It was impossible to keep my thoughts from straying to him. I thought about how I left Fowler nestled deep in a fur blanket, snoring softly, his warm body smelling of peat smoke and leather and Mirelya’s herb tea. I hoped he found others. People he could trust to join him on his journey to Allu. I didn’t want him to be alone, to feel the way I did right now.
I’d kissed his slightly parted lips a final time, tracing them lightly and memorizing their texture before departing the room, knowing he wouldn’t stop me. He’d have to wake up to do that and there was no chance of that happening. Not with the sleeping draft Mirelya had given me to slip him.
I knew I should be thinking about what loomed ahead for me. My mission to Relhok . . . how I was going to get inside the capital to speak with Cullan and make certain he knew he had me so that he could stop the mass killing
Except Fowler filled my mind and heart. When he woke, would he understand or hate me for leaving like that? Hating me would be easier. Kinder, I supposed. He would be able to forget and move on if his feelings could be reduced to hatred. A lump rose up in my throat.
I lifted my chin against the weight of night. It was different alone on the Outside. Scarier, if I allowed myself the luxury of fear. Purpose fueled me though, blocking out fear-inducing paralysis.
Without so much of my attention on Fowler, every scent flooded my nose. Sounds rang sharper in my ears. It felt as though I were submerged underwater, every noise thundering against a backdrop of swooshing silence.
I shifted until my body was balanced, then leaned back against the trunk and waited, listening for dwellers as they emerged, making certain none were too close. Leaves rustled in the distance, ground breaking with plops as the soil broke and turned over.
A dweller groaned several yards away, and I held my breath, waiting as it pulled free and rose to its feet. It passed beneath me, its heavy tread dragging through topsoil and rotting leaves. I counted the moments until I could no longer hear the whisper of its sloughing breath.
I climbed down and continued, no longer running, but walking hastily, listening and altering my direction based on the cries of dwellers.
A new sound emerged. A faint scrabbling, like the scratching of nails against wood coupled with a low, mewling whimper. It was no dweller. They never cried liked this. The whimpers grew more pronounced. Whatever it was, it was in trouble. My boots turned in its direction, curious enough to investigate. I palmed my dagger, although the plaintive whimpers told me that the creature wasn’t in a position to attack.
I knew the minute it spotted me. The whimpers turned to low growls. I paused, recognizing the growls of a tree wolf. The instinct to run surged inside me, but then I realized it couldn’t hurt me. If the vicious beast were able, it would have sliced me to ribbons with its razor-sharp claws or buried its fangs deep in my flesh.
The wolf’s body thrashed, trapped somehow. I inched closer and the growls intensified, broken with an occasional warning yip for me to keep my distance. From the pitch of those yips I could tell it was not yet full grown.
“What’s the matter?” I whispered, holding out my hand, wincing when my palms came into contact with a thick hedge of thorns. I stretched my arms above my head and then far at my sides, assessing how tall and wide the hedge extended.
The tree wolf snarled and jerked inside its prison of thorns, but that only made it cry out more sharply. A dweller’s eerie shriek stretched out across the distance and wrapped around me. I took a step to flee, but stopped at the tree wolf’s whimper.
He was a waiting meal. Easy pickings for dwellers. I didn’t know why, but I decided the wolf was a he. A dweller would make short work of him. That fact struck me as an injustice. Tree wolves had survived this long because of their ability to climb, their strength and hunting prowess.
I took another step, my fingers tightening around the strap of my pack, and it almost seemed like the tree wolf whimpered even louder, pleading for me to help him.
“Very well,” I grumbled. “I’ll just cut some of the thorns away.” I squatted before the trapped creature, careful not to get too close. Using my dagger, I started snapping thorny branches. “I’ll just give you enough room to move.” I sawed at a particularly thick vine. “Just don’t kill me. If you could extend that courtesy, I would appreciate it.”
He had enough room now to move his paws. He started scratching at the ground furiously, clearly attempting to aid in his own escape and dig free. I cut loose another vine and pressed my blade to another, pausing with a long exhale before snapping it free. “Just promise not to maul me. Would you do that for me, Digger, hmm?”
I jerked at the unnerving shriek behind me. The dweller was closer than I anticipated. My fingers fumbled on a branch as another cry floated on the wind. My dagger dropped. With a curse, I patted the ground, searching for it, my movements growing frantic as the dweller’s solid tread shuffled closer.