Broken and desperate, I prayed to the forgotten gods of old, the ones I’d been taught to curse. It wasn’t a prayer of words per se, but one of intention—one I’m not sure I could ever articulate.
Sitting upon the ancient log, its width allowed my legs to swing freely above the mossy carpet below, creating a soft, rhythmic thumping sound that served as a soothing metronome for my heart. The bark had long since fallen away from the trunk, and its velvety smoothness offered a welcome sensation under my palms.
Eventually, the sky turned shades of light orange and pink as Lumnara’s three moons readied to chase the sun below the horizon, and it was only the fear of being in the forest after nightfall that drove me into motion.
Hopping down, I began moving forward, then paused. Looking around, I realized that my thoughts had fully consumed my wits as I’d stalked through the forest—I had no idea where I was.
Choosing a direction at random, I started off with the fallen tree at my back.
A short while later, as I cursed myself for getting lost, something cracked beneath me, and my scream echoed through the forest as I was wrenched into the air.
Dangling by an ankle, an unnatural calmness washed over me, and my heart thumped slowly against the confines of my chest as I gained my bearings. The swaying unsettled my stomach, and I forced in slow breaths. I had to get out of the contraption.
As I ran through my options, a low snicker sounded. I whipped my head toward it and found a stranger leaning against an adjacent tree.
He looked older than me—not by much, but still. The stranger crossed his arms and stared up at me with a bemused look on his lightly freckled face. Somehow, in that moment, he exuded more smugness than anyone should be able to muster.
Trying, and failing, to wriggle out, my adrenaline shifted to anger as the stranger chortled at my feeble attempt to escape.
“This isn’t funny,” I gritted out.
He pushed off the tree with a nonchalance that seemed baked into who he was, and his tousled hair flickered in hues of red as he circled me with slow, deliberate steps, assessing. “I don’t know,” he said. “From my vantage point, it’s actually quite hilarious.”
I abandoned all escape plans and shot out my hand, fingers curling as if they could reach through the space between us and throttle him.
In a flash, he pulled out a knife and cut me from the snare.
A sickening, muffled thud sounded as I hit the ground, followed by a gasp of rushing air. I was both grateful that moss broke my landing, and pissed he’d just let me drop like a sack of rocks.
I rose with as much dignity as my protesting body would allow, dusted myself off, and gave him a vulgar gesture.
His light eyebrows shot up. “That’s how you thank the man who saved you?” he asked, words dripping with mockery.
I hadn’t realized how tall he was until then—more than a full head above me and only a few years my senior. While still young, his frame had already begun to fill out; likely he’d be larger than the men who’d worked the mill before it was decommissioned.
I didn’t allow his stature to abate my fury. “First of all,youare no man. Second, it isn’tsavingif you’re the one who trapped me in the first place.”
“It’s a good thing I did. The village is in the opposite direction”—he thumbed behind himself, smirking—“so, really, I’ve saved you twice now.”
I rolled my eyes and turned on my heels.
Despite my long, purposeful strides, I could hear him trailing me. I whirled around to confront him, stopping short. He was close enough that it was an effort not to step back.
I crossed my arms. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m not. Dusk isn’t far off, and we’re headed the same way. Now,if you want to take a different path, I’d be surenotto follow you. But it’s prudent to note that without supplies, weapons, or a sense of direction, being near me is to your benefit, not mine,” he said, flashing a grin.
Argh.How had I gone from seeking solitude to being stuck withhim?
“Fine,” I said, sketching him a mock bow. “And how may I repay your most gracious and gallant offer, kind sir?”Two could play this game.
His eyes danced with mischief, and he looked at me like I’d just become a new form of quarry. As if deciding something, he widened his stance and crossed his arms. All trace of mockery gone, he said, “What couldyoupossibly offerme? Your garments could pass as rags, and you clearly don’t know what the hell you’re doing out here.”
His words stripped me bare, but they also sparked an idea. He was wrong, I actually had skills that very few in Leighmullan possessed.
Years ago, I was at the market. Not to buy anything, but simply to observe. I loved running the different fabrics through my fingers, marveling at the rich colors on display, and breathing in the heady aromas of herbs and spices that wafted through the street.
A petite woman, roughly sixty-five, struggled under the weight of a successful haul. I recognized her. Her husband, Mr. Erikson, was well known in our village and had passed away unexpectedly only a few months prior.
