The horse's hooves or her pounding heart - she couldn't tell which -deafened her. The spray from the crashing waves felt slick on her face as the moon's night-steed raced beside the flesh and bone one galloping beneath her.

    From far behind, the shouts, now like whispers, of the brigands and the screams of their victims as they fell to dagger and sword echoed over the restless waters of the bay. Even the hoof beats, even her quickened pulse, even the churning surf couldn't completely drown the harsh sounds and cries.

    The compound and her entire family had been captured while she enjoyed the night air from the back of her father's favorite hunter. If not for her hoyden streak, she too would be lying in the glade - another casualty of the growing violence of the revolution - instead of seeking sanctuary from the family in the neighboring valley.

    As she rounded the promontory, the wind brought the scent of smoke to her nostrils. Where the proud house once stood, a skeleton of charred bricks and planks tumbled. Fire still flickered in the older logs of the original homestead.

    Her mount snorted and danced, nervous and flighty. Only her experience with his moods kept her safely astride. From somewhere in the smoky darkness came the weak moaning of a woman's protest and the thick drunken chuckle of a man.

    Gentling the gelding to silence with calm hands on his lathered neck, the rider froze as a lissome figure stumbled from the wilted undergrowth and across the wide expanse - once a lawn, now a quagmire of trampled grass, overturned fountains, and sullied fishponds. The woman slipped in the muck, falling to her knees, but struggled on.

    Morieta! How many times had she wished this rival (and friend) away, or married, or in some other way removed from the hearts and minds of the eligible suitors in the region. But never this, she thought, watching in horror as a partially-clad soldier burst from the same place, caught his prey, and dragged her back to the shadows - and his comfort - by the long flowing tresses of ebony hair.

    The quick rasps of her labored breathing - the strength for weeping long since past - her softly murmured 'oh God no', pierced the rider's heart more deeply than screams may have. The tableau played out here would have been her fate too.

    She sensed an intruder before his hand settled on the reins, and brought her quirt down on his arm as he reached from behind the bole of the willow. Yanking back, she urged the horse to rear, tearing at the stranger with his fore hooves. She felt the thud of solid contact as the iron-shod animal lashed out again and again. The man threw himself out of her way, as the girl spurred her mount into another gallop, but raised the alarm with a curse and a shout. Another sprang into her path, and she rode him down. The spray of his blood felt slick on her face as his shouts turned into a dying scream. The horse whinnied and snorted, kicking his heels free of brigand flesh.

    The forest road was blocked by carts, overturned and tangled. The rider fanned the withers of the tall steed, whispered encouragement in his laid-back ears, and flung her heart over the barrier, willing him to follow.

    In a leap that the gods would admire, they were gone into the night. Somewhere in the countryside, there would be a place untouched or enclave unbroken and she would find it though the hounds of war would tear at her heels.

    She would make her name as an avenging demon. Night Wings would carry her on this quest and the revolution would fail as she cleansed the land of vermin.

    The woman closed her eyes as the images faded, her book lying unread in her lap.

    "Aunt Gilly! Aunt Gilly!" a child's voice squealed. A favorite niece skipped about the even green grass, taming her cockhorse and hopping over twigs. "I'm hunting foxes."

    The sheep scuttled obligingly out of the child's path and the gardener pulled in his feet as she trotted past.

    The nanny called out, "You little miss hoyden! What would your mother say?"

    Gilly hushed the nurse with a languid wave of her fingers.

    "Let her ride."