When the last color bled from the sky, and only the fire’s pulse lit the lodge, I lay back and listened to the sound of his breath, steady and present.
For the first time since I’d run, I slept without dreams of pursuit.
***
I woke in darkness, the air inside the lodge stilled to the hush of an old cathedral after the congregation had left. The fire had retreated to its embers, glowing red in the stone throat of the hearth. In the quiet, I could almost imagine I was alone—no hunters, no voices, no strange men or impossible storms. Only the old stones, the breathing of the walls, and my own pulse, steady now, almost sane.
I shifted on the pallet, wincing as the pain in my ankle made itself known. But the sharpness was gone, replaced by a dull ache that meant the body had begun to heal. I stretched, careful notto disturb the bandages, and listened to the world outside. There was nothing. Even the wind had run itself out.
For a long time, I didn’t move, just watched the faint flicker of firelight on the beams above. Then a shape shifted in the corner. Moab, slouched against the wall, boots crossed at the ankle, eyes closed but not sleeping. In the dark, he was nothing but angles and shadow, as if the world had sketched him in haste and never filled in the color.
I watched him for a minute, letting the night press in. The words I’d left unsaid before, the terror and the shame, the strange new hope, crowded at the back of my throat.
He didn’t open his eyes, but spoke anyway. “You awake?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded small. Not frightened, just small.
He stood, rolled his shoulders, and crossed to the hearth in three silent steps. He crouched, poked the embers to life, and fed in a few splinters of birch. The smell was sweet, and for a moment I was a child again, sneaking away from the manor kitchens to listen to the stories the woodcutters told when they thought no one could hear.
Moab didn’t look at me, but I could feel his attention, the way you feel the cold on your neck before a storm. “You slept all day.”
I nodded, though he couldn’t see it. “I haven’t slept for days,” I said. “Not really. The nightmares—” I caught myself. “They’re better now.”
He grunted, not unkindly. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s the only way to heal.”
The fire grew, painting the walls with thin light.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked.
I almost lied. I almost said no, that it was nothing, that I would be fine. But something in the way he crouched, the patience of his stillness, made it impossible. The words spilled out, slow at first, then in a rush.
“I was meant to be married,” I said. The words were dry, brittle as old bone. “To Sir Aldric. My father owed him. There was a debt, or else a favor, and I was the price.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t offer pity.
“He’s twice my age. He’s—” I searched for the word, but the English of my childhood had no word for what Aldric was. “He likes to break things that are soft,” I said at last. “He collects obedience. Mother said it was my duty to the family. That I should be grateful.”
Moab poked the fire again, sending up a shower of sparks. “So you ran.”
“I ran.” I smiled, but there was nothing of joy in it. “They didn’t expect it. I was always the good one, the quiet one. I think even now, my mother hopes it’s a misunderstanding. That I’ll come to my senses and walk home.”
He nodded, then met my gaze. “You’re not going back,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“No,” I whispered. “I’d rather die.”
The fire had taken, and the room was brighter now, full of shifting gold. Moab sat back, arms folded, and watched the flames.
“You ever think about what happens after?” he said.
I thought of the world beyond the woods, the stories told by the kitchen maids of witches hanged and girls drowned for less than what I had done. “I don’t know if there is an after,” I said. “Not for people like me.”
He smiled, crooked. “There’s always an after.”
I stared at the coals. “What about you?” I asked. “Why did you follow me through the stones?”
He hesitated, and in the silence I heard the lie before it was spoken. “I was looking for answers,” he said. “Didn’t expect to find them here. Or to find you.”
I waited, but he offered nothing more. I could feel the wall he’d built around whatever truth he carried, and knew better than to press.
