His jacket was sodden with blood. Dried leaves were embedded in the sticky mess. She pulled the jacket open, ripping through the tatters of his shirt. She threw her bag on the ground next to her and rummaged through it for the bandages she always kept inside. There was a spare shirt in there too which she found first and used to put pressure on the wound which still wept blood.
This couldn’t have happened all that long ago for him to still be bleeding. A few hours at most. Any longer and he would already be dead. Her gaze flicked up to his face. He stared back at her, his expression a grimace of pain. Blue eyes already bright with fever.
For two solid beats of her heart, she just stared, and then it felt like her heart stopped beating completely. The whole world shifted, and she stumbled back, nearly breaking her bow when she fell on her ass.
He tried to catch her hand. “Please…”
No.
Hell no.
The last time she’d seen this man had been on the worst day of her life. He’d stared at her then too, but with condemnation in his eyes, judging her a witch when she’d been little more than a child. He’d branded her mother. He’dblindedher mother. And he’d destroyed her life forever.
Shaking her head, she climbed slowly to her feet.
This one she wasn’t saving.
She made it a half mile,head down, walking fast, muttering to herself like a crazy person, and then she heard the wolves. That stopped her in her tracks. It was too early for the wolves to come. They only arrived in the dead of winter when the animals in the mountains were scarce. Even then, there would only be one at a time, scrawny and sick, a desperate thing looking for food. These animals didn’t sound desperate. A hunting call lifted into the still air, echoing across the valley. The call was answered a heartbeat later by something deeper in the woods. They were still far off. Miles and miles away. It was unlikely they’d come here to what was still the edge of the forest. They usually avoided people.
She wrapped her arms around her and looked around. At the dimming light. At the empty woods. She’d left her bag behind. Her waterskin. She’d left everything behind when she’d run away. Because that’s what she was doing—running away like a frightened child.
Her mother wouldn’t have run.
Closing her eyes, she tipped back her head and resisted the urge to scream.
If she left him there, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. Her mother might be blind, but she would still see right through her. She would know that something had happened today, and she’d badger her and badger her with sympathy and kindness until Rowan finally told her the truth.
And then she would know that the people of Jarn had been right all along. That Rowan was a wild, spiteful thing, half feral and strange. That therewasa darkness in the Yahl home.
That they’d branded the wrong witch that day.
Shit. Shit.Shit.
Dragging in a breath of the quickly cooling air, she turned on her heel and walked back to the river. The horse was still there, ears perked and starting to look skittish. The horse had heard the wolves. It must be impeccably trained to be so disciplined,still standing here watching over its master. She supposed any horse you intended to ride against a witch would need to be special like that.
The man was still alive. Trying not to think about what she was doing, she dropped to her knees and quickly dressed the wound as her mother had trained her. The cut along his ribs would need to be sewn closed, but she didn’t have the tools to do it here. It looked like blade marks but there was more than one, running in parallel lines across his chest, almost like…claws?
Later.
She’d study them later, once she got him back to the house.
She bound him up as tightly as she was able, refusing to look at his face, ignoring his cries of pain and the half coherent words that spilled out of his mouth.
His men…the witch…the woods.
He kept trying to grab at her hands to get her attention, but there was no time to waste. They had to get out of here.
When she was done, she shoved everything back into her pack and stood to face the horse.
She didn’t know anything about horses. She’d never been rich enough to afford one.
She studied the thing for several moments before walking over to where it stood. She moved slowly so as not to startle it, but the horse only looked at her with a steady eye, shifting its feet a little when she laid her palm on the side of its neck. When she took its reins, it followed her docilely enough to its master.
The stupid man was trying to reach for his sword.
“I’m not stealing your horse,” she snapped. Squatting down, she wrapped an arm under his shoulders and attempted to take some of his weight. “Come on. I’ll need your help to get you on this thing.”
He was a head taller than she was, heavy with muscle, almost dead weight. The thought chilled her blood. He might not survive this.
