Page 10 of Feathers and Thorns

“Stop.” Soren held up her hands in defeat. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.” Enara rushed in and hugged her tightly, a few tears of her own slipping loose from their confines. “I never should have said that. I was angry, and it was stupid.”

“It’s okay. And believe me; you can’t be more mad at me than I am at myself.”

Enara released her, a smirk forming on the bow of her lips. “So I heard. I hope you’re not planning on hunting tonight.”

“Oh, you heard that?” Soren turned away, ashamed. She hated when her feelings got the better of her.

“I’d be surprised if the people of Murkwall didn’t hear that. Come on. I told the boys they had to wait for us before eating.”

Soren let out a soft chuckle. “I’m sure Baz loved that.”

She took her hand, and they walked back to camp together, all hard feelings left in the dirt behind them.

* * *

The boys and Enara had scrounged together a mediocre dinner of rabbit stew. Since Soren had scared away every edible creature within a half-mile radius, they had resorted to using salt-cured rabbit meat. Not wanting to waste any more water, they all contracted shriveled tongues due to the high sodium content. The only respite from the attack on their tastebuds was the slight sweetness the carrots provided.

As the evening winded down, they pitched the canvas that Soren had brought from the manor. The fabric was water resistant and would provide decent protection from the elements. They allowed the fire to dull to a warm glow amongst the trees as the night bathed them in a myriad of hazy blue light. The solstice breeze shook the trees around them, and gooseflesh erupted on Soren’s skin. She pulled the heavy cloak from her tattered ruck in an effort to suppress the cold. Then she reached in further, searching for the woven wool socks that she planned on wearing to sleep when she froze.

Jai observed her change in posture across the low flames. “You all right?”

She jumped from her seat on the fallen tree and threw the cape sideways, no longer caring about the frigid temperatures.

Jai stood, sauntering over as she ripped items out of her pack, throwing them this way and that. He dodged to the side as a bar of soap zipped past his head.

“Guys!” he bellowed to Enara and Baz, who had taken a moment to themselves a little ways down the path. He waited as their silhouettes formed into concerned faces as they reached the fire.

“What’s wrong?” Enara asked, immediately rushing to Soren. Her friend was screaming in frustration, shaking her upside-down rucksack.

“It’s gone!” she yelled, throwing the bag into a nearby bush.

The boys looked to Enara then Soren, waiting.

“Soren, take a breath. What’s gone?” Enara asked quietly, trying to calm her.

The confession fell from her friend’s mouth as though she were vomiting. The regret and discomfort was clear on Soren’s face. Her voice wavered as tears flooded her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

“The Oculus … it’s gone.”

Two Days Prior - Anistera

General Corvus dragged himself through the gate, breathless from the duel with Rook. He would report with haste the betrayal of his master’s son.

He had to hand it to the boy; he had taught him well. The insignificant child had even managed to land a few slices here and there.

Ichor still coated his wings, and he shook them off, black rivulets splattering the floor. I’ll get one of the privates to clean that up later, he thought.

He paced back and forth before mustering up the courage to knock on the commander’s door. He rapped his talons on the heavy wood then moved to the side. His wings sat flat against his back, and he stood as stiff as a board, knowing he would likely be punished for the outcome of the day’s events.

The door creaked open, and Adriel beckoned him in. “General,” he said, taking note of the blood on the floor before shutting the door behind them. “What have you to report?”

“Well, you see, sir, there have been some … shall we say … developments.”

Adriel’s brows pinched in frustration. “Out with it then.”

Corvus ruffled his feathers, preparing himself for the inevitable. “We lost the girl.”

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