Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [4]
After a time, driving himself headlong down the path, he started looking for the side trail. He couldn’t be sure how far he had gone; the forest offered no view for a fix, and he didn’t remember exactly where the cutoff was. It was small and would be easy to miss. With every bend bringing new hope that this would be the place he found the cutoff, he pushed himself on. He tried to think of what he would say to the woman when he finally reached her. His mind raced as fast as his legs. She might think he was with her pursuers, or be frightened by him, or not believe him. He wouldn’t have much time to convince her to go with him, that he wanted to help.
Coming over the top of a small rise, he looked anew for the fork, but didn’t see it and kept running. Now his breath came in ragged gasps. He knew that if he didn’t reach the split before she did, they would be trapped, and their only options would be to outrun the men, or to fight. He was too winded for either. That thought drove him on harder. Sweat ran down his back, making his shirt stick to his skin. The coolness of the morning had turned to choking heat, though he knew it was only his exertion that made it seem that way. The forest passed in a blur to each side as he ran.
Just before a sharp bend to the right, he came at last to the cutoff, almost missing it. He made a quick search for tracks to see if she had been there and taken the small path. There were none. Relief washed over him. He dropped to his knees and sat back on his heels in exhaustion, trying to catch his breath. The first part had worked. He had beaten her here. Now he had to make her believe him before it was too late.
Holding his right hand over a painful stitch in his side and still trying to catch his breath, he started to worry that he was going to look silly. What if it was just a girl and her brothers playing a game? He would be the fool. Everyone but him would have a good laugh.
He looked down at the bite on the back of his hand. It was red and throbbed painfully. He remembered the thing in the sky. He thought about the way she had been walking, with a sense of purpose, not like a child at play. It was a woman, not a girl. He remembered the cold fear he had felt when he saw the four men. Four men warily shadowing a woman: the third strange thing to happen this morning. The third child of trouble. No—he shook his head—this was no game, he knew what he had seen. It was no game. They were stalking her.
Richard came partway to his feet. Waves of heat rolled from his body. Bent over at the waist with his hands braced on his knees, he took a few deep breaths before straightening to his full height.
His eyes fell on the young woman as she came around the bend in front of him. His breath caught for an instant. Her brown hair was full, lush, and long, complementing the contours of her body. She was tall, almost as tall as he, and about the same age. The dress she wore was like none he had ever seen: almost white, cut square at the neck, interrupted only by a small, tan leather waist pouch. The weave of the fabric was fine and smooth, almost glistening, and bore none of the lace or frills he was used to seeing, no prints or colors to distract from the way it caressed her form. The dress was elegant in its simplicity. She halted, and long graceful folds regally trailing her gathered about her legs.
Richard approached and stopped three strides away so as not to appear a threat. She stood straight and still, her arms at her side. Her eyebrows had the graceful arch of a raptor’s wings in flight. Her green eyes came unafraid to his. The connection was so intense that it threatened to drain his sense of self. He felt that he had always known her, that she had always been a part of him, that her needs were his needs. She held him with her gaze as surely