“You’re back,” Etienne exclaimed as her horse made its way across the square’s cobblestones.
Feyre had been in the town of Traises some hundred and fifty kilometers north-east of Lin. It was the nearest town and only slightly bigger. Large enough to have a Raven Master though. She had written to a mage, hoping they would be able to help her, only to have another mage write back to her. What little good it had done her.
She hadn’t expected the blond to be in the square when she returned. In fact, she had doubted she would see him again at all. Now, he met her with a smile, looking up at her with those peculiar blue eyes full of relief and hope, the noon sun turning his hair to a brighter shade of gold. She acknowledged him with a nod, aware of her tight schedule, and continued onward to the inn.
“I’m back.”
“Did you find out more about the Fenris wolf? Do you know why it’s here? Why it’s attacking us? Are you going to kill it?”
Feyre could never hope to sate his curiosity before the sun set. She flung herself out of the saddle and handed him the reins without asking. He took them without protesting.
The inn was busier than it had been the last time with dusk still far away. Tables were fuller and the conversations flowed as freely as the drinks. In the crowd, the barmaid made her way around the tables with pints balanced precariously on her tray. The barman himself stood behind the bar, busy filling even more glasses; he barely paused in his work to look up at the new arrival.
As on her first night, Feyre approached the bar, though she had no time to wait to be noticed. She pounded the bar with her fist. The barman cast a glance at the source of the disturbance and immediately paled at the sight of her. Any other time she could afford to forgo the rudeness; today, she could not.
“Miss Shadow. What can I do for you? Your room is still as you left it.”
“I will not be needing the room tonight, though my horse needs a place to stay.”
“Certainly. One moment and I will take care of it right away.” Despite a drinking room full of patrons, he hurried to finish his order and followed her out.
Feyre turned and stepped outside again. Etienne was where she had left him, muttering to the horse as though the animal might answer all his questions. He stopped immediately when his eyes met hers. The barman went for the horse and led it away gently, putting it between her and himself; no demanding clients to keep him from fearing her out here.
“The horse isn’t mine,” she stated as the young man stepped up next to her. “I have sent word to its owner that she can expect it back soon. If I have not returned by late morning tomorrow; I need you to take it back to Dormont. When you catch your first glimpse of the city, you can let it go. It will find its own way home from there. You can take whatever is in the saddlebags as payment.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. She walked away without waiting for a reply. Daylight was a precious commodity to those traveling in Blackwood Forest, despite how much of it the pines blocked out. And while the Mistbeast had proved to be active even during the day, she would much rather make it to her destination before night fell and left her completely blind. He caught up to her, matching her stride.
“You’re going to hunt it now? Where are your weapons? You can’t hope to take the Mistbeast out with your dagger.” Feyre glared at him, and he hurried to amend, “Though I don’t doubt you’re greatly skilled with it. But you need something larger, something more lethal. Not to mention that the sun will have set before you can get too far, especially if you are walking. Why are you walking?”
She stopped and turned to him. They stood halfway between the Blackwood and Lin. “As I said, the horse is not mine. Predators might come out during the day but are more active at night. A lantern’s flame is a hazard to the forest so I won’t take one. Now, return home and let me get to work.”
“But a dagger?” he repeated in utter disbelief.
Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger in question, pulling it free. It was a fine weapon; a lean blade, strong and lethal with its double edge. The rosewood handle had been carved to fit the shape of her hand. Turning the blade over, the Order of Shadows’ symbol had been pressed into the metal just under the guard.
“I am a Tenebrous. Do you know what that means?” He shook his head. She hadn’t expected him to know; few knew about the inner workings of the Order. “I am a Shadow specialized in the collection of information, in doing things quietly and in leaving as little bloodshed in my wake as possible. I am adept at moving in the shadows, adept at using a weapon, and capable of taking a life if the need were to arise. However, I believe that, in the case of the Mistbeast, it is not these skills that are required.” Then she put the dagger away; she carried it with her now only for its symbolic nature. “If I do not come back, make sure to tell the next Shadow I was wrong.”
She walked away. When she reached the treeline, she paused, feeling eyes on her back. Etienne stood where she had left him, watching her with an expression of barely disguised dread and worry. She realized she had expected him to follow.
It was good he hadn’t. With a final nod, she walked into Blackwood Forest.
Now on foot, she realized just how far they had gone before they had found the massacre. It would take longer than she had anticipated to venture deep enough into the forest. But she didn’t press her step. Instead, she thought about what the mage had been able to tell her.
Fenris wolves were sacred animals of the goddess Daciana, one of several deities of the hunt on the continent. She hunted side by side with the animals. They were intelligent and long-lived; solitary animals but capable of teamwork. They were adaptable and fast learners. Feyre knew for herself that was true; the Fenris wolf had witnessed the humans set traps for it and, in turn, it had set a trap for them. It explained why the massacre had happened on the road, and why lesser predators had left their superiors’ feast untouched.
The forest grew darker as time passed. Feyre didn’t mind. She was a Shadow; she lived in the darkness and used it to conceal herself from the world. However, the Mistbeast would do the same, using the cover of night to hunt its prey while she hunted it.
With the growing darkness, the sounds of life disappeared, leaving the Blackwood in an eerie silence. Her senses were on high alert as she peered into the blackness. She briefly considered leaving the path but dismissed the thought; if she had to face and fight the Fenris wolf, best it be not where the beast had the advantage.
For what felt like hours, she followed the main trail deeper and deeper into Blackwood Forest, not willing to risk losing herself on a smaller side-path. Perhaps the Mistbeast had gone to Lin and she had missed it. Perhaps it hid in a different part of the woods. But no, this was now its territory; any who ventured would not go unnoticed. Yet the night remained calm and peaceful.
Until it didn’t.
A prickling sensation alerted her to a presence hidden among the trees. She hadn’t yet reached the massacre site but was not surprised the Fenris wolf had found her already. Her muscles tensed, her ears straining to pick up any sounds. Where did it hide? Why watch her and not attack? She pulled her dagger free, ready to use it to defend herself. Despite being accustomed to tracking her prey at night, the darkness of the Blackwood was almost absolute. All moonlight was blocked by the thick canopy of branches. Instead, she relied on her hearing, and on her body, as she had never before.
There.
She spun on her heel, watching as the imposing form of the Fenris wolf stepped out of the brush and onto the path. It did so deliberately, calmly; full of restrained power. With its black fur, the Mistbeast blended into the shadows as well as Feyre, though its eyes shone in what little light there was. It stood tall and straight as it stared her down across the distance that separated them. She returned the Fenris wolf’s stare, her grip tightening on the dagger’s hilt, her knees bending slightly.
Unlike last time, the Mistbeast did not attack her right away. They faced each other, each sizing the other up.
The mage who had written about the Fenris wolves had quoted some of his theology books, hoping she might find it helpful. The words swirled through her mind now as she stared down the beast.
Hunts with the goddess are said to have made them uncommonly apt at reading human body language.
Her body language no doubt screamed aggressiveness, but perhaps it could read more into it. It had to if it hadn’t attacked her yet.
She breathed deeply through her nose, steeling herself. Either her plan succeeded or she was about to surrender herself to a hopefully quick death.
Breathing out slowly, she lowered herself, keeping her gaze fixed upon the Fenris wolf, willing it to read her intentions, the change in her body language. Kneeling on the rough ground, she breathed in shakily and tossed the dagger just out of reach. If the Fenris wolf attacked now, it would be on her before she could scramble for it. Without any other weapons on her, she likely wouldn’t survive.
The Mistbeast didn’t move.
Bit by bit, she stood up again. More quotes came to mind. One story told of a huntsman who crossed paths with a Fenris wolf. The wolf did not attack, neither did the man. He put down his bow and showed he was no threat. She prayed the mage had been right, that the story he had recounted was not just a story after all.
The Fenris wolf watched her still, not moving a muscle. Her heart was in her throat. Any second now and it could all be over.
The beast took a step in her direction—almost tentative. Feyre forced herself to hold still, forcing herself not to dive for the dagger or to run. She relaxed all her muscles. She waited.
It took another hesitant step, ears twitched, its nose scenting the air. It doubted her as much as she doubted it. Feyre refused to move as the wolf approached her. Even when it was only an arm’s length away, a lunge removed from her death, her feet remained firmly planted in their spot. Stoically, her gaze didn’t stray from the Fenris wolf’s shining eyes.
Then, before her frozen body, the wolf too lowered itself. Lower and lower until its muzzle nearly touched the ground. Its eyes stared up at her as it held the position. For the first time in her career as Shadow, Feyre had not prepared for the unexpected. In her mind, the wolf would have either attacked her or walked away. This... this was something else.
Making sure to avoid any brusque movements, she lowered herself onto the dirt path beneath her. She could feel every twig and pebble. She was almost glad to be off her shaky legs. The Order had prepared her for a lot; had trained her to be perfectly emotionless in a vast range of situations. This had never been one of them.
In the darkness, the Mistbeast followed her example, lying down on the ground completely.
On a whim, she reached out with her hand, thinking only a heartbeat too late that she risked losing it. The Fenris wolf sniffed at her fingers before nudging them. Carefully, she slid her fingers up the length of the great muzzle, knowing full well the teeth that hid beneath the fur and skin. Before she could pull back her fingers, the animal licked at them. She drew back her fingers more out of disgust than fear.
“Please don’t slobber all over me,” she muttered as she wiped the hand on her cloak.
They sat in an almost companionable silence for a long time, each cautious of the other but growing accustomed to their presence and company. Feyre thought she might doze off as twilight turned to full night. Everything quieted, but she dared not close her eyes. She must have though, for she woke to bird songs. The pine forest had turned from black to dark green. The most shocking discovery, however, was the Fenris wolf who had, during the night, moved to curl around her. Its tail rested across her stomach, the black fur soft beneath her hands and cheek.
With small movements, she distanced herself from this much feared animal. Its golden eyes flew open and tracked the Shadow’s every move. It watched as she stood and stretched. It watched as she reached for her dagger. It rose to its feet in seconds, pulling back its lips to reveal deadly teeth.
“Easy,” she muttered, keeping her voice calm. “I’m attached to this. I’m putting it away. See?” She slid it into its sheath and showed her empty hands. “No harm done.” It continued to watch her attentively.
Feyre found it hard to walk away from the Fenris wolf, though she knew she needed to return to Lin before late morning. A fragile bond had formed between them throughout the night, tentative but true. She could not simply leave it behind; she had no guarantee it would not remain in Blackwood Forest to hunt the townsfolk. Just because it hadn’t killed her...
The Mistbeast did not appear to have the same reservations. It stepped off the path and disappeared between the trees without a backward glance. After the Fenris wolf and the hunter had parted ways, the man never saw it in those lands again.
The ending of her adventure left her feeling dissatisfied; though the huntsman and the Fenris wolf from the story had also walked away from each other. If the story held true, it would leave and never return, and if not, she would return to finish the job.
And so, she started on her way back to Lin.
The hike took less time than it had the previous afternoon, or it felt like it did. The Blackwood had lightened only a little with the rising sun somewhere far beyond the densely packed trees. It would have been easy to believe no time at all had passed. Gradually, the birds woke and picked up their song. Perhaps it was the repetitiveness of her surroundings that shortened the road, or perhaps it was her wandering thoughts as her senses remained on high alert.
A snapping noise cut off her steady pace. All around, the forest had come to life with the rustle of needles and the bristle in the undergrowth. Birds chirped. Nothing like the eerie silence that had accompanied the Mistbeast’s presence. Her body was still wound tight from her encounter. The Order of Shadows had taught her good reflexes. But the Fenris wolf was gone.
All Feyre had left to do was a stern talk with Lin’s mayor on how to proceed, explain what she had learned and what they would need to do, add a few threats to make sure the village’s inhabitants complied, and add a few more to remind them Shadows did not clean up the same mess twice.
Now there was a conversation to look forward to.
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