Chapter 5

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Early the next morning, I said my goodbyes to Richard, knowing he was in good hands here with Rover and Grismond. He'd gotten fat from all the scraps those two fed him.

A happy, fat, moose of a dog.

I'd debated telling Valerie and Fudge about my plan, but I decided against it. They'd want to follow, and I refused to bring them along when I couldn't promise them safety. Plus, Fudge would probably try and talk me out of it again, and the sentimental wordsmith would likely succeed.

Rover and Siren would be angry with me—so very, very angry—but my friend was missing, and I refused to leave him to the mercy of Rhean dictators. Not after he'd saved my life. Not after the support he'd offered me in my darkest hours.

So I'd packed my bags and trudged into the forest with my blades secured to my belt and one of Siren's warm, ruby cloaks hugging my spine.

Sure, I knew it was dumb to chase after hope so carelessly; it was reckless to go it alone, even for a self-healing, death-wielding soldier. But for the first time in months, I felt an old flame spark to life within the cavities of my chest. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

I decided I would seek Nova's counsel first. She'd foreseen Will's path and the choices he'd face; perhaps she knew what happened to him or where I could find him. I'd also welcome her advice going forward—any insights at all—because right now, all I had was a Rhean map and a patchy quilt of rescue ideas.

But I'd realized over the last few months that my plans always fell through. One way or another, preparation led to disaster. So why put in the effort of devising plans when the unknown could pull at one thread and unravel everything?

I stood a better chance riding the current, not flailing against it.

Of course, my confidence didn't stick around for long.  A few water-breaks later, I stood atop the crusty, frozen needles, still as ice.

Something was following me. 

Every time I turned to glare at my pursuer, the shadows dissolved into the gray haze. And when I changed course, I could feel its presence behind me, stalking me from a distance.

I was being hunted.

I took off abruptly into the thick of the forest, leaping over manzanita bushes and taking cover behind a large pine tree.

Whatever it was raced to follow.

The harsh crackling of leaves and snapping twigs told me it was bigger than a small mammal, and given its lengthy pursuit, famished.

I unsheathed my sword. 

"For once, can I just take a stroll through the woods without getting chased or mauled by something? Is that too much to ask?" I complained, popping out behind the tree to face the demon that wanted my head.

I was not prepared.

A dark mass emerged from the morning fog, enormous and bushy and horrendous. It looked like a rabid black bear, its eyes white and pupil-less, its hair falling off its decaying body in thick, mangey patches. And, as the mutant creature came into focus, I realized it was charging straight for me.

Swearing, I pivoted and climbed the tree behind me.  The skin of my fingertips broke against the rough, pitchy wood, but there was no time to register pain—not with a demonic bear on my heels.  

I scrambled upwards, looping my leg around a main limb and clinging to the upper branches with all my upper body strength.

Pissed, the creature stood on its hind legs, roaring, spittle flying, teeth razor sharp and yellow. I flinched, hugging tight to my refuge, wondering how long I had before the bear realized I was a snack worth climbing for.

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