Page 4 of Rapunzel's Outlaw Orc
When I can breathe again, I sit back and scan my surroundings. Moonlight slices through a break in the clouds, turning the world silver. A long, straight branch juts from the brush, and beside the river, obsidian glints like black ice. I gather both, begin flint-knapping the rock with another stone until I’ve chipped it into a wicked spearhead. Tearing a strip from my tattered shirt, I lash it to the wood. Probably overkill for fishing. Don’t care. I’m hungry and pissed off. Besides, having something sharp in my hand makes me feel orc-ish again.
The weapon makes the orc as much as the orc makes the weapon.
I wade into the shallows and wait, muscles tight with anticipation. It only takes three tries before I land one—a fat, wriggling fish. I gut it with a sharp obsidian edge, the stench of raw flesh hitting my nose as the entrails steam on the cold stones.
A spark, some kindling, and soon, I’ve got a fire. The fish sizzles on a flat rock propped above the flames, the smell so good I almost moan. Smoke drifts upward, curling through the trees.
I slump beside the fire, exhaustion wrapping around me. For the first time in too long, I feel something resembling comfort.
My eyes narrow as a light flickers through the trees, warm and golden. Rising above the treetops is a tower. Tall and narrow, with only one window perched like an afterthought near the top.
The clouds shift, moonlight pouring down in a ghostly beam that illuminates the tower in full. It looks ancient. Moss-covered. Haunted, maybe. Possibly cursed. But that light…
I squint. It must be an oil lamp or a candle.
Who the hell lives there?
I assume it’s a man. Or maybe a couple. Surely no woman would live alone in a forest like this. Not with the way the shadows move and the trees feel like they’rewatching. This place hums with hunger. Testing. Wanting… what? My blood? My life? My energy? All of the above?
I’m not sure yet.
I’ve spent the whole damn day trying to get out of this strange place. It’s as if the forest doesn’t want to relinquish me, holding me captive as surely as the void prison I left behind.
I tear into the fish, chewing slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing window. Something about it is familiar. Not the tower itself, but the sense of isolation. The loneliness of the person who lives there is almost palpable.
I shake my head, cursing my fanciful thoughts.
A twig snaps behind me, and I freeze. I slide my hand toward the spear, listening intently.
Nothing. Just the rush of the river and the crackle of the fire.
Once I’ve eaten, I toss the fish bones into the flames, rinse my hands in the river, and scrape together a bed of leaves. Crude, but dry, and better than brambles.
The light across the river blinks out.
Did they see my fire? Wouldn’t they come to investigate if they had? Or maybe itisa witch. One of the reclusive witches who guards her territory with magic. Best I keep my distance. I don’t need to get hexed.
I lie back, hands behind my head, watching the black web of branches overhead. The quiet settles like a weight on my chest. I craved noise when I was incarcerated. Chaos. Ale-soaked nights. A return to my old life. But that life—and all the bad choices that came with it—led straight to that cell. Maybe it’s time I stopped running toward the past and started thinking about the future—whatever that looks like now.
I’m almost asleep when I hear it.
Singing.
Soft. Clear. Unmistakably female. Notes spill into the night like raindrops on glass, weaving through the trees.
My breath catches. I sit up so fast that my head spins for a second. That voice…
It slides under my skin, settling into places I didn’t know were empty. Calms something wild in me. Am I dreaming? Probably. But it doesn’t feel like a dream. The song makes something inside me ache with loneliness and something else. Purpose.Destiny.
I scrub a hand over my face, cursing my vivid imagination. This place, combined with my hunger and lack of sleep, is messing with my head.
But the heartfelt melody curls around my heart like a vine andpulls. I stand. The river should be a problem. It isn’t. The current shoulders me sideways, and a neat line of stones appears where there wasn’t one. A low branch dips to catch my balance. When I push through the undergrowth, the brambles that spent all day skinning me…part. Roots that kept tripping me flatten into steps. The ground firms. The path clears.
I’m not just following a song.
I’m beingguided.
Reaching the base of the tower, I duck behind a tree. Peering up, I spot her—a woman sitting in the window.
