Page 68 of The Ashpaw: Part One

A shout rose somewhere to her left, but she dared not turn to see if it was meant for her.

With a desperate scramble, she caught the edge of the wagon, half-hauled, half-threw herself upward, and landed hard atop something lumpy that smelled strongly of onions.

The tarp dropped over her a heartbeat later, and she was swallowed by darkness, the effect causing a frantic part of her to ease.

She barely had time to curl into herself before rough hands yanked the canvas tight and lashed it down.

Be still, her wolf instructed.

I know!

Her pulse thundered so violently she was certain the whole cart must shake with it.

Then footsteps crunched nearby. “Everything loaded?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Move.”

The wagon lurched, and Fern bit her fist to keep from making a sound as her body rolled against crates and sacks.

And then she waited, already resigned to losing. Nothing was ever easy, ever good. She would be discovered in seconds. A voice would ring out from the yard, she’d see the glow of torches through the tarp, and the cart would stop.

She’d be discovered.

She held her breath, anticipating the hard grip on her ankle that would pull her out.

But none came.

Fern heard only the groan of wheels over stone and then packed earth, and her wolf settled smugly somewhere inside her.

See? I told you to go downhill.

* * *

Fern hadn’t wanted to fall asleep, but she couldn’t help it—she felt safe for the first time in weeks. Not just because she was escaping, but because the press of crates and sacks around her felt strangely familiar, like the narrow comfort of her bed from home.

Nest, her wolf corrected.

Bed, she shot back, yawning and letting exhaustion drag her under.

She woke later, faint light filtering through the tarp, the cart coming to a harsh stop.

Fern held her breath and stilled, and felt the slight bob of the cart as the driver hopped off.

He’s coming, he’s sniffed me out, I’m dead…

His footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the stream of water hitting the ground…

Oh, he just needed to relieve himself.

But that drew her attention to her own bladder, uncomfortably full as well. She had a feeling it was probably a bad idea to pee all over the onions.

Besides, she needed to get off before it reached its destination, anyway.

Once the cart lurched forward again, she shifted inch by inch, careful not to make so much as a creak beneath her.

She made it to the edge of the tarp and looked out.