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Flickering bright-red flames of fire burned the wood waste below. Emma was lost deep within her thoughts, thoughts of becoming a murderer.

Emma had hastily stopped the flow of blood that seeped through Lyra's lush, black hair by bandaging the wound frantically. Yet the blood continued to ooze out. Every second ticked away as Lyra slowly began losing her life.

She feared the shadows that once brought her tranquility, now seemed like ghosts of the dead. The oppressed. The murdered.

'No, this isn't possible.' Emma thought, 'I couldn't have killed her'.

"Are you still sure she's alive?" Lincoln asked wearily. Something about the girl made him wonder if he had known her from somewhere. It had been approximately five hours that she had been lying on the ground, unconscious.

Her fragile frame cast droopy shadows on the walls of the wooden hut. A rotten stench of foul blood wafted through the air, but neither of the two had made any attempts to clean the blood — fearing the worst.

Lincoln found himself drifting away into his mind, scavenging for a single clue as to why her presence seemed so comforting and why he felt like he knew her. He had grown tiresome of searching the blank depths of his mind.

If he spoke honestly, there was not much he had in his mind. He could not remember Emma as a child, his own childhood nor his life before the appearance of The Hunter. He racked his mind strenuously but the results were always the same.

He felt lost. What does a man call himself if he cannot remember his past? The past teaches us to learn from our mistakes, to learn our origin, what is a man without his origin? Was he still a man, or simply a lost soul in the form of a man?

Questions had become his best companion, they never left him. They brought him comfort, at least he could still think, they showed him to not trust the eye and most importantly, hold on to answers; because those were the rarest to find.

The crimson flames reflected in Emma's violet eyes. The red and violet hues reminded Lincoln of a beautiful sunset which signaled the end of the day, a useless day.

Each day went by in vain. They were tired of walking, tired of living in fear, tired of searching for a place to call home — so they made one. It had taken a few months to get used to the strong smell of pungent evergreen leaves and rotting wood; but the idea of home gave them comfort. Having each other gave them strength. Questions gave them purpose. And now, the unconscious girl gave them hope; hope that they were not alone.

Hope was the only thing absent from their lives, it's presence brought a smile upon Emma's lips, but the thought her being dead, killed her hope, and no one can survive without hope. Thoughts of ending their uncertain life came to both Lincoln and Emma, but neither could afford to pain the other.

'Who's my mum?' Thought Emma. A simple question but an answer that did not exist. Sometimes, Emma wondered if she was just living in a bad dream, that it would end once she woke up. But she never woke up, because she never slept.

"Do you think she'll wake up?" Lincoln's raspy voice asked, "Why does it hurt so much?"

Lincoln began to sob. Emma outstretched her arms and embraced Lincoln in a warm hug, engulfing him with love, shielding him from pain.

"Shh, now. Linc. I'm here." Her voice was firm and emotionless, if Emma let her emotions take over, she would be the one in Lincoln's arms wailing but he needed her more.

"It hurts because she's a human, like you and me." Emma answered his question.

Her answer was enough to make Lincoln realise he had even more questions. He felt like a burden on Emma. She was younger than him, yet stronger.

Lincoln wrapped his arms around Emma, not wanting to let her go. Never.

A groan tore them apart.

She was alive.

"She's alive," Whispered Emma, not being able to contain the joy. Relief flooded her heart that began to beat drastically, "Come on."

Emma pulled Lincoln towards the girl as they hovered above her and watched her lips twitch in agony. Her eyes fluttered open, fear and confusion blinding them to see the obvious. She frantically began to lift herself up and held her arms out for protection.

Emma pinned her back to the ground and whispered "It's okay, love. Emma's here, she won't let anything or anyone hurt you, not even Lincoln." She smiled at Lyra reassuringly whilst the Lyra's eyes searched for lies.

"Says the one who nearly killed her." Lincoln mumbled under his breath.

"What did he say?" Her eyes widened and sought for an exit, but she found none.

"Nothing! Absolutely, amazingly, truthfully nothing!" Lied Emma with suspicious enthusiasm, "You rest and get some sleep while Linc gets us some food."

"Why me?" Lincoln asked.

"Because I said so. Now move." Emma ordered him.

Lincoln suppressed a groan from escaping his lips as he began to trudge towards the door.

"Wait." Lincoln startled the girl with his sudden outburst.

"What now Linc? Why are you so lazy?"

"I'm not lazy." He snapped at Emma, "What's your name?" Lincoln asked Lyra.

"Don't be stupid, Linc, I'm your sister, Emma." Emma retorted with a grin spreading on her face, "Now go."

"Not you!" He rolled his eyes, "Her." He gestured towards the confused girl sprawled on the dry earth.

"Oh." Emma idiotically replied.

Lyra looked between the two siblings, was it safe for her to trust them?

She inhaled a gulp of air and spoke, "Lyra. My name is Lyra."

"Lyra, huh. Nice name." Lincoln offered her a small smile before he headed out.

Was it safe to trust anyone?

—

Is it safe to trust anyone? What do you think dear reader?

Let me know if your thoughts and your views on shadows.

What questions do you have?