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Less than a mile away.
Closer than he’d thought — the main entrance. Two tall, flat-faced standing stones. One crevice-like entry point.
His focus narrowed on it. Not optimal. He would’ve preferred another way in, one with the potential to throw the Hyraxes off his scent. Needing a better view, Westvane murmured, sending out a magic-infused call. Eastbrook answered, peeling away from his throat, morphing from tattoo to physical bird. Feathers ruffled, brushing his cheek as the raven settled on his shoulder and adjusted his wings.
“Time to fly, my friend,” he said, without breaking stride. “Need eyes in the sky.”
With a chuff, Eastbrook leapt skyward. A black blot against blue sky and golden fields, the raven reached altitude and began to soar. Angling his wings, he flew toward the giant Stepping Stones.
A light touch tapped along his temples. A sinking sensation took hold as mind-meld locked into place. Images flashed on Westvane’s mental screen, showing him what Eastbrook saw — a bird’s-eye view of the expansive rock field ahead.
Carved from reddish-orange stone, individual pillars rose from the valley floor. Some boasted jagged crowns, others had tops smoothed out by time, each one began and ended with high cliffs. Westvane refocused on the main entrance. The triangle-shaped fissure didn’t seem safe to him. Too many entered there and never came back out.
Eastbrook’s gaze snagged on a smaller opening half a mile to the North. A better bet. Less predictable. A safer place to stop and recalibrate.
Given a choice, he wouldn’t stop at all, but Truly needed a break. Five minutes to catch her breath, drink some water… rest and recuperate.
He wished he could give her more.
She’d done well all day. Running hard. Keeping pace. Asking no questions. An accomplishment for anyone, but especially for her. She was dogged in her pursuit of information and answers. The topic didn’t matter. The moment a subject snagged her attention, she peppered him with questions until he ended up telling her things he wasn’t yet ready for her to know.
Ahead of his companions, Westvane slowed to a jog. His senses contracted as he checked Truly’s progress behind him on the trail. He heard her before he saw her — the labored breathing, the light strike of footfalls, Montrose at her back.
Waiting until he saw her crest the hill, Westvane veered onto a rough, little-used path. She caught his movement and followed, moving at a steady clip. Impressive by any standards. Especially given her magic wasn’t working at full capacity.
If that day ever came, she would become a force. Someone to be reckoned with, a human with the capacity to control his world. Framed that way, he supposed her boundless curiosity was normal. Were he in her position, he’d want to know everything all at once too. Still, her ability to ask one question after another never ceased to amaze and —
“Why are we stopping?”
— annoy the hell out of him.
Standing at the secondary entry point, at the base of an enormous boulder, Westvane turned to look at her. Red-faced and out of breath. Doubled over with hands planted on her knees, blonde hair matted with sweat, face streaked with dirt.
He stared at her, then pointed out the obvious. “You need a break.”
“Not a good idea,” Montrose said, sucking in a raspy breath. “There are —”
“I know what hunts us,” he said, throwing the gargoyle a warning look.
“What do you mean —hunts us?” Pushing up from her half-crouch, Truly drew a hitched breath, then exhaled slow. “Are we being followed?”
Westvane sighed.
Reading his expression, she scowled. “By what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You’re probably right,” she grumbled. “Though, just gotta say — I shouldn’t be surprised, given the huge pile of crap we’re already buried under.”
The sarcasm made his lips twitch. He couldn’t help himself. Her reaction tweaked him. Most humans would be screaming by now. About sore muscles and dirt-streaked skin, the heat, and hostile terrain.
Resuming her half-bent position, Truly braced her hands on her knees. “Please tell me you’re able to kill whatever it is.”
He threw a water skin between her feet. “Probably.”
“Probably?” she said, sounding alarmed.
Unable to contain it, Westvane huffed in amusement.
