Wind tears at the strands of my hair as Amalthea streaks across the fields outside of Coppershire. Hands shaking on the reins, I gulp down a breath, feeling the power of my mount beneath me. I’ve never taken a horse beyond a cantor before, but now I urge my steed forward, barely holding on.
I need to find him.
Normally, mornings in the Autumn Realm are filled with cool sunshine, painting the hills in orange and red. But dark clouds cover the sky, and a crack sounds in the distance.
After I changed into proper travel gear and quickly packed a bag of clothes for Farron, Dominic and Billagin snuck me and my horse out of Coppershire. They’ve returned to join my father in the remains of the burned library. Maybe, just maybe, they can find something amidst the wreckage.
Where is he? Farron’s wolf had torn off through the city and up the hills, but dawn has long spread over the Autumn Realm. I can only imagine him, naked and afraid, huddled into himself.
It doesn’t matter. It’s like I can feel it in my chest: the grief, the terror, the sadness. He’s alone out here, and I won’t stop until he’s in my arms.
A trail of burned grass leading up a hill alerts me that I’m on the right track, but it’s deeper than that. An invisible tether pulls me forward. This way, this way, this way, the wind seems to whisper, tugging at my braid. This way, this way, this way, the rhythm of my horse’s hooves says. This way, this way, this way, rings in every beat of my heart.
We crest the top of a hill when I see the ruined Shrine of Nymphia, the forest, and the graves of the fallen soldiers among the chrysanthemums. I pull to a stop. We were here two months ago when we first learned of the winter wraiths. My horse paces anxiously. A dark shadow creeps over my heart, weaving around that unseen string. Now, I can’t hear the heartsong guiding me forward. Now, the world seems to scream at me to stay away.
The clouds crack open, and rain trembles to the earth.
I blink the water out of my eyes, staring deep into the ruins. “Come on,” I urge Amalthea. “This way.”
But my mount will have none of it. She whinnies frantically and shuffles on the spot.
“Come on. To the ruins,” I say with more command this time, giving the reins a snap for good measure. My horse responds with a desperate bray.
“Fine then.” I slip off, pulling my pack with me. Somehow, I know I’ve found what I’m looking for.
As soon as I’m on the ground, Amalthea turns and sprints away from the ruins.
I shiver in the growing downpour. With only the wild realmlands surrounding me, I am truly alone.
Taking careful steps, I make my way over to Nymphia’s ancient shrine. A putrid smell wafts through the air, the stench of decay and molding earth. I gag and cover my mouth. It’s like I can taste it, an acrid metallic tang of blood and rot that clings to my tongue. What is that?
I step into the ruins, my travel boots sinking into the layer of water pooling on the stony ground. “Farron?” I whisper, but my voice has no power.
Then I hear it: deep, guttural breathing like the bellows of a roaring fire. My heart hammers against my ribs, and my mouth has gone dry. I tuck my body tight to a pillar and peek around.
And there he is. The beast of Autumn.
Farron.
My hands lurch to my lips to cover my scream. Because despite it being day, the fae man is nowhere in sight. There’s not even the usual brown wolf I’ve become accustomed to.
There is only a monster.
This wolf is a repulsive behemoth of death and decay. Matted fur the color of rusted iron bristles with each ragged breath. Rotten chunks of apple and pear tangle in its coat, their sickly scent mixing with the other stenches. Cobwebs stretch across the mass of his body, and I swear I see the skitter of bugs around his ears. Patches of molding leaves create a hideous tapestry over its face.
I swallow down vomit, my fingers gripping tightly into the stone so I don’t fall apart. Where is he? Where is Farron?
Maybe the grief was too much. Maybe it was his own self-loathing. Or maybe his rose has finally given up. But this monster is not my Farron.
I need to get out of here before it sees me. My calf throbs from a long-healed wound. I saw what it did to Dayton, and there is no one here to save me if the beast sets its sights on me. Slowly, I creep away from the pillar.
I’m nearly out of the ruins when something blue flashes in my peripheral. That invisible tether snaps taut in my chest, and I turn one last time to stare at the beast.
It’s staring back at me.
I stumble away. The eyes are deep amber, like smoldering embers in a fire, and they flicker with fierce intelligence.
The wolf prowls to its feet, revealing its true size. Farron’s form before had been but a dog compared to this creature; in fact, now it would overshadow even Kel’s giant wolf.
It lowers its head and bares its sharp fangs, the face of pure predatory evil. Its body shakes with a deep and primal hunger. I am paralyzed in its wake, unable to stop as it measures me against some wild and unknowable standard.
Maybe… Maybe he’s still in there.
“Farron,” I whisper. “It’s me.” My voice is barely audible over the pounding rain. Huge, hot clouds of breath shudder out of its maw.
It was a mistake to come here. I thought I could be brave. I thought I could save him.
But there’s nothing left to be saved.
I turn on my heel, water splashing up, and sprint from the ruins.
A howl sounds behind me, loud enough to send pebbles skittering over the stony ground. If I can get to the Emberwood, maybe I can hide among the trees.
The wolf’s thundering gait pounds in my ears, but I can’t turn around. I run across the grasslands, ribs aching with the force of my heart. My fear threatens to paralyze me, but I can’t let it. I have to keep running, keep moving, or I’ll die.
My legs burn, and I swear my lungs may burst before I reach the treeline. I dare a look back to see the great beast snarling down the hill, teeth shimmering with saliva.
Its fetid scent drags closer, and I throw myself into the forest, pushing bracken and bushes out of my way. With the storm clouds and the towering trees, the forest is dark, and branches pull at my braid and clothes.
The wolf charges behind me, eyes wild with hunger. Brush flattens beneath its great weight, and it has no care for the bushes that snag its fur. It is made entirely of coiled muscle and sinew, and if I don’t think of something quick, I’ll be dead.
I dodge between trees, jumping over fallen logs and dipping under low-hanging branches. A scream pulls at the edges of my throat, but there’s no one to hear me. I need every precious breath. The wolf is close, too close, its rancid breath heating the back of my neck.
Never in my life have I ever run so fast: the forest is a kaleidoscope, trees whipping past, their leaves rustling in a chorus of warning.
My legs will tire. My lungs will give out.
He will keep hunting me until I am claimed.
The trees condense to a thicket ahead. Briars have sheltered me before; perhaps I can lose the beast in the dense underbrush. With a desperate cry, I fling myself into a small gap in the brambles. I belly crawl deep into the tangle of thorns, ignoring the pain as they scrape along my cheeks and hands.
A frustrated growl sounds as the wolf snaps at the entrance, its colossal shape hindered by the briars. It pulls out and stares at me with an intensity beyond any animal, as if to say, I will have you.
My whole body thuds with my rapid heartbeat. To my left, the brambles shake with thundering steps, and a powerful sniff sounds. It’s searching the thicket for a way in.