The Return

 Sandrous was Illyria’s father.  And he was dead, killed by Dynasian’s soldiers.  Yet, here he stood before Illyria, his arms held out to her.
 “Dear girl, I’m here.”
 “No, father.  You died.”
 “I didn’t die.  I was taken prisoner, yes.  But I didn’t die.”
 Illyria shook her head to clear this vision before her.
 “I saw it with my own eyes,” she said.
 “What you saw left of me, Illyria, was Mardock’s doing.  An illusion.”
 “It was real!  I held your hand.  Listened for your heart beat.  It was you.”
 “No.  I was captured.  That was another man, made to look like me.  I was thrown into Dynasian’s prison and then sent here.”
 “You’re…alive?”
 “Yes, daughter.”
 “But how do I know that you’re not an illusion now?”
Sandrous looked sad.  “You can’t.  Never trust your eyes, for they are easily deceived.”
“That is something my father would say.”
Sandrous crumpled to the stone floor.  “It’s so good to see you again, Illyria.”
 

Sheila awoke troubled.  She looked over at the furry red ball curled up at Dian’s feet.  Dian was sound asleep.  Sheila glanced around their small camp, wondering what it was that was making her restless.  Seeing nothing, she was about to close her eyes, when a thin shadow flitted over the treetops.  An owl? Sheila wondered.  Something worse?  Afraid to even blink, she held her eyes open until her vision began to dim.  Another shadow passed overhead.  She heard a moan, and looked over at Dian.  The other girl’s eyes were wide open.
“Sheila,” Dian whispered.  “Sheila?”
“Dian, what is it?”
“Sheila, I can’t move.”
“What?”
“They’re coming!”
“Dian, what’s wrong?”
The fox at her feet jumped and let out a high-pitched squeal just as Dian screamed.  “Sheila, help!”
Sheila’s scream joined Dian’s as two shadows enveloped Dian and lifted her from the ground.