A gust of wind battered my shoulders. I curled against it, but on my next step slipped down a dark slope, landing hard in a pile of brambles and dry leaves. I groaned, lifting my head. More pitch, more endless night mists.
Something damp and warm coated my arm. The sleeve of my dress was torn and the flesh split, blood dripping down my elbow.
Damn my reckless mind.
Damn my foolish plans.
Now, more than ever, I was lost in the trees, open prey for gnashing teeth and Draven arrows.
I did not know how long I traipsed through vines and hedges, but finally a glimmer of light burned through the haze of mists.
A torch.
Between two twisted, spindly aspen trees, the wood opened to a clearing.
The light was there, but it did not come from a torch or fire pit.
Light, like the faintest glimmer of dawn, skimmed across the soil. Tattered posts with ragged bits of canvas were arranged around a stone pit with scorched wood and an iron stoker still in place.
Another camp. One abandoned and left to rot.
No sign of Stav Guard, no ensnared bone crafters, nothing but bulbs of light buried in the brambles. I rubbed the chill from my arms and knelt beside one of the golden mounds.
Buried in a shallow pit was something pale, curved, and knobbed like it had not been moved for some time. Long. Human.
An arm, or what was left of one.
Flesh had long since been pecked away by creeping pests and birds, and all that remained was bone.
Nausea rolled from my stomach into my throat, hot and rank. I scrambled backward and took in the clearing of light. Bones. The same as the shard had spun in golden threads when I melded it to Kael, now dozens of heaping piles of bone gleamed through the soil.
I was surrounded by a massacre.
Branches snapped. Dead, brittle leaves rustled. A low, menacing growl broke the silence.
From between two leaning aspens came the flash of wet teeth. Red eyes like glowing embers locked on mine. Each hooked claw was elongated from the beast’s paws. A fara wolf.
Teeth as long as my thumbs, hunched shoulders like a bear, but with the speed of a common forest wolf.
The wolf snapped its jaws.
I stumbled backward, my heel catching on one of the burial mounds. With a snapping bark the wolf plodded over the shattered camp on heavy paws. I screamed, scrambling to find a weapon, a stone, anything to fend off the claws and teeth.
My grip returned with a broken twig.
Shit.
I dropped to my knees, curled my shoulders, and waited for the pain of teeth sinking into my skin, but it didn’t come.
A snarl was soon followed by a low whimper. I cracked one eye. Ten paces away, the wolf bared its teeth and flicked its tail at a man standing in front of its snout.
Gods. The Sentry.
Roark’s golden eyes burned like a stormy sunrise; he looked nowhere but at the wolf. The Sentry stepped to the left, clicking his tongue and slashing a curved knife. The creature growled, but kept its ears pinned back, its head down.
Roark waved his hand. It took me a breath to realize he was signaling to me, telling me to run.
I rushed to my feet. The wolf snapped its bloody gaze, flinching like it might bolt after me, but Ashwood took a long step, becoming another barrier between me and a brutal end.
