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“You think we missed them?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been tracking all my life. We’re close. The forest is shifting in ways I’m not used to.” His gaze swept the clawed branches above.

The others said nothing, but the silence thickened. Every step she took was heavier. They were here because of her. Because she’d believed they could find somewhere safe. Each ration that passed from hand to hand was like another debt she owed.

Along the trail, plants grew strange—bone reed with stalks too pale, flowers with thorns hidden beneath their petals, grasses that whispered when the wind passed through. Life bloomed here, but it was lush and wrong. And worse, it was inedible.

The sun was bleeding into the trees when Garin’s hand shot out, catching Wren’s shoulder. “Hear something ahead.”

They stopped. Silence folded over them like mist. Beneath it came another sound—wet tearing, a slow grind of teeth.

Orzen stepped past Silas, sword half-drawn. “Animal, maybe? Better if we see it before it does.”

Silas unslung his crossbow and joined Orzen. They crept forward until shapes emerged from the dim—a young buck bent over something dark in the dirt. The sound came again: a wet tug, a rip. Then the deer lifted its head.

Red flesh hung from its muzzle in long, sticky threads. Strips of meat swung from its teeth as it chewed, eyes glazed and calm. On the ground lay a wolf’s carcass, ribs glistening wet through the split in its side. Wren’s stomach clenched.

Branwynn’s hand clamped over Tommick’s eyes. For a breath, no one moved. The deer only stared back, jaw working with slow purpose, as if it could chew forever.

Silas didn’t hesitate. His bolt cracked through the stillness, and the buck dropped mid-chew. The thud it made was hollow, as if the woods swallowed the sound.

No one spoke until Orzen muttered, “Something’s twisting things out here.” His voice was edged with strain. He crouched, yanked the bolt free, and studied the wound. “Still bleeds red. No rot. Might be safe.”

Silas drew his knife. “We’re not wasting it.”

He worked quickly, efficient to the point of indifference. The copper scent thickened and Wren turned aside, breathing through her sleeve. The air sweetened, a perfume of blooms. When she glanced back, white flowers had already pushed through the bloodied earth—bone-pale blossoms, fragrant enough to coat her tongue.

Jessa crouched beside them, brushing a finger across one soft petal. “Corpse bloom,” she whispered.

Up close, they resembled roses, but the folds curled strangely. When she tilted her head, the shadows merged into a grinning skull, vanishing when she blinked.

“Gran told stories about them,” Jessa continued. “They only grow where blood’s been freshly spilled. Tales say they covered the battlefields after the Binding, when the Rotfather was chained beneath the Bough.”

The words shivered through Wren. She wasn’t sure if she pitied the deer or envied it. At least its suffering was over.

Behind them, the rasp of Silas’s knife over bone scraped at her nerves. He worked with calm precision, every motion practiced. There was no cruelty in it—only habit, as if he’d done it hundreds of times. Orzen lingered, expression unreadable, watching. The contrast gnawed at her—one man unbothered, the other unwilling to look away.

Branwynn and Calen kept Tommick busy, though his gaze kept drifting toward the carcass with horrified curiosity. When the work was done, Silas wiped his hands on a rag and tied the meat into neat bundles. The rest they’d leave for scavengers, and hopefully they’d make good enough time to be well away when they found it.

“We’ll eat well for once,” Silas said, dividing the bundles so they’d share the weight.

“Let’s hope that’s the worst the forest has for us,” Orzen murmured, sheathing his sword.

“Congratulations.” Jessa groaned. “You’ve cursed us all. Who knows what crazy horror we’ll see next.”

Even after the kill vanished behind them, the sweetness of blood and blossoms lingered in the air. The forest leaned close as the sky deepened into dusky purple—branches stooping like silent observers. They trekked onward. The food would help, but they’d not come across clean water yet, and their skins were getting lighter with each passing hour.

Tommick stumbled. His pack slipped down his shoulders, dragging at his small frame. Branwynn reached for him, but Silas was already there, fingers closing around the strap.

“If he can’t manage, I’ll take it,” he said easily, hefting the weight onto his own shoulders. “But we can’t stop every ten paces. Night’s drawing near.”

Orzen went still beside Wren, jaw set, eyes tracking Silas’s back. Branwynn murmured thanks, guiding Tommick forward, but Silas had already melted ahead into the gloom—soundless, tireless, absorbed by the trees. Tommick yawned, rubbing his eyes. They needed to stop soon.

“Tell you what—” Orzen crouched in front of him. “I’ve got Naldoreth’s saddest tart in my pack. Make it to the next camp, it’s yours.” The boy’s face lit up.

Wren stopped near them, watching out of the corner of her eye. When Orzen grinned and hoisted Tommick onto his shoulders, the ache in her chest softened a little. She had been prepared to face the journey to the Glade alone. It was a blessing that she didn’t have to. As strange as the forest was, they still had each other.

“Everyone needs a bit of help sometimes,” Orzen said.