Selriph found himself in step with the woman as they trailed behind the woodsman, Hagan. The man moved with the confidence expected of someone who had spent a lifetime in the woods. His movements were fluid, turning and weaving, as if guided by an invisible thread—the subtle turns in his head looking for details that far eluded the young boy.

  The forest itself thickened around them as they travelled deeper. The canopy above grew denser, the green foliage marked by the occasional amber or orange leaves signalling the imminent arrival of autumn.

  Much of their trek lay in shadow. Though Selriph couldn’t spot any immediate threat, there was a subtle tension in the air—an indistinct unease that seemed to be everywhere at once, around and within him.

  Perhaps it was the woman walking beside him, still fidgeting nervously with her hands? Or was it simply his paranoia, the looming fear that Thorne, ever persistent and methodical, was already tracking him? It had been a mere day or two at most since he had escaped the ratways. In Thorne’s mind, he knew Selriph could not have got far in that timeframe. Selriph had every reason to suspect that they would pick up his trail before long.

  They had already done so once before, after all.

  His eyes slid briefly towards the woman. She was quiet, withdrawn, her body tense. Questions swam in his mind. Why was she in the boat in the middle of the great River Valdorea? She had accepted Hagan’s offer without protest and did not seem to exhibit urgency in returning to her village. Not to mention that their current location was a significant distance from where her village ought to be. Did the rapids carry her that far?

  Selriph, torn between curiosity and the desire to hold back his queries for fear the woman would react adversely in her nervous state, simply muttered: “I…I don’t think we have properly introduced ourselves to each other. I am Selriph, and you are…?”

  The woman, equally immersed in her own thoughts, jerked slightly at the sudden query. “Oh, um, well. Just call me Relia. I forgot I hadn’t even said my name to you.” A subtle smile of embarrassment appeared on her face.

  Selriph, noticing her demeanour, held back any further questions, satisfied with having a name place on his new acquaintance. There would be time to ask—later, when they reached the lodge, and if she felt safe enough to open up. But knowing about her was the least of his priorities—after all, he planned to leave by tomorrow.

  They walked on in silence, the only sounds being the crunch of leaves and the snapping of twigs underfoot.

  Another half hour passed before Selriph felt a strange prickle across his skin, making his hair stand on end.

  Something was there.

  At the same moment, Hagan raised his hand abruptly and turned to them, placing a finger to his lips.

  “Stay quiet,” he whispered. “Trouble ahead. The kind I told you about,” he gestured low, signalling both of them to crouch.

  Relia dropped to a crawl without question, and Selriph followed, keeping his gaze fixed in the direction of Hagan’s warning. Just ahead, partly obscured by the undergrowth, he caught glimpses of two humanoid figures. They moved and shuffled lazily, seemingly unaware of the trio near them.

  Bandits, most likely. But they are hardly dangerous. And yet…

  As Hagan led them around the figures in a wide arc, the thick of the underbrush obscured their movements. Selriph felt it—something odd, a wrongness that emanated subtly from the men, something far beyond the lethargic, unnatural shuffles in their movement, as if they were being pulled about by invisible strings.

  Accompanying that, an invisible force subtly wafted towards him. It was a sensation he’d felt before, but he could not quite recall when.

  Once they had been out of earshot and sight, Hagan straightened up, which prompted Selriph and Relia to do the same. He continued walking as he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Those were not just some bandits, mind you. There’s something wrong with them, not in the right mind,” he said, his voice monotone. “Been like that for months, creatures and people alike acting strangely. Minds hollow, their skin was all wrong.”

  Selriph’s face flashed with recognition; the wrongness he felt earlier was likely some sort of dark or malicious magical energy. The energy felt similar to the magical energy from the creepy, milky-eyed, gaunt man in the caverns below the Capital.

  “Then it’s a good thing we’re in your capable hands.” The words came with a flicker of doubt—should he tell Hagan about that strange sensation, that there was some dark magic at play?

  The boy decided against it. He barely understood the true nature of that subterranean encounter, and it was likely that Hagan knew far more than he did. He’d been in these woods long enough, and his mentioning anything now would simply lead to admonishment.

  Relia, meanwhile, was visibly shaken. She clutched at her clothes, hands trembling, eyes wide with unease.

  Selriph stepped a little closer. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “As long as we stay out of their way, we will be fine. This man seems to know what he is doing, so we’ll be safe if we follow his lead.”

  Their eyes met. Her tense expression softened. “You’re right. He seems… assured.” She paused, studying his face. “I envy you,” she breathed. “So young, yet so calm. Pulling me from the rapids… seems like you faced fear a thousand times.”

  A faint blush warmed Selriph’s cheeks. Compliments were rare, especially like this.

  They walked on, Hagan guiding them through the twisting undergrowth like he was navigating his abode.

  “We’re nearly there,” he said after a while, not slowing. “Just another ten minutes or so.”

  Selriph scrutinised the man. Selriph noted the sureness of the man’s stride. Like he knew every branch, every tree. He could not hold his curiosity any longer.

  “Pardon the question,” Selriph began, “but… You move like you’ve memorised every corner of this forest. How?”

  Hagan glanced back, smiling slightly. “Product of living here a while. Reading its signs is a skill—like your magic, only different.”

  “Like my magic?” Selriph asked, intrigued.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “The locals taught me to listen to the forest. To attune to it.”

  Selriph blinked. “Locals…?” Selriph was taken aback. Wasn’t Hagan a Shera woodsman? He donned their garb, after all.

  “They usually teach their own. I’m as much of an outsider as you. But I’ve lived here for nearly a decade—they’ve got used to me. Taught me a few tricks. The lodge is near one of their settlements.”

  “They live in harmony with the forest’s energies,” Hagan said. “You might call it magic.”

  “The forest’s energies? You mean like life energy?” Selriph replied. His mind was thinking about the implications. Perhaps there was a way to listen or even feel the distinct signature of life energy in the forest.

  “Yes, even a sod like me without your magical… endowment can learn to listen to the forest,” he said, his eyebrow raised slightly.

  “Sounds like it,” Selriph replied. “Maybe I could learn a thing or two. It could help me navigate places like this.”

  Hagan chuckled. “Ha, talk to them yourselves. They are more friendly than those snobs in the city would give them credit for. They are not far from the lodge, just don’t be an ass.”

  As if on cue, Hagan pointed ahead through a gap in the trees.

  “There she is.”

  Selriph glimpsed a modest wooden structure nestled between ancient oaks. A single-story lodge with a tanning rack, pelts hung out to dry, and a woodchopper’s block nearby.

  But before they could reach it, a rustle came from the underbrush—and a sudden hiss cut through the air.

  “Careful!” Hagan barked.

  A green, thick-bodied snake camouflaged among the leaves, easily the length of a Hagan’s arm span, uncoiled itself near Relia’s feet. Its green scales adorned with black, unfurled, eyeing Relia.

  With a hiss, its razor teeth bared, it lunged in a blur of green and black. The air cracked with the speed of the lunge. But with it came the sound of metal, a flash of silver in the air. Blood sprayed before her.

  In a split second, Relia could see Selriph’s form in front of her, estoc drawn. The soft plop behind her was from the now-decapitated head of the snake. Her eyes drifted back to the head, lying motionless on the forest floor, fangs still bared, eyes open.

  The rest of the snake’s body fell harmlessly to the forest floor in front of Selriph. The boy stood there with one leg in front of him, at the halfway point of his blade, where it had met the snake’s flesh.

  Hagan stood there, his hand on the hilt of his sickle, taken aback by the boy’s inhuman reaction.

  Relia exhaled shakily.

  “Gods,” she whispered. “I didn’t even see it.”

  Selriph wiped the blade on the moss at his feet. “Reflex. Been on edge since the creepy guys were back there.”

  Hagan grunted in approval. “Quick and clean. That one would’ve taken a chunk out of her if you hadn’t been there,” as he bent down, eyes on the carcass.

  “Good work. We’ll eat well tonight,” as he picked it up.

  Selriph nodded in agreement. “Yes, Kaunut Python, from the looks of it, plenty of meat,” he said casually as he turned back and went on his knees, using a concentrated, sustained burst of flame to char the decapitated head.

  “Hah, thought you’d be squeamish, boy,” Hagan said with a grin. “Looks like I was wrong.”

  “I’ve prepared worse.” Selriph extended his hand as Hagan handed the carcass to Selriph, which he coiled over his shoulders. The trio then resumed their pace towards the hunting lodge, just barely out of view.

  Relia trailed further behind as she kept her distance from the boy, likely stemming from the irrational fear that the dead animal could somehow spring back to life.

  As the trio finally reached the clearing, Selriph spotted a canine figure dart out from behind the Lodge. Its fur was a mottled grey, shaggy but well-kept, and its yellow eyes locked instantly on the trio. It padded forward slowly, low and deliberate. Selriph’s hand immediately flicked to his estoc, ready for any hostile movement from the oncoming creature.

  Hagan raised his hand, not in a cautionary gesture but in an inviting embrace as the large canine approached him slowly and paused just short of him.

  “Easy there, Emmett,” he murmured, using a hand to stroke the beast’s head. The wolf nuzzled against his palm as the woodsman scratched the beast behind the ear. Its low growl slowly made way for a soft whine.

  “A friend of yours, I assume?” Selriph asked as he relaxed his grip on his blade.

  “Need some company in the woods, after all,” Hagan replied, giving the wolf an affectionate rub beneath the jaw.

  Selriph tilted his head, intrigued. “I’m surprised you tamed a dire wolf. They’re... notoriously aggressive.”

  “I’ve always had a way with animals,” Hagan said, standing straight. “One of the reasons the forest called to me in the first place.”

  The wolf began circling them, its massive frame gliding, its footsteps soft despite its size. Selriph instinctively stepped slightly in front of Relia, one arm raised protectively. The woman tensed beside him.

  It then paused in front of Selriph, nostrils flaring as it took in his scent. The wolf sniffed the boy’s arm, then moved to Relia, who stiffened visibly. Its muzzle pressed lightly against her wrist, the cold, wet nose touching bare skin. It licked once, then stepped back toward Hagan.

  “Stay still,” Hagan advised casually. “He doesn’t bite. Just getting a feel for you.”

  Relia exhaled slowly. Her wide eyes tracked the beast until it returned to its master.

  “He seems at ease around you both,” Hagan noted. “Emmett’s got a nose for people. If he trusts you, it means you aren’t trouble.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Selriph muttered with a wry edge. “More likely, he just recognises your fellow humans. If he’s been with you this long, I don’t think he would mind people, regardless of how upstanding they might be.”

  Hagan chuckled. “He’s more intelligent than you think, boy. Come now, inside,” he gestured towards the front face of the hunting lodge.

  The woodsman led them up the short steps of the lodge and pushed open the door. “Make yourselves at home. Just don’t go messing with anything on the shelves. Some of it is… sensitive.”

  The interior was modest. In the air lingered the smell of wood-smoke, thyme and lavender. Selriph’s eyes rested on the hearth where a fire had burned previously. Potted herbs—sage, rosemary, dill, and perhaps sorrel—lined the windows. Below the window was a pile of firewood, neatly arranged.

  Selriph turned his head left, the kitchen area coming into view. Several pieces of dried meat, some salted and others still curing, hung from wooden beams over the countertop. A butcher’s block lay just under its surface, marked with cuts. The source of the cuts—the cleaver and other kitchenware hung on the wall just behind it.

  A solid wooden table occupied the centre of the space, its surface cluttered with an assortment of knick-knacks: half-sliced bread on a wooden plate, a bottle of mead and an array of loose items from parchment to a well-worn pot. Selriph could also make out a tabletop-framed sketch of two masculine figures, although he could not make out the details from this distance.

  Behind the kitchen, he noticed two narrow doors, almost imperceptible against the similarly blended wood around it, one of which likely led to the owner’s bedroom.

  Selriph glanced around and then touched a hand to the strap of his pack.

  “May I… settle my things somewhere?”

  “Sure, lad. Just leave it in the corner,” Hagan replied, then turned to Relia. His tone softened. “Grab a bedroll near the fire, lass; you can get the spare room. Just don’t lay your hands on my stuff.”

  Relia nodded, still silent, and quietly shuffled to the unlit hearth, her hands moving to undo the bindings of the bedroll.

  “I’ll get started on dinner”, Hagan added, stepping toward the table, gesturing for Selriph to place the carcass down. “Maybe you could make yourself useful and help me out, boy?”

  Selriph cracked a small smile. “Sure. I may not look like it, but I know my way around a kitchen. Let me take care of the meal,” as he dropped the coiled-up snake carcass on the table with a dull thud.

  He dropped his pack near the corner and joined Hagan near the butcher’s block. The woodsman handed him the cleaver and a small knife for skinning. And motioned to the herbs hanging from a rack overhead.

  “Use what you need. Just leave the wintermint alone—Emmett’s got a bad reaction to it.”

  Behind him, Hagan was bent over the bedroll, helping Relia, who was having trouble with the bindings. He unfurled the bedroll before he paced over to the pile of firewood. Hagan’s wolf, Emmett, lay curled in the far corner, completely still, except for the subtle movements of his eyes that scanned the room’s activity.

  Selriph took the cleaver in hand, its edge catching the low light from the hearth. He felt the blade in his hand as he placed the carcass on the butcher block. In a practised motion, he held the blade above the flesh before him, pausing a moment longer than needed before bringing it down on the carcass. His cleaves echoed off the surrounding wood in a steady rhythm. The lodge filled with the soft, wet sound of slicing meat and the quiet clatter of tools against wood.

  For a while, Selriph allowed himself to focus on the work before him. The feel of the blade, the simplicity of the motion—it reminded him of a simpler time, back when he had a home that would welcome him.

  Back when he was still a son.