Page 46 of Cursed Shadows 4

I avoid both.

I watch out for both.

Both are my enemies.

Hours of walking. I feel it in the tension that lumps my muscles into stiff boulders and stones. My hamstrings ache most of all, and I stop to rub them.

This incline might be the end of me. It’s not impossible to simply collapse from exhaustion and wither away.

The bitterness of the thought flattens my mouth into a slanted line. If that’s how I go out, I’ll be pissed.

Eventually, I tug away from the crashing song of the river and tread deeper into the forest. I stuck too close to it for too long, and so maybe I’ll have better luck finding a place to hide out if I go deeper.

I scan the woods around me as I go, but for a while, I see nothing more than foliage and nettles and fallen pinecones, some rodent droppings, and a hole that dips under leaves and twigs that I suspect is a burrow.

I leave it be.

That shelter won’t fit me.

And I can’t climb these trees.

Pine trees, too tall, too dangerous, an impossible climb.

One I can’t risk with my muscles tensing beneath my fatigue.

Still, I consider it.

For a moment, I stand, almost swaying on the spot with the exhaustion spindling through me, and look up at the thick, scented greenery. The heights that it reaches trickles an icy sensation down my spine, and a strange wave of dizziness rolls through me.

I drop my head and look at the thick, brown trunk, sturdy unlike me. I lift a boot to retreat, to resume my aimless wander until I probably pass out on the forest floor.

But the moment my boot flattens on the nettles and pinecones, I am struck still and silent.

My breath hitches—and traps in my chest.

It’s only a whisper, but I hear it.

The zing of a dagger. Freshly drawn from its scabbard. It whistles pure metal through the air—

Then strikes another blade.

The clang reverberates through the forest. The clean, crisp air of silence suddenly vibrates with the song of battle.

I was wrong about contenders not landing this far down the mountain. Or I didn’t give enough attention to how far I have climbed upstream.

Tension stiffens me.

I’m bolted in place.

One wrong move, breath,blinkwill announce my presence.

The battle is close.

So close that I can smell it, the metals, the leathers, the sweat and grime. My gaze swerves, wide and sharp, but I see nothing, no shadows moving, no blows landing.

I loosen a shuddering breath, soft and near-silent. At my sides, my hands curl into fists as though to grip my slipping resolve.

I stare right into the soul of a pine tree, one that remains firm, stays steady. A tear falls down my cheek. The fear is nothing short of ice trickling through my veins, because I know where the battle is.

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