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Isolde sucked in a breath, feeling the salty winds fill her lungs in a hungry gulp for the air that she couldn’t seem to manage getting enough of. Her chest felt tight, as if squeezed by fate, a warning screaming in her mind to run, flee the shoreline and back up the steep slope of the cliffs of Brekkathorpe… To get as far as possible from the competition that she had made the grave mistake of entering. A grave, terrible mistake. This was the day of her death for certain; she couldn’t possibly believe in herself enough to run so close to the edge of the steep drop off from shallow shores to deeper depths, she hadn’t trained enough, she was doomed- “You stopped breathing again.” Isolde blinked, looking away from the smooth stretch of shores that made up the “racetrack” she and other competitors would be taking - gazing instead into the golden-brown eyes of her mother. Evonara’s eyes were mesmerizing, the golden glow almost a reflection of her fiery nature.  The fire danced within