The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. Finally, Rell moved closer, within range to feel the heat flowing from his body.
"Then don't shift," he said simply.
"Right. Because I'm so dangerous without it." She gestured to herself, to her small frame and soft hands. "I'm useless without it, Rell. I can't defend myself, can't fight, can't—"
"Stop."
The command sliced her next words. When she looked at him, his expression was fierce.
"You're an alchemist," he said. "You don't need claws and fangs to be powerful."
He had a point. She made dozens of potions for him and the others, most for the purpose of harming, disarming or trapping. But making the potions was easy. She had no idea how to utilize them, what would be best in any given scenario. A snatcher could charge her and she’d probably falter trying to decide if a flash bomb would be best or maybe paralysis fumes. She’d be dead before she could even unlatch a bottle.
“I don’t know, Rell. My skill is in making potions, not using them. Not like this anyway.”
Rell sighed heavily. "Have some faith in yourself, will you? Tell you what. I’ll run you through some strategies while you brew. Fair?"
Elora simply nodded. She didn’t want to disappoint him. Despite her reluctance she would try. For him. For herself.
They set up shop in a moss-choked hollow, half-concealed by a curtain of root and creeping vine. Elora's workspace was a flat stone slab, barely even, but better than the ground. She emptied her satchel and arranged the flasks, vials, and dried bundles she had left over from the hideout.
Rell stalked the clearing, never sitting. Sometimes he’d practice drawing his blades, quick and silent, or flick pebbles at the bark of distant trees. He tried to sit and sketch in his journal once but that only lasted a few seconds before he was back to walking in circles. Mostly, he talked.
“If you want to slow a whole group, use the burst bottle—spread radius is wider. But if you need to stop a single bastard, the paralytic is better.” He paced and listed scenarios, hands gesturing what the body count would look like. “Maim, distract, confuse. Don’t bother with the pretty stuff. Snatchers don’t deserve finesse.”
She ground a measure of poppy-seed and pale blue fungus, watching the colors twist around each other in the mortar. The smell was acrid, almost sweet. She poured in a dash of clear oil and scraped the mixture into a tiny glass orb, then sealed it with a waxy bead.
That’s when she heard it—Rell's voice, low and urgent, coming from somewhere deeper in the trees.
"Found you," he was muttering like a madman. "Time for you to shut the fuck up…"
Curious and concerned, Elora capped her potions and moved toward the sound. She found Rell crouched in a thicket of brambles, pushing aside branches with an almost frantic energy.
"Rell?" she called softly.
He didn't seem to hear her, too focused on whatever he was pursuing in the undergrowth. The whispers that gave these woods their name were stronger here, an insistent murmur that made her skin crawl.
Without thinking, Elora reached out and touched his arm to move him aside so she could see what had captured his attention so completely.
Rell startled slightly at the contact, his gray eyes snapping to hers with surprise. She realized it was the first time she'd initiated touch between them, but he didn't comment on it, just shifted to give her room.
Nestled among the roots of an ancient oak was a flower unlike anything she'd ever encountered. It was massive—easily the size of a cabbage—with petals that seemed to shimmer and shift in the speckled sunlight. The whispers were strongest here, emanating from the bloom itself.
"I'm going to destroy it," Rell said, raising his boot in preparation to squash it. "End this cursed noise once and for all."
"No!" Elora caught his ankle, threatening to knock him off balance. "Don't. I can use this."
Rell frowned. "For what?"
"Whisperwind potions," she said, already mentally cataloging how she could harvest the petals without damaging the core.
Rell sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as the manic energy left him. "I don't know what a whisperwind potion does, but you're the expert." He stepped back, gesturing toward the flower. "Just make it quick. That noise is driving me insane."
The rest of the day had passed in tense preparation and steady travel. Elora finished harvesting the whisperwind petals and brewing her final potions while Rell paced like a caged wolf, his restless energy barely contained. Once her alchemy kit was packed and secured, they'd set off through the woods toward the ridge.
Elora hadn't needed to shift to help track their quarry. Rell moved through the forest like a bloodhound on a mission, following signs she couldn't even see—broken branches, disturbed earth, the faint scent of smoke carried on the wind. She'd never seen him like this before, all simmering intensity and pent-up fury just waiting to be unleashed. The anger never turned toward her, but it was there beneath the surface, a constant current that grew stronger whenever the Snatchers were mentioned.
She knew, barely, about how his sister was sold to the Snatchers. She would not judge him for wanting to rid the world of these monsters. If anything, she respected the control he showed in not letting that fury consume him entirely.
