I slingthe satchel over my shoulder and double-check its contents for the third damn time. Smoked meat—check. Firestarter stones—check. Extra moonshine, stashed in a padded gourd so it won’t clink—hell yes. Knotted rope, bone-hilted knives, two carved totems for luck. Not that I believe in that rot, but it never hurts. The forest’s teeth are sharper than most gods’ mercy.
River’s pacing near the edge of the clearing, just outta reach. She’s already got her boots laced, her pack strapped up, and her battered little gun slung crosswise on her back like it’s part of her spine. She’s got that look again—sharp and shuttered. Like she’s already said goodbye to this place in her head, even though her body hasn’t budged yet.
I’m not in a rush. Something about watching her just… move. It’s hypnotic. She walks with a limp still, yeah, but it’s the kind of limp that saysI’ve bled and I’m still standing.Her eyes flick from tree to tree like she’s memorizing the terrain, cataloging every crunch of leaf, every sigh of wind. The air’s still heavy with mist, clinging to the moss like second skin. My nose catches the smell of river rot and pine needles, sharp and clean. Her scent is different—smoke, sweat, something like cedar bark if it got pissed off.
“You ready?” she asks without looking at me.
“Been ready. Just triple-checkin’ my travel stash.” I pat the bag. “Can’t go gallivanting without a decent bottle.”
“Right,” she mutters. “Wouldn’t want the wilderness to sober you up.”
I grin, even though she’s not trying to be funny. “Exactly.”
We set off with the sun still struggling to break through the canopy. My hooves make soft, wet thumps in the loam while she barely disturbs the ferns. Like a whisper gliding through a dream. How the hell does she do that? Not even trained rangers move like that. It's not natural. But then, maybe she isn’t. Not fully. Not anymore.
I keep a few paces behind her, not to give her space—though she seems to need it—but so I can watch. The sway of her shoulders. The way her hand never strays far from the grip of her weapon. Her braid bounces just slightly with every step. A black whip against the fog.
My chest does something odd. Like it’s gotten too tight all of a sudden. Not pain, not quite. More like… pressure. Like I swallowed a river stone and it lodged behind my ribs.
I tell myself I’m just being polite. She needs a guide. I’m guiding. That’s it. No deeper reason.
But she moves like she belongs out here. Like the forest grew around her instead of the other way around. And I realize, slowly and with a kind of growing dread, that she’s already carved out a space in my insides. Squatted there like she owns the place. No permission asked. No mercy given.
“You keep lookin’ at me like I’m about to sprout fangs,” she says suddenly.
I blink. “Maybe you already have.”
She throws me a sideways glance. “That supposed to be charming?”
“If I was tryin’, you’d know it.”
“Good,” she mutters. “Don’t try.”
We fall into silence after that, only broken by the crack of twigs and the chirr of unseen insects. Somewhere far off, something howls—not wolf, not bear. Something older. Something hungry. She pauses, head tilting toward the sound,but doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to. She knows enough not to dig at things best left buried.
“You know,” I say, just to cut through the fog, “I once made it three days through this range on nothin’ but boiled fungus and dried squirrel intestines.”
She gives me a side-eye. “You telling me that as a warning?”
“Nah. Just flexin’.”
“Color me unimpressed.”
“Figures. Humans got no taste.”
She smirks, the barest twitch of her lips. But it hits me like a thrown hammer. That one little curl of a smile. Gods.
“You really gonna go back to those assholes?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She stiffens slightly. “They’re my people.”
“Are they?”
She stops walking, turns slowly. Her face’s gone hard again, jaw clenched. “Yes.”
I nod once. “Alright.”
She starts walking again, faster now. I follow, biting back the rest of what wants to come out. That they left her. That she damn near died. That I was the one who dragged her half-drowned body from the river, not them.
