The path I came from has steep inclines on both sides, but it curves toward the north, which would be better, direction-wise, even if it’s impossible to ascend. The other way curves toward the south—toward the city—but the incline is gentler.
With the woman in my arms, I don’t have much choice.
Skirra seems to know it too.
He darts along the southern route. Ignoring the sharp pain of the wound in my arm, I follow Skirra at an awkward jog, leaving the horror of the dumping ground behind.
To my relief, the ravine curves again, this time northward.
Soon enough, the terrain on my right evens out a little and I can take the ascent as a run, relying on my leg muscles to power me up the slope.
As fast as I can, I reach the peak and race north through the trees.
I’ve never been so happy to leave a place behind. Not only because of the sheer horror of the location, but because even a half mile from the Blacksmith’s city is too close to the danger it poses.
Keeping the woman close, her head supported against my chest, I run back toward the location of the initial fight, where my father and brother will be waiting.
Skirra races ahead of me, stopping at intervals so I can catch up.
Finally, we burst back into the clearing, but I pull up short, skidding to a halt at the carnage ahead of me.
Chapter 5
The snowy clearing is covered in black ooze.
Butterfly bodies are strewn everywhere, far more of them than we were fighting earlier. Far more than there should be.
A pack of wolves growls and snarls, picking their way through the fresh meat, but I relax a little when I recognize each of them.
Skirra’s pack is as ferocious as he is.
I let out my breath with a full rush of relief when I see my father—apparently unharmed—bending to examine something on the ground ahead while Thoren runs toward me.
“Erik!” My brother knows not to shout, so his exclamation comes at a loud whisper.
“Thoren, what happened?” My question is urgent as I quickly do a visual check of him for wounds. With my hands full, that’s all I can do.
“More butterflies.” His face is smeared with oily goop while the visible parts of his cheeks are pale. When I left, he wasn’t close enough to the flying beasts to end up with any of the substance on him, but now it’s all over his skin and clothing.
His focus darts over the woman in my arms—what he must be able to see of her around my coat, that is. Maybe part of her arm, her torso, some of her hair, the top of her head, her general shape.
His eyes widen. “Erik, who is that?”
My own question cuts across his. “How were there more butterflies? They don’t build nests near each other.”
There’s only ever one nest within a certain radius and we already ascertained there were no other nests near the first one.
Thoren points to the southeast but doesn’t take his eyes off the woman. “They swarmed from that direction. Something must have disturbed them. The wolf pack came running, too. Together, we took all of the butterflies down.”
The fact that the butterflies swarmed from the southeast is concerning. They won’t willingly take flight during the day unless they’re trying to escape a threat. It’s how we can target single nests, picking them off one at a time.
“Father thinks it could be Blacksmiths.” Thoren’s voice is breathless as he continues speaking in a whisper. “We were just making sure Kori was okay and then we were coming to find you.”
Kori is one of the male wolves.
The pack across the way parts at that moment, giving me a clear line of sight to my father.
I can now see that he’s crouched beside Kori—a wolf with pure-white fur. Most of the wolves are dark gray like Skirra, but a few of them have the whitest of pelts. It gives those wolves an advantage in the snowy terrain, but it also makes it easy for me to see the blood matting Kori’s right shoulder.
