2 Spooked #3
“How are you doing down there?” Eli said, still watching the woods.
“How do you think she’s doing?” Vaelira answered, irritated at the absurdity of the question.
Freya was lying flat now, dragging in deep, painful breaths. She groaned. “I’m going to murder that cursed horse,” she ground out.
“A poor rider blames the horse,” Eli said, absent mindedly.
“Now doesn’t seem the time for a lesson,” Vaelira cut back.
He lifted his shoulders slightly, the movement barely perceptible. “Just something my father used to say.”
“Your father obviously never met a skittish horse, and he’s a fool to think even the most even-tempered ones can’t get spooked.”
Eli looked at her then, his dark gaze boring into her own. Then his expression smoothed. “Perhaps.”
Vaelira eyed him as she mindlessly tongued the now flavourless leaf still lodged in her cheek.
She froze. Of course. She smacked herself on the forehead, the motion drawing a frown from Eli.
“What is it?” he said, scanning the too silent land around them.
“The leaves,” Vaelira said, hurrying to Freya’s side as she fumbled inside her pouch for the small bundle. She pulled them out and started to pry one from under the string, but Eli took them from her before she had a chance. He knelt before Freya, pulling out several.
“Here,” he said. “Chew them and stick them between your teeth and cheek. You might grow lethargic but it’s probably for the best.”
“Are you sure she can take that many?” Vaelira asked, peering over his shoulder as Freya began to chew.
“Of course I am sure. The only side effect will be lethargy. Maybe an upset stomach if she takes more than that.” He stood and turned to face her, holding out the leaves.
“Keep them for Freya,” she protested. “I’m fine.” Her side throbbed, but it can’t have been anywhere near as painful as what her friend was experiencing.
He reached forward and opened her pouch, dropping the leaves inside before striding back to his horse.
Fine. She would hold onto them for Freya.
The sunset bled deeper into red and orange, the rays straining across the ground as if the sun goddess, Amrien, was clawing to stay with them, willing them more time in the safety of her presence.
The air shifted, and a chill went down Vaelira’s spine, like fingertips tracing over bare skin.
Her eyes shot to the woods, but she saw nothing.
She looked to Eli, wondering if he felt it too, but he was already watching her. A breath passed her lips and his head snapped to the trees, his hand coming to rest on the pommel of his sword. He clenched his jaw.
Dragging her eyes away from the movement, she saw it.
Between the trunks, something moved, a shadow pacing just out of sight.
She could feel its restlessness. She felt its hunger like it was her own.
“What’s Caerthalyn like?” Vaelira blurted out, her voice too high.
Eli shot her a look, and his gaze flicked to Freya. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was too ragged for her to be sleeping. Understanding smoothed his features. The last thing Freya needed was to worry about a demon. Not while she lay so helpless.
“Cold,” he said flatly, turning back to the trees. “It’s old.”
Vaelira huffed a breath through her nose. Eli must have seen her expression because he continued.
“It is probably the most beautiful city on the continent. Perhaps in the entire known world. It’s difficult to describe.”
Vaelira tried to picture it, but all that came to mind was a larger, greyer Anhaven. Tall walls towering over hunched buildings, and a tiny faceless crowd.
“I’d love to see it,” she said quietly. “I’ve never been further than these woods.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Eli said, his tone mild.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Most citizens stay close to home. It’s safer that way.”
He wasn’t wrong. Most people barely ventured beyond the woods or beaches. It made Vaelira wonder how dangerous the journey must have been for him, and what he might have faced to get here.
Movement at the treeline drew her eyes north again, to the low figure moving towards them just within the line of shadow.
It stalked slowly on four legs, two pointed ears sticking up from its snouted face.
If it wasn’t being so careful to stay out of the light, she may have thought it a wolf, but it was careful, never stepping over the line of shadow.
No, this was no animal. This was a Morgia. A shifter demon.
“We should move,” Eli said, lengthening his horse’s reins.
He bent to lift Freya into the saddle. Freya tried to protest, shaking her head and whimpering, but Eli was right. They had to move.
Vaelira stepped forward to help.
The sudden clatter of hooves and creaking wood broke through the gloom. She spun, relief flooding her as she spotted a horse drawn ambulance cart rumbling towards them, two guards on horseback flanking them, their faces bathed in the last glow of sunlight.
Vaelira’s shoulders relaxed, but her grip stayed tight on the reins.
“Finally,” Eli muttered, his hand still firmly planted on his sword.
From somewhere in the woods behind them, a branch snapped.