My lungs forget how to work. I clutch the roots behind me until bark cuts my palms.
The eyes do not move. Do not blink. Just watch. For hours.
At some point exhaustion grabs me by the throat and pulls me under.
When I wake, the sun is only a smear of grey behind the canopy. My body aches from the cold, my neck stiff, my hands numb. Othic is not beside me.
Panic jolts through me.
He returns a moment later, his jaw tight, breath sharp with fury. He grabs my shoulder—too hard—and I gasp.
Then I see why.
Behind him, in the small clearing where the eyes had been, lie three rodan.
Or what’s left of them.
Their heads are ripped off. Not cut. Ripped. The bodies piled neatly. Purposefully.
A message.
Every bone in my body tries to retreat at once.
Othic’s voice is a growl. Raw. Dangerous.
“We do not rest,” he snarls. “We run.”
23
OTHIC
"We run."
The words are a snarl, a desperate command that rips from my throat. I do not wait for her to nod. I grab Aurora's arm, my grip bruising, and haul her from the hollow. We plunge into the black forest, abandoning our packs, taking only our blades. This is not a stalk; this is a flight. The ground is a treacherous, sucking mire, and I drag her over gnarled roots and through grasping thorns. She stumbles, her breath a raw, panicked gasp, but I do not slow. I cannot. The rank, musky smell is no longer a distant threat; it isbehindus, a thick, oily presence that coats the air, a promise of violence.
It is not trying to be quiet. I hear it. A heavyTHUD. CRASH.A tree splinters to our left, the sound of its destruction a clear display of contempt. It is not hunting us. It isplayingwith us. It is strong. It is fast. And it is close.
My muscles are whole, my body healed, but this... this is a primal fear I have not felt since I was a child. This is a story my clan elders told to frighten us, a beast of nightmare and shadow, and it isreal.
Aurora cries out as she trips, her ankle twisting on a wet stone. I yank her to her feet without stopping, my frustration a hot, bitter taste in my mouth. The frustration is not at her; it is at this. At beinghunted. She is human. She is small. She is slowing me down, and I will not let thisthinghave her.
I hear the sound of rushing water, a roar that cuts through the oppressive silence of the forest. Hope. A chance. It might mask our scent. I burst through a thicket of thorns, the branches tearing at my leathers, and stop dead, pulling Aurora hard against my chest.
It is not a wide river. It is a sight of pure, tactical despair. A deep, narrow, rocky ravine, perhaps thirty feet across, with a fast-moving stream at the bottom. The only way forward is through it. This is not safety. This is a bottleneck. A perfect kill-zone.
A tree splinters behind us, so close I feel the vibration through the mud. The beast is coming, and it is not subtle. We have no choice.
"Move!" I roar, shoving her ahead of me down the slick, muddy bank. "Do not stop. Do not look back."
We plunge into the ravine. The path is a treacherous, narrow ledge slick with green moss and the cold, stinging spray from the stream. The rocks are sharp, the footing unstable. Every step is a risk, a potential fall into the churning water below. The air is cold, heavy with the smell of ozone and wet stone, but I can still smell the beast's musk, thick and overpowering.
I am halfway through, my arm locked around Aurora's waist, pulling her over a small rockslide, when I hear it.
CRASH!
It is not from behind us. It is fromabove.
I look up. On the ridge of the ravine, silhouetted against the pale, sickly sky, the massive, hairy shape is running parallel to us. It is keeping pace. It is not even breathing hard.
