Page 58 of The Wulver's Bond
You told me you could survive being shot in the head. You fucking liar. You fucking liar.
Breathe.
Breathe, Moss.
Moss closed his eyes, letting the air flow in and out of him. The past five minutes had been nothing but irrational panic. The fear wouldn’t let him think. He needed to think.
Logan had used Elsie’s crossbow, with its silver-tipped bolts. Silver didn’t kill Arran, or so he’d said. It just stopped him from healing.
The bolt is still in Arran’s head.
Slowly, Moss reopened his eyes and allowed his whirling vision to refocus on the landscape. The truck bobbed and jolted as Logan manoeuvred it over uneven ground. In the far distance, a single road snaked over the land like a grey river.
‘How did you find us?’ Moss asked, keeping his tone level and cool.
Logan glanced at him. If it were Elsie, she’d have told Moss to shut up. She knew better than to engage with him. But Logan loved a good brag.
‘The radio,’ Logan answered loftily, like he’d done something really clever. ‘I went back to Elsie’s body, see. Got her pack and her crossbow out the hole.’
‘You mean you robbed her grave.’
Logan scowled. ‘She ain’t fucking doing anything with it. Wouldn’t have kept her radio, but I remembered she’d paid extra for some GPS bullshit on it. Couldn’t get it to work… until you switched yours on.’
A part of Moss died. In the truck’s wake, a trail of sturdy bog grasses withered to brown stalks.
Logan was only here because of him.
‘… and I was gonna do it right this time,’ Logan rambled on. Moss realised he’d more or less blacked out for a moment. ‘Today was meant to be recon, just figurin’ out where the fuck you were holed up. Imagine my surprise when you came strolling over the ridge with that mutt right by your side. Couldn’t pass it up, could I?’
Breathe.
I Am Here, Moss reminded himself. I Am Formidable.
The old Weed would have already given up. Accepted this as just the next era of suffering that fate had in store. He was so smothered by despair, too forsaken by hope to see any other options.
But not any more. Moss had chosen his fate, and it was currently lying in the bed of Logan’s truck. He was going to take it back.
‘What are you going to do with the Wulver?’ he said.
‘Gonna skin ’im. Elsie had a buyer lined up for the pelt in Orkney, so that’s where we’re going.’ Logan leered at Moss. ‘Maybe I’ll make you do the dirty bit.’
Moss was so very grateful for Logan’s arrogance and stupidity. Just because he had control of Moss, Logan thought he had nothing to fear from him. He probably knew Moss couldn’t outright hurt him. But, unless instructed otherwise, Moss could certainly thwart him.
Elsie had always been very precise with her commands. And at the start of her ownership, she had laid out a set of rules for Moss to follow. The base commands.Never hurt my companions. Never hinder a hunt. Never keep secrets from me.
Logan was too dense to realise Moss still had a will of his own.
Moss called out to the carpet of grasses surrounding them. He had once, unfairly, called grass stupid. They were slow, yes, and simple, but not stupid.
Nor weak.
They heard his appeal and matted their roots, racing the truck underground. Woven together, their fronds became strong. They dove into the wheel arches of the truck, wrapping around its tyres. The vehicle’s suspension lurched and squealed under the strain.
Logan grunted, grappling with the steering wheel. ‘What the fuck?’
Be quick!Moss urged.
The grass twined into a cord and slipped into the bed of the truck. Moss closed his eyes and helped it feel around Arran’s body. The long shape of his head. The silver bolt.
