Page 47 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“No, it has ourmeat!” Mariel dodged a root, leaping through the air and landing smoothly. “Ouronlymeat!”

“I’ll get more!”

“Until you get more, it’s all we have!”

“Mariel, it’s right up on us!”

“Erran, I swear on everything—” Mariel went sprawling over a different root, the crate miraculously landing perfectly upright, aside from some blanket spillage. She, on the other hand, immediately gripped her ankle as she failed to stand.

“Fecking hell,” Erran muttered, scooping her off the ground and flinging her over his back. He almost left the crate, but something compelled him to grab it. The pause gave the beast hunting them a chance to narrow the distance, and he could almost feel the hot, stinking breaths on his ass, the spittle of hunger soon to be sated.

Erran pushed his pace, wheezing from the enduring pain. It seemed every tree and bush was moving, swaying in response to the beast’s authority. He’d gotten the briefest glance of it when he’d lifted Mariel, its curved tusks and elongated snout more than enough for him to know they’d be speared before he could even draw his sword.

Mariel didn’t fight him at all, more evidence of her survival skills. Upside down, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pushing short, tight breaths in and out.

Limbs battered his face, and thorns he didn’t have the time or energy to avoid sliced his ankles. He grunted, shifting Mariel higher on his back, and called on his reserves to give him the last bit of strength he needed to get them to the cabin.

“Erran... Erran, let me down. We’ll go faster,” Mariel said through her panting, but he heard in her voice she didn’t mean it, that she was just as terrified of the fate awaiting them if he missed another step.

“It is tempting to offer you as a sacrifice,” he muttered through his teeth, gasping when they left the forest and entered the clearing. He bolted the rest of the way and slammed through the open door with enough force to send him and her both sprawling across the floor. The crate tumbled, losing its contents on its way to slamming into the table leg.

Mariel yelped and hissed through her teeth. Erran climbed to his feet and raced to the door, but the beast had stopped at the forest line. Its red eyes peered from between the brush, its nostrils flaring in a sinister taunt.Come play.

“What are you... Erran...” Thumping sounded behind him as Mariel hobbled his way. “Close the damn door!”

“He’ll come no closer,” Erran said distantly. The boar—or whatever it was, as the thing was bigger than any boar he’d ever seen, by far—knew better somehow. It’d seen men there before. “He’s watched men hunt. Thinks we have the same tools.”

“Or he’s playing with us,” she replied, gripping the other side of the doorframe for balance. She had one leg coiled up. “If he was afraid, he’d run.”

“He’s not afraid. He’s just waiting to see what we’ll do.”

“Well, give me your feckin’ sword, and I’ll show him!”

Erran scoffed at her, only realizing she was looking for a fight after her response, when she made a disgusted sound she’d been clearly waiting to use.

“Don’t think I have it in me?” Mariel asked in challenge. Pain etched the corners of her eyes, half-squinted as she balanced one foot.

“Do I think you’re foolish enough to charge out there like a loon and swing metal around, praying it lands somewhere useful?” He shook his head. “Aye, I ken you havethatin you.”

Mariel reached for his sword belt and worked to wrench it free from its scabbard. Erran clamped a hand over hers and waited for her futile struggle to end. Giving up, she swung around to face him with a caustic glare that was so full of hatred, it startled him.

“Are you too scared of the thing to realize he could feed us for weeks?” Her tone practically screeched. “If you can’t summon the courage, Errandil, at least let me.”

“Enticing as it might be at this moment to watch him flatten you with his hooves and feast upon your foul mouth until it can spew its acid no longer, I might regret letting him slaughter you in the morning.” He dragged her back inside and slammed the door.

Erran released her near the table, so she had something to balance herself, and stormed to the basket where they’d found the bandages and antiseptic.

“Sit,” he ordered, his hands shaking as he dug for what he needed. He found it, turned back, and saw her swaying on one foot, her arms crossed and a petulant scowl on her face. “Mariel, sit the feck down and let me wrap this before you make it worse.”

With her eyes locked on his as if she could sear him alive, she hobbled dramatically toward the chair before flopping onto it. She regarded him with fluttery blinks, her nose flaring, holding fast to her acerbic smile.

Erran had never in his life been so exasperated by anyone.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep before dropping to his knees in front of her.

“Not afraid of the boar coming in to join us for some of your fennel stew?” she said, sounding almost flirtatious. Her spittle sprayed his forehead.

“More afraid he’d respectfully decline, seeing how full he’d be after ripping you apart.” He tore off a length of cloth in his teeth and lifted her leg by the calf. Her ankle had turned a purplish hue and was already swelling. “If you’d have just dropped the damn basket?—”

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