Page 51 of Beast and Remedy
“Wait!” I reach out and crawl after it.
I have so many questions, my mind already preparing a list of answers I seek.
But the esprit increases the distance.
“Wait, I need you!” I shout once more as it breaks through to the outside world.
“We have helped your current need,”the esprit utters, and as I poke my head out of the alcove, its breathy voice catches in the wind.“We will find you again, Protector of Beasts.”
My stomach and heart sink, already knowing the esprit is gone.
But when I turn, I almost scream at a horse tied to a thick tree stump and something resting on the ground beside it, covered with a blanket. Alarm sends me into scanning the woods for someone or the esprit, covering up as best as I can.
“H-Hello?” I call out into the forest, silence my only answer.
Looking back at the animal, I wonder how it got here.
Approaching the creature tentatively, I offer it my hand to sniff before directing my attention to the blanket and crate, a piece of parchment hanging out.
My chest tightens, and I glance around, ensuring I am truly alone. When I reach for the letter, my blood runs cold at the familiar handwriting.
Clothes and food. Please come back to me.
Love,
Beau.
I should be scared at how effortlessly he found me. How easily he could have killed a threat to his kingdom.
Instead, I linger on the last two lines, my heart sputtering at his name—his handwriting—his everything.
Sweet Makers.
I close my eyes, wanting to relish his words.
But I remember the wolf attack and Marian getting bitten. Her features graying, her resolve lessening, body slackening under my hold as we rushed into Torgem. And everyone saw me shift.
Letum, take me to Oblivion now.
I’ve made such a fucking mess of things.
I open the pocket-sized satchel holding dried meat and fruit and shove the food in my mouth without any delay before dressing. Before venturing back for my sister and the inevitable confrontation I am doomed to have with the man I’ve loved for years.
Please, Alora, spare me from any embarrassment and help me remain strong. Deities know it will break my heart to physically see him and not touch him, not kiss—
Stop, Vi.
I dismiss the longing and desire curling in my core, occupying my thoughts with the clothes. They’re not ideal for riding. I will be sore, but it will have to do.
At the bottom of the wooden crate rests a thick wool cloak, lined in black with a long hood I utilize to cover my untamed mahogany locks.
The dampness of soil paired with the fresh scent of pine clings to my nostrils as I reach for the steed’s mane and run my fingers through the coarse copper strands.
I coo, “Thank you for being here.”
A swirl of emotion pulses in my palm, warmth and kindness flowing from the horse to me, and I break into a smile.
I unknot the reins tied from the tree stump, making sure the animal doesn’t budge.
