They heard the hooves pounding long before they saw them. Too late, Lachlan and Maeve tried to make it back into the embrace of the forest, but they were cut off by a squad of Roman sentries patrolling the marshes.
"Should we split up?" Maeve yelled at Lachlan as they ran through the woods. Branches lashed at their faces, but did little to slow them down.
"I'll not leave you to face them alone," Lachlan shouted back.
"Then stop running."
"What?"
"We cannot outrun them, Lachlan. It would be better to turn and face them."
Lachlan immediately stopped, and turned to take Maeve's hand. Together, they stood waiting for the sentry commander to ride up to them. It felt as if the forest itself were waiting to see the outcome.
"Shall I weave a mist?"
Lachlan shook his head. "If they know what we are, they will surely kill us."
"They may do so any way."
"I do not want you to risk it, Maeve. We must act like we are not what we are."