The springs were not a safe place. They hadn’t been since what had happened with Jarius—and, for that fact, Morwen had avoided them. With the addition of summer’s full heat, she had little reason to brave the chamber for any reason besides her companions, and even they seemed to prefer the open air as of late.
But it had been raining that night; hard enough to warrant shelter, and she would find none from her little haunt in the pass’s eastern side, what with the Covenant looming large there. Friendly as Relic had been, she found no comfort sleeping in the shadows of packs, and had since abandoned the overhang.
Now, though, she could think of no other place to take solace. No other place she felt brave enough to pioneer; no other place she knew well enough.
In spite of the dread that pervaded the place, she had chosen the springs earlier that night.
With a gasp, Morwen flung her body to the side, head careening to stand her neck upright. A breath stayed bated in her throat as her eyes darted through the darkness. What thoughts roamed reckless and free in her sleeping mind began to bleed from it, and permeate the world around her. Her ears rang faintly. Shadows turned to shapes. Panic clutched at her.
Where am I.
Erratically, the umber wolf looked to either side of herself, taking in the jet that swallowed each of her flanks. The only thing she could see was the undulating bodies of steam, just ahead of her, so faint and impressionable. In her alcove of black, she stayed, petrified, lungs pumping quick as a dying hare’s.
Her throat constricted, and closed.
Feb 01, 2018 08:44 PM
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