A harsh wind suddenly gusted into us, and Rune tugged me into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, as if to protect me from the onslaught of the storm. His warmth and strength consumed me, and the scent of wood shavings filled my head, making me feel a bit dumbstruck for a moment. I swallowed, my face still pressed into his chest. I should really move away…
“Come on,” he said, urging me down the path. He didn’t release me, and I didn’t pull away.
“You’re scaring me, Rune,” I eventually said.
“Good. The Elding is nothing to trifle with.”
“The Elding?” I asked, alarmed. “I thought that was nothing more than a folktale. A myth meant to keep people away from the Isles.”
“Oh, it’s no myth. It’s as real as the sun on your face in the morning. And you don’t want to be outside when it hits. The wind is strong enough to fell trees, even those redwoods.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“I got caught out in it once, and I’ll never make that mistake again. As you can imagine, it nearly killed me.”
I fell silent, my heart pounding angrily in my chest. The Elding was a storm of legend. Some believed the magic of the islands had conjured it as a way to protect its inhabitants from those who meant them harm. Others believed it was a punishment from the Old Gods, toward those who had turned their backs on their ways. I’d always just thought it was a fairy tale.
Apparently not.
By the time we’d made it back to the cottage, the wind had picked up considerably. We reached Rune’s front door just as the rain began to pour and another crash of thunder tore through the sky. The droplets pelted against him—and me—but despite the agony he must feel, Rune made no sound. He threw open the door and motioned me inside first.
I stumbled into the safe haven of his cottage. Rune thundered in behind me and slammed the door shut. A moment later, he lowered a heavy latch over the wood. Wind rattled the door against its hinges, and the rain roared, as fierce and deadly as a dragon.
Rune grabbed the darkened oil lamp hanging beside the door. After lighting the wick, he swept the lamp from side to side, illuminating the interior of his cottage. With a pitiful meow, his cat raced across the floor, climbed up his leg, and launched into the crook of his elbow. With another meow, she buried her face in his arm. Her little body trembled, black hair flying everywhere.
“There you are. It’s all right, Moira,” he said, gently scratching the feline beneath the chin.
My heart thundered as I stared at him. Red welts decorated his throat and arms, but the largest hissed angrily on his right cheek. He barely seemed to notice, too focused on worrying over his cat.
“You’re hurt,” I said.
Rune looked up, his brow pinched. Then his eyes drifted to his arms, like he was only just noticing the wounds. “This is nothing compared to how bad they get sometimes. Besides, I’ve got some healing salve for them. They’ll be gone within a couple of days.”
But instead of going for his salve, Rune hung the oil lamp on the wall and went into the corner behind the dining table.He rustled around in the cupboards before extracting a bowl, adding some milk to it, and placing it on the floor for his cat.
Moira stayed where she was. When he tried to encourage her toward the bowl, she hissed at him.
“You damn cat,” he murmured, affection coating every word.
“Where do you keep it?” I asked, still standing slightly useless in the middle of the cottage.
He frowned over at me. “Where do I keep what?”
“Yoursalve,” I said. “For your wounds?”
“It’s in my bedroom.” He turned his attention back to his cat once more. “But worry about that later. You’re soaking wet. Get changed into some dry clothes before you catch a cold.”
I opened my mouth to argue with him. His wounds were a vicious shade of red. And while my clothes were damp, so were his. The longer he waited to change, the more likely the water would seep through his tunic and cause more welts to form.
But with the way he looked at his cat, I knew he’d do nothing until she’d calmed down.
Shaking my head, I padded into my room and quickly changed into the only other comfortable clothes I’d packed. It was an almost-identical ensemble to the one I already wore. When I returned to the main room, Moira still hadn’t budged. She’d even latched her claws in his shirt. Rune spoke to her in a quiet, steady voice. As distracted as he was, he didn’t notice when I crossed the room and pushed through the only other door.
The dim light from the oil lamp barely stretched this far, so I left the door open when I inched into Rune’s bedroom. The scent of him pulsed against my senses, a heady mixture of wood shavings, smoke, and leather. My heart began to pound. Casting my gaze around the small room, I found a bed—much like the one in the guest room—and a side table overflowing with a teetering stack of books.
The only other piece of furniture was a chest of drawers, clearly handmade like all the other wooden structures inside this house. Dozens of carved dragon figurines perched on top. Some were painted in vibrant shades of oranges and golds, while others had been left untouched. Just beside them sat a stack of small metal tins.
I cast a quick glance out the door. From here, I couldn’t see him, so I had no idea if he was coming. He could appear in the doorway at any moment. The urge to rifle through his drawers was nearly overwhelming, but I tamped down the urge. Instead, I picked up a few of the dragon statues, turned them over in my hand, and examined every whittled curve of them. Runemusthave a dragon. Why else would he carve statue after statue of this one particular creature? There were no other figurines in his room. No wolves or horses. No cats.
