Page 126 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
His name.
“ATLAS!”
But there was no response, only a horrid slurping noise, like a tongue sucking teeth, and a menacing growl.
Everinne didn’t need to wait around to know that those fleshflayers would soon find her. They would follow her scent and her scream, track her down like predator to prey. Again she started running, harder this time. Faster. Her legs pumped, spurring her through the forest as she fled, swatting at branches and avoiding the crooked roots that seemed determined to capture her. An overgrowth of bramble with thorny leaves clung to her fur coat, ripping and tearing it to shreds, biting through to her skin, until she was forced to abandon it completely. Her lungs burned, frozen from the wind and aching from each ragged breath. A stabbing pain pierced her ribcage and her muscles strained, throbbing with exhaustion.
Streaks of saltwater stained her cheeks.
She didn’t know if it was sweat or tears.
She didn’t care.
The toe of her boot struck a rock, and she catapulted forward. There was a twinge and then a definite crack as pain exploded through her ankle, rocketing up her leg.
A choking cry escaped her as her knees slammed into the solid earth and she attempted to break her fall. Her hands hit the cold dirt and she gasped, sucking in a breath as shooting spasms of agony pulsed from her ankle to her thigh. Her injured arm collapsed beneath her. Muck and filth soiled her clothing as she crawled, her nails digging into the ground for purchase, desperate to escape the clamor of gnashing teeth and raspy growls surrounding her. At some point, she’d been so consumed by running, by fleeing, that she’d lost her way. The path leading out of the Deszvila Forest had vanished, none of the trees looked familiar, and instead of being dumped out closer to the palace, she was now dragging herself uphill, clawing over uneven terrain. Her fingers were raw, bloodied, and bitten from the cold. A splitting ache was carving its way down her spine, her muscles felt like they might snap at any moment, and her bones were so weary, she thought they would turn to sand.
But all the while, Everinne’s mind was focused on Atlas.
She repeated his name in her mind, whispered it like a prayer to the Mother Goddess as she fought for every inch of ground, as the murky haze of dawn infiltrated the snow-laden clouds.
Atlas.
Atlas.
Atlas.
Grasping a knobby bough from a nearby tree with both hands, Everinne heaved herself into a standing position. A peal of agony tore from her as nauseating pain splintered up her leg. Her vision swam with unshed tears, but she hastily blinked themaway and swallowed down the rise of scalding bile in the back of her throat. She had to find her way back to Atlas. She had to get out of the forest. A broken ankle was nothing compared to having her flesh scraped from her bones.
Her gaze scanned her surroundings.
There was nothing but bleak forest for what seemed like an eternity.
Then she saw it. Through the dense branches weighed down by snow and the thick brush of evergreen leaves, there was a faint glow of foggy light.
A clearing.
Everinne winced and gritted her teeth as she hobbled and limped along the widening base of the hill. She must have been near the foothills of the mountains. Their jagged peaks were dusted with snow most of the year, and the whipping gales that cut between the faces and cliffs caused her teeth to rattle. Shivers wrecked her body as the forest thinned, the gusts of wind stung her cheeks and her eyes watered. She sniffed and ducked her head, wrapping her arms around her tightly and curling her frozen fingers into her threadbare sweater in a poor attempt to keep herself warm. Her breath came in icy, shallow pants and her heart sank, tumbling into the pit of her stomach as the forest spat her out into the clearing.
Except it wasn’t a clearing at all.
It was a treacherous cliff, with sparse tufts of nearly dead grass sprouting up between smooth slabs of stone.
She thought she’d be safe here. She thought she could rest, maybe gather her thoughts and figure out a way to get back to Atlas. But stranded on the cliffside, she was vulnerable to the elements and exposed to danger. Perhaps she wasn’t too high up, with any luck, she could climb down. Or at the very least, fall down, considering her ankle was utterly useless. Inchingforward, she gingerly crept toward the ledge of the mighty cliff and peered over.
Her stomach dropped.
And so did her nerve.
Everinne teetered on the edge of oblivion.
Far below her, spanning a width as great as Starysa’s city center, was a fathomless lake. If she were to jump, it would take an eternity before she plunged into its inky depths. The banks encircling it glistened like snowy diamonds, a few trees outlined its dark edges, the bare limbs draped with icicles and sprigs of frosty berries. Its surface was as smooth as glass, there were no ripples or waves, yet there was no reflection. Not the lurking forest or the majestic mountains. It was like gazing into a slab of obsidian and seeing nothing in return, just a great and vast emptiness.
A blast of wintry wind swept through the rising mountains, and she steeled her spine against the assault. The cold was violent and unforgiving, smacking her cheeks and tugging her hair. Her jaw ached from clenching it to keep her teeth from chattering, and her joints were stiff and sore from seizing against the brutal chill. But not even the slivers of early morning sunlight slanting through the mountain peaks would be enough to warm her, for already another ominous fringe of gray clouds hovered on the horizon, promising more snowfall.
She was lost. And alone.
Her heart strained for the one who spoke to her soul.
