Page 114 of Cursed Shadows 4

I stay crouched under the arched tree.

I very much get the feeling—between none of them turning to look at me, ask me if I am alright, or even to curse at me—that I shouldn’t move.

And I don’t. Not until Dare gestures with a lazy wave-over for me to follow, and we leave the clearing behind.

Still, none of them speak a word to me.

I find that their silence, how they ignore me, is sort of worse than being berated, like I expected.

I don’t loathe to disappoint. I prefer not to be shouted at. But to be… left out, now that’s a whole other sort of discomfort.

And they make sure I feel it.

All the way through the forest, Samick behind me, Dare and Caius leading the charge, I am stuck in the middle, and I feel very much like that annoying little sister that hangs around the older siblings too much.

I was that sister, once.

I hated it then.

I hate it now.

The frosty tongue forks above me and shivers. The python hisses a silent hello from the safety of the weeping willow.

I return the greeting with a small smile.

To the untrained eye—a male’s eye, even—this python might seem like any other, or another of the same species. But I recognise it as the one who saved my life.

I look into its pearl eyes, and I just know.

I keep its secret. I don’t alert anyone to the python, lest they harm it, kill and cook it.

So with forward steps, I bring my gaze back down to the lake. Unlike the lakes near my home, these crystal blue waters span horizons I can barely make out through the mists. Pine treesarch up from the wispy clouds clinging to the turquoise waters and seem to touch the darker skies—skies that will, within hours, be the colour of bleached stone.

That is what drew us to the lake.

Far across, on the other side, the pine trees arch up the groove of the mountain. But on this side, weeping willows sag into the glittering waters, shield the shore from onlookers that come from above—those leafy curtains offer us shelter, layers and layers of it.

I slip through a hefty drape of leaves and approach the shore of flattened stone and wild weeds.

My steps are careful over the mossy stones as I advance on the ice-statue that’s crouched in the crystalline waters.

But I am not quiet enough.

The ice-statue throws a glare over his shoulder at me.

Boots planted on two separate rocks, mid-step, I freeze.

The glint of green aimed at me like a notched arrow is enough to pin my heart to my throat.

Water rushes over Samick’s boots. It ripples around his calves. Knees bent, his hands hover above his thighs, but his chin is tucked to his shoulder and his lethal gaze fixed on me.

I read the warning in that look.

Be still. Be silent. Or I’ll serve you up for dinner.

Apparently, I made too much noise in my bones and muscles. What is quiet to me is thunder to him.

Makes me wonder how I’ve survived this long if I’m too loud at just, you know, existing.

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