And... wrong.
A new smell.
It is not Worg. It is not a raider.
It is faint. It is cold. It is metal.
They are elves.
My body snaps tight. The warrior wakes up.
No.
The warmth is gone. Ice floods me.
I sniff the air. Deep. Long.
Yes.
They are very, very close.
They found us.
NO!
I roar. A roar of panic.
I look at Betty. Her happy face is gone. She is afraid again.
"Threk? What is it? What's wrong?"
I cannot speak. I cannot explain.
I lunge.
I grab her. Not gentle. Hard.
I shove her. Away from the door. Toward the back wall. The wall that is weak.
Run.
I point. I shove.
Run!
18
BETTY
The world is peaceful. For one perfect, impossible moment, the cabin is a warm, fire-lit den. It is the solid, safe weight of Threk beside me and the scent of his skin. It is the simple, beautiful circle he drew in the dirt. Us.
The peace shatters when he moves.
He explodes from the ground in a single, panicked motion, a roar ripping from his throat that is so different from his rage it chills me to the bone.
"Threk? What is it? What's wrong?"
I am still on my knees, my hand outstretched where the circle was, when his hands seized me. The grip isn't gentle. His claws gouge my arms through my cloak as he hauls me to my feet, his terror a palpable, vibrating force. He shoves me, and I stumble, shouting his name.
