Roran approached slowly, making soothing noises as he assessed the animal.His legs ached fiercely from days of walking, the muscles burning with each step.He glanced from the horse to the saddle and back again, an idea forming through the fog of his exhaustion.
"Seems we've both been left behind," he told the horse, stroking its neck cautiously.The animal tensed beneath his touch but didn't pull away."What do you say we help each other out?I need to catch up with your people, and you need someone to look after you."
The horse regarded him with a liquid brown eye that held neither trust nor particular animosity.
Roran moved to the saddle, hefting it with a grunt.His arms protested the weight—another reminder of how far he'd pushed his body these past days.He approached the horse's side, murmuring soft reassurances as he settled the saddle on its back.The animal sidled nervously but allowed him to secure the girth strap.
The bridle proved more challenging.The horse tossed its head, refusing the bit until Roran found an apple in one of the saddlebags and offered a slice as incentive.With the bridle finally in place, Roran untied the animal from the post and gathered the reins.
"Just a short ride," he promised, patting the horse's neck."Nothing too—"
He never finished the sentence.The moment he swung himself into the saddle, the horse crow-hopped once, then bolted forward with explosive force.Roran pitched backward, only his reflexes saving him from being thrown as he grabbed the saddle's pommel with desperate strength.
The horse charged into the open street, its hooves thundering against packed snow as Roran clung to its back, legs scrabbling for purchase in the stirrups.
"Whoa!"he shouted, yanking on the reins."Easy!Whoa!"
The horse ignored him completely, galloping through Elkhollow's empty streets with single-minded determination.Roran’s teeth clicked together, his fingers numb around the leather reins.He managed to find the stirrups at last, but the relief was minimal—the horse showed no sign of slowing, no indication that it registered his presence at all.
Roran's panic ebbed as he realized they weren't charging blindly.The horse followed a distinct path, weaving through the streets with purpose rather than fear.It took a sharp turn northward, following the most heavily tracked trail of footprints leading out of town.
The animal slowed briefly at an intersection, lifting its head to let out an earsplitting whinny that echoed against the abandoned buildings.It stood, ears pricked forward, as if waiting for a response.When none came, it resumed its journey with undiminished determination, following the packed-down snow where hundreds of feet had fled the town.
Understanding dawned through Roran's discomfort.The horse wasn't running wild—it was following.Following the scent or sound of its people, of the herd it belonged to.His initial plan to "borrow" the animal had been rendered moot; the horse had its own agenda, one that happened to align with his.
"All right," he gasped, gathering the reins more securely and settling deeper in the saddle."Take me to them, then."
He relaxed his grip, allowing the horse to choose its path.The animal seemed to sense this surrender, its gait smoothing slightly as they left the town behind, following the refugee trail northward.Roran caught his breath, adjusting to the rhythm of the horse's stride.His body remembered this motion from childhood lessons on his adoptive father's trading mounts, though those placid beasts had borne little resemblance to this headstrong creature beneath him now.
The trail led upward, climbing a ridge that curved around the northern edge of Elkhollow.The horse slowed as the incline steepened, its breathing labored, sides heaving beneath Roran's legs.At the crest, it paused, giving Roran his first clear view of the town from above.
Elkhollow spread beneath him like a painting rendered in whites and grays, its streets forming neat crosshatch patterns around the central square.Smoke still rose from a few chimneys, pale against the leaden sky.From this height, the town looked peaceful, normal—as if its inhabitants had simply become invisible rather than fled.
Roran's gaze drifted beyond the town to the southern horizon, where the Elk River cut a winding path through the valley.The river had given the town its name and its livelihood—famous for the salmon runs that filled its waters each summer, providing food and trade goods for the harsh winter months.
Something was wrong with the river.
Roran squinted, then felt his breath catch in his throat.
Black.The water ran black.
No—not all of it.Patches of darkness clung to the riverbanks, spreading outward like spilled ink.As he watched, a tendril of perfect blackness crept upstream against the current, adhering to a rocky outcropping, then spreading across its surface like a living stain.
Lightning flared unbidden across Roran's knuckles, blue-white sparks dancing between his fingers as primal fear surged through his body.He had seen this before, aboard Thrum'kith when the Deep Ones attacked.This wasn't water; it was absence given form, hunger made manifest—the vanguard of the enemy Thalia had warned about with such desperation.
The horse shied violently, nostrils flaring at the scent of lightning.It backed away from the ridge's edge, tossing its head and rolling its eyes.Roran didn't fight its retreat.Every instinct screamed to put distance between himself and that consuming darkness.
"Go," he whispered, his voice a rasp of terror."Go!"
The horse needed no encouragement.It wheeled away from the ridge and plunged into the pine forest on the northern slope, following the packed-down snow where hundreds of feet had fled.Roran hunched low over its neck, letting the animal navigate the dense trees at its own pace.The shadows between the pines seemed deeper now, more threatening, though Roran knew it was just his fear painting the world in darker hues.
The Deep Ones had reached Elkhollow.The nightmare was spreading faster than anyone had predicted, consuming the mainland just as it had devoured the archipelago.
Time blurred as they traveled, the horse stopping occasionally to let out its piercing call.Eventually, faintly, answering whinnies drifted through the trees.The horse's ears pricked forward, its pace quickening despite its obvious fatigue.Roran straightened in the saddle, alert for his first glimpse of the refugees.
They emerged from the pines into a sloping meadow where the snow lay deep and pristine except for a wide, trampled path cutting across its center.Following this path with his eyes, Roran saw them—a long, straggling column of humanity winding through the landscape like a wounded serpent.Carts pulled by oxen and horses.People on foot, bent beneath the weight of hastily gathered possessions.Children carried on parents' shoulders.The elderly supported by the young.
The people of Elkhollow, fleeing north.
