Elowen’s POV
The midnight air was a cool balm against my fevered skin, heavy with the earthy scent of rain-soaked soil and the sharp, clean fragrance of pine. A gentle breeze whispered through the trees surrounding the training grounds, carrying with it the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. But the peace of the night was a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within me.
I sat hunched against the rough stone of the training pavilion’s outer wall, my injured leg stretched out before me. Each shallow breath sent a fresh wave of throbbing pain radiating from the deep gash that marred my inner thigh. The wound, a testament to my reckless desperation to push beyond my limits, was a dark, angry red against the pale moonlight. It pulsed with a dull ache that mirrored the ache in my heart.
I shouldn’t have come out here. The rational part of my mind, the part that still clung to a semblance of self-preservation, screamed at me. It was foolish,
