Muir snorted under his breath. “You talk nonsense, old woman. I’ve suffered worse.”
“Aye, and some men live to boast of their folly,” Feena replied, tying a fresh cloth around his arm with a tightness that made him hiss. “But this—this is no simple scrape. Infection spreads fast. I’ve done what I can, but whether your body heeds the healing is not mine to say.”
Muir grumbled but said nothing more, as he walked away while Feena finished packing away her herbs in her healing pouch.
Elara approached, hoping to slip past quietly, but Feena lifted her head the moment she drew near. Her sharp eyes took in the stiff line of Elara’s shoulders, the tension in her jaw, the way her breath came too shallow.
“You’ve returned,” Feena said, rising slowly to her feet. She brushed her hands on her skirts and studied Elara’s face with calm, unsettling accuracy. “And burdened heavier than when you left.”
“I am well enough,” Elara said quickly, too quickly.
“A poor lie,” Feena murmured. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I told you once not to doubt him.”
Elara flinched as if struck.
Feena did not relent. “Whatever passed between you in the woods, whatever words or wounds, do not let the moment blind you.”
“I am not blind,” Elara said tightly. “Only wiser.”
Feena’s sigh was soft, almost sorrowful. “Child, wisdom and fear often dress alike. Be sure you know which one you wear.”
Elara turned away, not trusting herself to answer, not trusting her voice to remain steady. Feena let her go, though her gaze followed her with quiet understanding.
Muir watched them from a distance and muttered under his breath, dismissing Feena’s warning even as he rubbed his bandaged arm.
Night pressed close around the camp, and Elara felt it settle upon her like a weight, heavy, cold, and full of questions she wished she didn’t have to ask.
Elara slept near Feena and Adira, the three of them wrapped in thin blankets beneath the lean-to the Hunters had fashioned for them. Exhaustion pulled her down quickly, but her sleep was restless, threaded with unease.
Sometime in the night she startled awake.
Silence lay thick over the camp. Not the ordinary hush of sleeping men, but something deeper, an eerie stillness that pressed against her ears until she wondered if the world had stopped breathing.
She blinked into the darkness.
Was she awake?
Was she dreaming?
Or was this… something else?
She pushed herself slowly upright, careful not to disturb Feena or Adira. The fires had burned down to a faint glow, throwing long, distorted shadows across the clearing.
Then she saw it.
A figure, shimmering faintly as though woven from moonlight, hovered over Muir.
Elara’s breath stilled.
A dark shape bent over the wounded Hunter, its hands moving with graceful, deliberate care, though Elara could not make out fingers or flesh. Only a strange darkness. Only a presence.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Was this a vision… or truth?
She dared not move.
The figure straightened slowly, darkness clinging to it, and turned toward her.