cage on wheels to be taken who knows where.

A sudden commotion came from behind Lark. "Runaway, over there." Her being the only girl dressed in rags without a master or mistress, and not in the tent with the other girls, Lark immediately assumed that those words were meant for her.

So, she sped up. She was right at the edge of the forest surrounding the dry field, when she heard a whooshing sound and felt a sharp pain on her right shoulder. Looking down, she saw an arrow halfway stuck in it. She screeched out in pain, but still continued to run, but slowing down a bit.

There were a few shouts coming by from behind her, and a stampede of feet. Lark knew that they were following her.

As she was running, she managed to grab the arrow. She attempted to pull it out, but only managed to break it in half.

Dark spots grew in her eyes from the pain. The metallic smell of the blood freaked her out.

Lark did not bother to pull the ready of the arrow out as she dove for cover under a pine tree before scuttling along the forest floor.

She ran as fast as she could. Leaves entangled themselves in her hair. Thorns ripped through her skin. The pain was too much for her to bear, but she kept on running; the fear of being caught motivating her.

A steep hill suddenly appeared in front of Lark. She tried to stop, but she had been running too fast. Her knees buckled from underneath her, and she was sent tumbling head over feet down the hill. She heard the crack of the arrow being broken even more.

Finally, Lark landed somewhere towards the bottom of the hill in a crumpled heap. She released the pained whimpers which she had been holding in for quite sometime.

Not having enough strength, or courage, to stand up, she very slowly crawled her way to a large boulder. Curling up like a roly-poly, she examined the blood covered wound, trying not to freak out at the sight of it. Her hand clutched the jagged end of the broken arrow, but she was to afraid to move it even a little in fear of inflicting more pain.

Instead, she tore off a little bit of her rags and wrapped it as best she could, in attempt to stop the stream of blood. Once she was done, Lark leaned her head up against the boulder and let her sore eyes rest. She fought to stay awake, but eventually passed out from the pain the became to unbearable.

-----

Lark didn't wake up until late the next morning, her neck sore from her sleeping position. The pain in her shoulder had calmed down and the blood was only dripping. She stood up to stretch her sore muscles, and eventually sat down again to think.

Would anyone find her? Hopefully not. Where would she go? No idea. Could she go back to her sick master? No way; she would rather die than go back there. Heck, she would rather go with Prince Atticus.

Speaking of Prince Atticus; Lark's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a man stumbling out of the bushes in front of her.