Into the deep forest, though may mean abandoning your steed..

You realise the cover that the dense wild forest can provide may be your only chance of escape. You will have to sacrifice speed for stealth though. Hearing howls of pursuit you go full gallop towards where the ironwood trees begin, skirting the edge where it rounds and briefly dipping out of sight. You leap from the saddle, your magic flaring and keeping you from sprawling to the earth. You land a whack on the hind quarters of the stallion which continued at top speed following the tree line. With barely a last glance you dart between the broad trunks and dive into the undergrowth, wiggling flat to the ground through the sparse bushes. You know you have moments before the chase reaches where you enter the forest, and every foot clawed into the dimness of the canopy’s shelter could be difference between safety and capture. Your heart is beating fast pounding in your ears loudly enough that you are sure you will attract some of the search party.

You hold your breath long moments, willing yourself deeper into the dirt as hoof beats thunder nearby... and pass, maybe a dozen horses and riders heavily armed. You breathe again in some relief, though fear still quickens your blood. You are a long way from safe! As soon as they close with that horse they will be back to find what they missed.

Like a startled rabbit you are up and into the depths of the forest, your long legs moving nimbly through the undergrowth with minimal noise. The heart of the forest lies due north but you skirt to the northeast, gambling that the elven army will be retreating and regrouping near the outpost past the north edge where the ground rises. No sounds of pursuit follow you as yet and the din of battle is long behind. There are winding horns from time to time and somewhere above the treetops the occasional whir which presumably marks one of the metal craft. You stay well away from any break in the leafy canopy and mentally petition the spirit lord of luck that they will not venture so low as to move into the forest proper. The branches seem tangled enough to prevent easy flight.

Your stealthy trot quickly speeds up however when somewhere in the distance there rises a roar of triumph. You begin to move at a more rapid pace, veering somewhat and spending previous moments at a stream creating several possible exit points before carefully making your way through the opposite clearing. There are no sounds of hounds so you are hopeful your ruse will buy you previous distance.

You are more than halfway to the point along the forest edge that you are aiming for, making good progress when you hear noises in the undergrowth ahead. You freeze dead, your eyes and ears working at maximum capacity. Could your pursuers have gotten ahead of you? Or perhaps another raiding **** entering from the side? A string of guttural curses at your rear tells you that your chasers are still present and following.. so what lies ahead..?! Not a large ****.. You decide to gamble and hope that you can destroy any opposition. You whisper an elven sign into the trees ahead, your magic carrying it on its ethereal winds. You wait long moments, knife drawn. And then.. a hissing countersign. Sighing with relief, you sheathe the knife and dash ahead and quickly pinpoint your companion.

The scout emerges from a group of trees before you, mottled green and brown garb soiled, her red hair coiled in braids at the sides of her head. Her quick green eyes finding yours as she smiles in relief. You clasp arms briefly and then you glance over your shoulder.

“They aren’t far behind, are our forces at the old outpost?”

She nods quickly, matching your pace but pointing more east than the direction you had been following.

“Captain Jennara! Thank the goddess I found you sister. We feared there were no survivors. My scouting mission was the last hope and I was about to turn back. I am Alina, daughter of Nymthas. We should get out of range of those cursed metal insects. This way..!”

She sets off swiftly ahead of you heading easterly, her lithe form slipping through the brush with practiced ease, almost silently.