Page 5 of Eluvonia
Before I can break eye contact, he reaches out, his hand a warm weight on my shoulder, then he walks past me without another word.
I exhale, watching him for a moment before following.
Leynard has been watching out for me since we were kids, always there, always too close.
He’s with Esra now, but sometimes I catch his eyes lingering a moment too long, and his touches stretch just a bit beyond what feels casual. I see the way his gaze holds, the weight of something unspoken hanging between us.
I’ve tried to warn her, tried to tell her that his feelings might not match hers, but she always brushes me off—says I’m being overprotective. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m reading too much into things.
But then he glances back at me again, and that unease stirs in my gut all over again.
We move through the forest in near silence, the only sounds the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional shift of the deer’s weight as the twins adjust their grip.
“Think Esra will forgive me for leaving my dirty dishes in the cave when we bring this back?” Bryn asks, breaking the quiet.
I snort. “She might make you eat the dishes instead of the deer if you keep leaving them in her tent for her to find.”
“She still hasn’t forgiven you for replacing her Rue leaves with Woad,” Oryn adds, his tone dry. “I don’t think this deer will put you on her good side.”
Bryn chuckles. “That was my best prank yet,” he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Leynard chimes in from up ahead, his voice teasing. “You made a guard turn purple for a week, Bryn.”
Bryn scoffs, clearly not deterred by the memory. “How else am I supposed to—”
A sudden rustling in the treetops to our right cuts him off. He stills, his entire body going rigid. His head snaps to the side, eyes scanning the dense canopy above.
“Did you hear that?” he whispers, his fingers tighteningaround the deer’s legs.
I stop short, my breath hitching as I strain to listen past the pounding in my ears.
The forest is still—too still.
Then, a faint rustling, like something moving through the leaves, just beyond our line of sight.
A moment of silence stretches, thick and suffocating.
“Probably just the wind,” I say, but my hands betray me as they move instinctively. I pull my bow from my chest, fingers tightening as I grab an arrow from my quiver and nock it against the bowstring. My grip is too tight, my knuckles paling.
“Let’s pick up the pace,” Oryn snaps, his gaze darting to every flickering shadow.
Then, out of nowhere, a growl. Low. Guttural.
It vibrates through the air, deep and unnatural, making my stomach twist.
Bryn jerks back, nearly dropping the deer. “What the hell was that?” he breathes. His usual teasing lilt is gone, replaced by something rawer.
“Don’t stop,” Leynard hisses. His sword is already unsheathed, held steady in a grip so tight his fingers turn white. His entire body is coiled, every muscle braced for action.
Then the roar comes, shaking the ground beneath our feet. A sound so primal, so ancient, it sends ice through my veins. My breath catches as I glimpse movement in the trees—something massive, something impossibly fast.
The cave. It’s just ahead. A dark mouth in the dense green forest, waiting like salvation.
“Move!” The word rips from my throat, sharper than I intend.
We don’t hesitate.
We sprint, feet pounding against the earth. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything but the frantic need to reach cover. Another snarl splits the air, closer this time. I don’t dare look back.
