She got up and ran.

She got up and ran. Forcing down all thoughts of pain, she sprinted across the empty grasslands to a wash that lay some hundred feet away. She reached it and dove into it on a dead run. There was the now-familiar rush of wind and the passing of something dark overhead. Gloon had just missed her again. She flattened herself in the wash and peered skyward. The moon was there, and the stars, and nothing else. Shades! She came to her knees. The wash offered her some protection, but not nearly enough. And the night was no friend, for the war shrike's eyesight was ten times better than her own. It could see her clearly in the wash, and she could see nothing of it. She rose and sent the Elven magic stabbing out, hoping to get lucky. The fire raced away, working across the flats, and she felt the power rush through her. She howled in exhilara- tion, unable to help herself, saw the war shrike coming just an instant before it reached her, swung the magic about furiously-too late-and threw herself down once more. But her quickness saved her, the blue fire of the Elfstones forcing the shrike to change direction at the last minute, causing it to miss her once again. She saw Tib Ame this time, just a glimpse as he streaked past, blond hair flying. She heard his cry of rage and frustra- tion, and she shrieked out after him, furious, taunting. The skies went still, the land silent. She huddled in the wash, shaking and sweating, the Elfstones clenched in her hand. She was going to lose this fight if she didn't do some- thing to change the odds. Sooner or later, Gloon was going to get through.