“I lost faith long ago,” he says.
“That’s all right. I have enough faith for us both.”
Zephyrus abruptly releases the branch, his nostrils flaring. The numbness must have passed, for he’s able to stand without aid as a mournful cry, low and eerie, winds through the moss-draped trees.
“The hounds,” he murmurs.
A chill overtakes me—body, mind, heart.
Snagging my wrist, the West Wind yanks me deeper into the marshland at a run. A tree blinks into existence an arm’s length away. I lurch sideways, veering around its gnarled trunk as Zephyrus leaps with my arm in tow. My shoulder joint wrenches, then sears, forcing my back to curve to alleviate the pain. “Zephyrus!”
“Run, Brielle, unless you want to die.”
I’m tossed forward, the wind momentarily bearing my weight. My feet hit the squelching mud, and I stumble, my boots catching in one of the twisting roots.
“Faster,” he pants.
My pack slams my lower back. My calves cramp from strain, and my sopping clothes drag me toward the mucky earth. A massive crack echoes through the bog.
My foot slips. Down I go, crashing through the water. I’m dizzy, weakening, but then I’m up, I’m limping along for seven, eight, ten steps. The weight of my body, however, is too much.
“Zephyrus.” My knees fold, and I drop into the mud, fighting tears. “I can’t go on.” The hounds yelp with heightening frenzy, likely sensing their flagging prey.
Bounding over, he grips my arm, panting, “You can’t give up. The bog will end. It’s only a bit farther.” He tries to haul me onto my feet, but my legs refuse to cooperate.
“You’re not listening to me.” My voice climbs, and cracks from compounding exhaustion. “It’s not that I won’t go on. Ican’t. I am physically incapable of outrunning those hounds.” Tears cut hot pathways through the cooling mud on my face.
With staunch calm, he kneels beside me. In this moment, his eyes are old. They have seen things I likely never will: life and death and the heartbreaking reality of a world that changes while he alone stands still. “I don’t want you to die in this place,” he says, bringing his hands to my shoulders.
“I don’t want that either.” I swipe the dampness from my cheeks, only to smear more filth across my freckled skin.
Zephyrus takes in our surroundings. A few muddy islands interrupt the span of gray water. The scent of rot drifts steadily nearer, and a dog bellows nearby, though I can’t pinpoint its direction.
I follow Zephyrus’ eyes as he regards one of the islands. “That could work. There’s a burrow over there, see it? We’ll hide until the hounds pass.”
Who is to say we will not be rabbits flushed into a trap? “You’ve forgotten their sense of smell.”
He tosses me a wry smile. “I assure you, I have not.”
He’s gathering up mud in handfuls, he’s smearing it across his face, he’s slopping it over his thighs and dragging the mess beneath his tunic to coat his skin.
His gaze meets mine. “Now you.”
I’m too drained to lift my arms. Neck, breasts, then thighs, Zephyrus smears the sludge over every curve and into every crevice until I’m covered from head to toe. The chilled grit encases me in its foul reek.
Using Zephyrus’ hand as a guide, I manage to squeeze into the hollow, losing sight of the bog in the process. The tunnel leads to a slightly larger chamber, half submerged under several inches of water, where the West Wind crouches. Roots dangle from the ceiling, eerily similar to strands of hair.
“All right?” He watches me in concern.
“Yes.” Leaning against the soggy walls, I collapse into a breathless heap, arms and legs askew, supplies crushed beneath my body, skin shivering from the fear firing my blood. As my vision adjusts to the burrow’s darkness, Zephyrus settles beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
Huddled together, we wait. Small vibrations in the ground announce the hounds’ arrival.
They sniff and snort and growl above, water splashing as their limbs disturb the stagnant pool. I squeeze my eyes shut, retreating to the placid green garden tucked inside my heart.Please, Father. Help us.If we are caught here, my soul will never know peace.
After a time, the hounds move off, yipping and howling their frustration. When the sound dies, I release a fraught breath. “Now what?”
“If they don’t return within the next ten minutes, it’s probably safe for us to continue. We’re near the edge of the bog. I can smell greenery in the distance.”
