Page 78 of Cursed Shadows 4

The tree I spent my hours in gave me a bird’s view of the area. Downhill takes me back to the pass, the river, the cliff-like drops into the water, and it’s too hard to move through any of it. So I race in the direction of the red field, the smear of crimson and rust-brown that I could barely make out from a distance.

It’s the only place I can think to go.

To head for the kinder waterfall means to curve around the dark fae that’s hot on my heels and hope he doesn’t catch me as I pass him by.

Not like I have a lot of time to think about it.

I just have to act.

And luck has been on my side so far.

The gods have been on my side.

I hope that holds.

I drop to my knees just as a low-hanging split tree breaks my path. I skid under it with the same precision as I would in dance, as I would skid under the flip of another dancer. The woundedtree sweeps over me. Then it’s gone, behind me, the crashing bootsteps closing in on me.

I throw my body forward, pushing the momentum into a forward flip—and I land on my boots.

The spectators watching me shove into a run, dodge around the trees, duck under low branches, they must be wondering why I run from the dokkalves as fiercely as I do the litalves. I wonder how quickly the spectators figured out that I have no alliance out here. That I am the most alone of any competitor.

So many times in my life I have felt like everyone was out to get me. I’ve never beenthisright about that. As Ridge proved, even my friends cannot be trusted.

I can’t outrun them all, and not for much longer.

The only thing keeping me alive, out of this dokkalf’s reach, is that I dodge around trees and duck under fallen branches. I create obstacles.

It won’t work much longer.

The strategy isn’t longstanding—and he will plough through it with ego and impatience at any moment.

I need a fresh scheme.

Dehydrated earth crunches beneath me. Whatever blades of grass are left out here, the ones that haven’t withered and gone with the winds, are crisp beneath my boots.

It’s too loud.

My boots are smacking and crunching on hard, packed soil for too long—and the dark fae is gaining on me.

The earth slopes to my left.

I can’t falter my pace by looking over at the rusty red field downhill, but I can make out enough of it by looking ahead—

And I amnotgoing down there.

This was a bad choice. A poor direction to take.

Red field my ass.

Stupid, silly halfling.

It’s a fucking bog. A rusty swamp the size of small lake.

And I have cornered myself right at its border.

But that bog is my only escape.

He’s getting closer. So close that I fear he can just reach out and snatch my braids. So close that I can smell the dirt and sweat on him.

---