"I will," Elora replied.
Symond brushed past her without a word, but she caught the way his eyes flicked to hers at the last moment. There was something there—anger, yes, but underneath it... confusion? Uncertainty? She'd rattled him more than he wanted to admit, and they both knew it.
Then they were gone, disappearing into the morning light beyond the barn doors. The sudden quiet felt oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of their footsteps fading into silence.
"Well," Rell said, breaking the stillness. "That was sufficiently awkward."
They made their way through the barn, stepping around moldy hay and rusty farm tools. The building felt larger without the others, their absence echoing in the empty spaces. When they reached the back door, Rell paused with his hand on the latch.
"You gonna be able to handle this?" He glanced over at her then, cocky smile in place where it always was. "The Woods aren't exactly known for being hospitable to visitors."
Elora looked through a gap in the boards toward the distant tree line. If she was being honest, she wasn’t ready. She was terrified. But she had Rell to protect her, and her own claws and fangs that were becoming more comfortable than she wanted to acknowledge.
"I'm sure," she said.
Before Rell could respond, she stepped back from the door and shocked herself. She didn't flinch from it this time—instead, she welcomed it, let it spread through her veins like wildfire.
Her defensives returned to her fingertips lifted a bit of the anxiety she was feeling about the journey ahead. Every sound inthe barn became crisp and distinct—the scurry of mice in the walls, the creak of old wood settling, even Rell's sharp intake of breath.
"Elora," he said slowly, "You don’t have to do that. I’ve been through these woods enough times—"
“I want to. As much as I’m haunted from how I got these abilities, I can’t deny that I feel safer with them. Capable.” She flexed her claws, testing their sharpness against her palm. “Not a complete burden.”
“You’re hardly a burden. I should tell you about some of my other jobs,” Rell giggled to himself, remembering some adventure.
"With Snatchers and whatever else lurks in those trees, I want to make sure I can hear it coming. See it coming. Be ready for it with claws raised."
Rell studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Fair enough." He pushed open the door, letting in a gust of cool morning air that her enhanced senses immediately cataloged—dew, earth, the distant musk of wild animals, and underneath it all, a tinge of magic calling from the Woods. "Just promise me something."
"What?"
"Don’t listen to the whispers. Don’t go running off chasing ghosts. These woods play tricks on the mind."
The thought of her past constantly whispering in her ears for the next week almost made her change her mind. She considered taking the long way around and pray that she made it to Kilfaire in time. But she couldn’t. She knew she needed to face whatever the woods planned to throw at her.
"That's all I ask." Rell stepped out into the morning, then offered her his hand. "Come on. Those woods aren't going to whisper to themselves."
Elora took his hand, letting him pull her out into the dawn light. Behind them, the barn stood empty and silent, already becoming part of thepast. Ahead, the Whispering Woods waited, dark and ancient and full of secrets and danger.
Chapter 29
Elora
The first day in the woods passed in a strange, suspended quiet—one filled with the thrum of unease and the low, constant murmur of Rell’s voice.
He talked almost nonstop. Not about anything particularly important, just… stories. Tales of mercenary work across Adruimor, each one a blend of gritty realism and a touch of indifference. These were accounts of "odd jobs," half-heartedly recounted, with most likely involving far more violence than he cared to admit.
There was one about a butcher’s son who wanted his lover’s abuser assassinated. It was a harrowing tale of justice until Rell revealed that the abuser was actually her gentle and kind husband and her and the butcher’s son were only lovers in his mind, not reality. “Very unfortunate, but the job still paid well,” Rell had said with a shrug.
Another tale followed the perilous task of escorting a noble's pampered dog through a treacherous mountain pass teeming with raiders, each story painted with vivid strokes of danger and intrigue.
Elora said little in return, only offering the occasional nod or low hum to acknowledge she was still listening. She didn’t have theenergy to match his easy banter. Not when her ears caught every creak of the trees and flutter of wings overhead. Her sharpened senses painted every shadow as a threat, every gust of wind a whisper from something unseen.
The whispers themselves came and went, drifting through the trees like forgotten songs. They looped and twisted, flickering at the edge of audibility before vanishing, leaving ghostly echoes in their wake. Haunting and sinister, they seemed alive, as if the forest was trying to speak.
She didn’t listen.
Still, the forest's presence felt heavy and enclosing. And though Rell never mentioned it aloud, she could tell he felt it too. He never strayed more than a few feet from her, always within reach but never crowding her either. Just there. A steady presence.
