Page 82 of The Last Rose of Ashwood

“Most things are,” Elira murmured.

Seren glanced toward her. The scholar stood near the edge of the hollow, silver hair catching what little light reached between the branches. Her attention had settled upon the deer, and the usual cool detachment in her expression had thinned into something quieter. One gloved hand had tightened at her side.

Seren filed the detail away before turning back to the animal. She unfastened her cloak and let it fall onto a patch of relatively dry ground, then lowered herself slowly, careful to keep her body turned sideways and her hands visible.

“Easy,” she said.

The word sounded too small within the hollow. The doe jerked against the branch, her hooves striking mud and roots with desperate force. Seren remained where she was, resisting the instinct to close the distance before the animal could exhaust herself further. Panic had its own logic. Move too quickly and kindness became indistinguishable from attack.

“Easy,” she repeated, softening her voice until it bore none of the command she used with soldiers. “We are not here to hurt you.”

She crouched several feet from the animal, palms open, and studied the branch.

“Coren, help Mara lift from the far end. Slowly. Stop if she starts twisting. Elira—”

“No.”

Seren glanced over her shoulder.

Elira sat perfectly straight in the saddle, hands folded over the pommel. “I am not particularly gifted at comforting woodland creatures.”

“I was going to ask you to stand back. The doe may spook your horse.”

The forest went quiet enough for Mara to hide a smile. Seren’s mouth threatened to move. Elira dismounted with wounded dignity. Mara and Coren positioned themselves near the thicker end of the branch. Seren remained close to the doe’s head, speaking softly while watching the tremors move through her body. The animal’s fear filled the clearing without magic. It lived in the frantic rise of her ribs, the foam at her mouth, the way each attempt to escape made the trap worse. Seren had seen the same terror in soldiers pinned beneath horses, prisoners waiting behind barred doors, and villagers listening for verdicts from officials who had already made them.

Trapped was trapped, whatever shape the body wore.

“Lift,” Seren ordered.

The branch rose barely an inch before slipping. The doe screamed. Seren moved closer despite the risk of being kicked, one arm raised against her face.

“It may break the leg,” Mara said.

“It may already be broken,” Coren replied.

Elira stood several paces away, her attention fixed not on the deer but on the ground beneath the fallen limb. Her gaze followed the branch to where its broken weight had driven deep into the rain-softened earth, studying the moss, the exposed roots, and the dark hollow carved by the animal’s struggling.

For a moment, Seren thought she had simply withdrawn into that private silence she wore whenever the world offered a question she did not intend to answer.

Then Elira moved around the far side of the branch and crouched beside it. “Whatever objection is gathering in your mouth,” she replied without looking up, “you may preserve it for a more deserving occasion.”

Seren’s attention remained on the deer, though she caught the small, careful movement of Elira’s hand disappearing beneath the fall of her cloak. “What are you doing?”

“Observing that your scouts are lifting from the wrong place.”

Mara’s expression tightened. “We are lifting where the branch is narrowest.”

“And driving the broken end farther into the bank each time you do.”

Elira brushed wet leaves from the earth near the trunk, revealing where one splintered section had lodged beneath a thick web of roots. Her glove was missing from one hand, though Seren could not remember seeing her remove it. A strip of clean linen crossed her palm, already darkened at one edge.

Seren narrowed her eyes. “A paper cut?”

“From a particularly hostile book.” Elira leaned closer to the earth, her ungloved hand hidden behind the branch. Seren could see only the line of her wrist and the faint tension moving through her shoulders as she examined whatever lay beneath it.

The deer cried out again. Seren turned back at once, lowering her voice and placing one hand near the animal’s neck without touching. “Easy. Hold still for me.”

The words were absurd. The doe understood neither language nor intention, only pain and the approach of predators wearing human faces. Behind the branch, something shifted with a low, wet sound.