Page 27 of Heart Cradle
They moved again, only stopping for stolen hours. The forest changed, trees thinning, mist thickening, ground turning to sucking mire. That was when the wolves came. Long, skeletal things with ash-grey hidesstretched too tightly over twisted frames, joints bent wrong and rib bones jutted through torn fur. Their eyes glowed a sickly violet, lighting the mist as they stalked forwards on silent paws. Their snarls were wrong, not animal, not natural, it was the sound of something trying to remember hunger, trying to remember how not to kill.
Maeve barely had time to draw breath before the first lunged for Aeilanna’s throat. Nolenne was faster, she threw herself between them, twin blades flashing silver and black as they carved through the creature’s side. It shrieked, an awful, broken sound, and crumpled. Another wolf crashed into Maeve, jaws clamping around her forearm. She screamed hoarsely, stabbing again and again until the creature spasmed and fell.
“NO MAGIC!” Nolenne shouted, slicing into a second. “AEILANNA, NO MAGIC!”
Maeve saw it, Aeilanna’s hands sparking on instinct, old training rising, but she clenched her jaw, forced it back down. Fought with spear and elbow. Maeve ducked claws, rammed her shoulder into a wolf’s ribs, slashed wildly. The blade caught on slick bone, ripped free with a wet snap. Claws raked her shoulder, causing searing pain and blood poured freely. She stumbled, nearly dropped her dagger, but Nolenne was there, leaving a clean stroke across the beast’s spine. But the wolves kept coming. It was brutal, fast and clumsy, the three females fought like trapped animals, fuelled by terror and the sheer refusal to die. When the last wolf fell, its body collapsing into black mist and shattered bone, they stood in the wreckage. Chests heaving, blood-slick and trembling. They didn’t speak, they just breathed, ragged and uneven breathes. Maeve sagged against a tree, her forearm dripping blood, dagger still clenched in her locked hand. Aeilanna coughed, a hand to her ribs while Nolenne crouched to wipe her blades on one of the corpses, face a forbidding sight. Then Aeilanna laughed, shaky and half-wild. “We’re still alive.”
Maeve slid down the tree and collapsed into the grass, gasping. “Is it always like this?” she rasped.
Nolenne straightened, sheathing her blades. “It can always get worse,” she muttered.
But there was a glimmer of pride in her voice, and when Maeve looked up, Nolenne’s eyes, though bloodied and bruised, were burning bright. They didn’t waste time. They stripped their bloodied clothes, cleaned wounds with icy stream water, bandaged with scraps of cloth. No words, only the rough, efficient rituals of survival. Then the trio were moving again by moonlight, limping and aching.
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The third night fell heavy. The terrain shifted again, less wild, but somehow more wrong. Trees twisted into spiralling shapes, their trunks split open like old scars. The ground felt brittle, as if it might shatter under their boots and the air carried a unnatural hum.
“Border’s near. Shit, we’re so close,” Nolenne muttered. “Only a few more hours.”
Aeilanna sagged against a fallen trunk, her face soft with the first real hope Maeve had seen. “Let’s rest, beloved,” she whispered. “Just a moment.”
They dropped their packs and Maeve sank down onto the brittle grass, every muscle shaking. For the first time, she dared to believe they might make it, but then the air shifted, almost souring. The smell of decay, enveloped them and something that sounded wet moved through the high bushes. Nolenne’s voice cracked the night like a whip. “Fuck.”
Maeve scrambled upright, heart slamming against her ribs. “What is it?”
Nolenne already had her blades drawn, scanning the trees with wild, desperate eyes. “Glade Stalker,” she hissed, voice a rasp of pure terror. “MOVE.”
Then came the sound.
Click.
Click-click.
Click.
Slow and deliberate. Like claws drumming bone, by something that enjoyed waiting. They didn’t run, Nolenne explained that running would make it chase faster. They moved crouched and fast, weaving through roots and rock, hearts pounding in their throats.
“What the fuck is a Glade Stalker?” Maeve gasped, ducking under a fallen branch.
“A predator,” Aeilanna panted. “It hunts fear. It… plays.”
Click-click.
Click.
Click.
Closer now and Maeve felt as if it were herding them, like it was trying to corner them in some dense pocket of the wood. She clenched her dagger tighter. “Perfect. Another bastard trying to kill me.”
Nolenne’s head whipped around. “High ground. Now!”
They ran then, scrambling up a large gnarled tree, lungs burning, cuts blooming across their palms and knees and the world held its breath.
Click.
Click.
Click-click.
