Page 96 of Aryn

I stagger forward, desperately searching for cover, when the scarred Bhotan bursts through the trees. He’s faster than I expected for his size, and his fist slams into my jaw before I can dodge. The world explodes into nothingness and I stagger, vision fracturing as I fight not to drop.

He grabs my coat and drives a knee into my injured ribs, then slams me against the nearest tree trunk. Pain flares through my chest, and another heavy blow rocks my skull. I feel myself sliding toward unconsciousness.

My eyes peel open as I hit the ground, finding the quiver of arrows close enough to reach. The snow shocks me enough to wrap my fingers around one. I twist, fighting through the pain to jam an arrow into his side. He roars as I shove it deep between his ribs, then falls against the trunk.

I don’t wait to see how quickly he recovers.

I snatch the bow and quiver and stumble away as fast as my failing legs will carry me. Behind me, he bellows and shouts commands, and it’s only by sheer luck I don’t run into another of them as I flee. My pulse slows as my body seizes.

I don’t have long.

The wind whips past me, pushing aside a section of hanging roots.

There.

A narrow crevice between two boulders, mercifully hidden by the plants.

Voices ring out behind me.

Hurry.

I have to hurry.

Melted snow and protruding rocks form a path to the opening, and I clutch at my side, begging the Fates to staunch the bleeding long enough to let me hide. I’m here, and I glance behind me in desperate search of footsteps I might’ve left behind, but the voices move closer.

I’m out of time.

Pain rips through my side as I squeeze into the opening, biting back agonized sounds as the rough stone scrapes across my torn flesh. The space is barely wide enough for my shoulders.

It feels far too much like a tomb.

I pull the curtain of roots back over the entrance with numb, shaking fingers and go completely still. Minutes crawl by like hours. Pressed into the cold stone, pain throbbing through every wound, all I can think about is the distance stretching between me and Cato.

He and the others should be safe, but I don’t know how far ahead they are, or if I’ll be able to catch up. The thought of dying here alone, of dying without him knowing what happened to me, nearly chokes me with the regret of everything I never got to say.

I wait, barely breathing. Every voice and crunch of snow ratchets my pulse higher. The group gets closer, then passes in front of me, moving by the opening in an angry blur.

One of them stops directly in front of my hiding spot. I grip my knife with a bloody hand, ready for a final, inevitable battle if he pushes the roots aside. He lingers for a long, terrible moment… then moves on.

I wait until the voices fade completely, and then I wait longer. When I finally creep out, the forest is quiet, but I’m miles off course now. Further from Maelithryne than before, and so fucking weak. My feet land too heavy against the snow, but I head toward the others.

Toward my home.

Toward Cato.

Every step sends crippling waves of fresh pain through my body, but I keep moving. The bond pulls at me like a tether, faint but steady, reminding me he’s out there somewhere ahead. I don’t know how much further I have in me, or what shape I’ll be in when I reach them.

All I know is I have to try.

The forest stretches on, cold and indifferent to my plight, but I push forward anyway, one stubborn stride at a time.

Aryn

Blood loss and the biting cold are eating me alive as I return to where I abandoned my pack. It was stolen, of course. It’s what they were looking for—food and supplies they value over a life. Survival makes people do terrible things sometimes.

But it means I’m left with nothing. No food or water, no weapons aside from those I carry, and no proper bandages for my injuries.

My victim lies on the snow, blood frozen beneath him and glassy eyes staring blindly at the sky. They won’t bother to collect his corpse. I wonder for a moment if I should feel remorse for his death, but another wave of dizziness hits me.