Page 126 of Cursed Shadows 4

And it won’t be just that litalf who catches me if I trip.

More are chasing.

More are in pursuit.

Dare, Samick, Caius, I don’t know if they follow. I don’t know if they are hunting the very ones who hunt me or if they are stuck back at the woods that border the plateau, fighting for their lives in the death trap I ultimately delivered them into.

I just know that I lead the chase, others follow, and my lungs are on fire.

I grit my teeth against the force of the winds. Hands fisted, like punches to the wind, I race through the gaps between the trees.

I head in the only direction the gods offer me.

I make for the crevasse.

The woods end where the crevasse begins, and the incline is almost entirely vertical, formed of rocks and jagged overhangs and icy floors—and each one drops into the gaps of the earth.

Tears are quick to wet my cheeks.

The contrast of the winds whipping me prickles my skin raw. And still, the tears just fall, little streams of horror that thicken my throat.

I have no other way to go.

Can’t turn and go back.

This is straight ahead.

And I have run myself into a ridge—there is no left or right, each of those directions are ice-sheeted inclines, impossible climbs.

A bite of pain nips me.

The nape of my neck burns with hot blood.

Muscles clamp to my spine.

I feel him.

The litalf, he swipes out for me.

Closer, this time.

Whether it was the kiss of a blade that’s cut my flesh, or the reach of his fingernails, I don’t want to find out.

The cries that shudder me are a blend of panicked heaving, grated breaths, chest-pinned sobs, and pitched cries.

If shame should flood me, it doesn’t, it is delayed.

I weep, I cry, I scream, I shout—for all of Comlar to see. For all the nearby litalves to hear.

For the chaser to be encouraged.

He swipes out for me again.

Fingernails.

At least three scrape down my neck, then hook onto my sweater. My pace doesn’t falter, but the tug of loosened, snapped threads pinches at my back.

His grip is unsuccessful, it isn’t firm or solid enough, and I hear the frustrated grunt from him, just an arm’s reach behind me.

---