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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒, but the answer becomes clear as a fog looms in the air. Her vision becomes shrouded, the haze so thick that she can hardly see Thorn ahead of her, even though he's only two or three steps away. She fears she might lose him, but the ancient thinks he can carry a tune as he whistles and hums, a sound that keeps her in his trail. His song is atrocious, but she knows better than to pick a fight with the man guiding her through the most dangerous province in Aelethia.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen studies the forest around her. Unlike the Tabrien woods, these forests are swamped with vines and thick leafy fauna, some lush, most stricken with blight. The air smells pleasant, almost doused in eucalyptus. To her dismay, the soil beneath their feet grows swampy, and mud clings to the soles of her leather boots, making each step weigh nearly double than it should.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn's greying irises glance over his shoulder as he adjusts his pack of supplies. "Maybe I should've made you do more of those laps."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She grits her teeth, refusing to show her exhaustion. "I'm fine."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Okay little miss fine, you need to keep up, got it? If we lose sight of one another, we're fucked. Rhimme's probably got eyes on us now and will do whatever he can to get us killed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Great," she retorts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's what I like to hear."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They take a few more steps when a cobblestone pathway comes into sight, although weeds grow in the crevasses and roots have made the terrain uneven. The road remains abandoned from years of neglect, but it's still a better option than through the mud.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn narrows his eyes on what lies ahead, then quickly whisks off his bag. He sifts through his abundance of supplies before pulling out a compass—Oleander's compass.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I thought that you gave that to Morrow when we left for Pailon the first time."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I did," he says, "but I asked for it back, because this is the only fucking thing that will work in this province since it was made with ancient's magic."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So why did Oleander have it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Because I gave it to him before I left the fae militia." Thorn points to the mist. "That way."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn begins to wander onward, his pace never shorting out unlike her own. She's not sure if she should take his word, mostly because neither of them were able to scourge up a map of this place. She's relying solely on Thorn's memory, which could be a ridiculous stretch. She wouldn't exactly call him old, but he does have some years behind him, and she did catch him muttering how the print is too small in one of the were's fighting guides.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen keeps her eyes on his muscular back. "So, where exactly is this flame?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's in the Acropolis."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The Acropolis?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's the capital of Pailon, the main castle, whatever the hell you want to call it. The most powerful ancients used to gather there religiously," he stops, looking over to her once more. "As you can tell, we don't honour that tradition anymore for reasons you should be able to figure out."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Let me guess. Rhimme?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He lets out a sarcastic cheer. "You got it, miss fine."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She rolls her eyes. "You weren't this annoying back at the fae temple."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's the dad instincts kicking in," he stops to analyse the compass, and then continues forward. "Unless you still refuse to acknowledge that I am your blood-father, then you can just blame it on me being an asshole."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They keep walking down the cobblestone pathway deeper into the heart of Pailon. The light that manages to reach them through the thick cloud of mist stays stagnant, a depressing gloom that will get to her head if the air doesn't clear. Aside from the plants and trees, there hasn't been any blight-infected creatures, not that she knows what dwells inside these invisible walls.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Whether she wants to know what lurks inside Pailon or not, she's going to find out. It also doesn't help that Thorn described Pailon in a mouthful of threats back in Tabrien, threats that left her hyperventilating in the corner of her bedroom. She's determined to change the fate of her pack, so despite the haunting danger before them, she keeps trudging ahead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her mind hardly douses in the misery of her potential future when a warm growl vibrates down her bond. She welcomes Morrow's wolf into her mind, letting those tepid growls ease her and her wary creature. Her shoulders loosen, then the rest of her body ends its shaking.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sparrow, Morrow's wolf growls, eliciting a beaming grin from her. His wolf remains incredibly clingy, even when they're apart. You've been gone for too long.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I‎‎‏‏‎'ve only been gone a handful of hours, she retorts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Too many hours.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'm sure you can survive with Ronyn and Arion and the others.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Nope, there's a warm chuckle from him. Ronyn noticed your fresh new claim on my neck and keeps poking it with a stick.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She laughs out loud in a flurry of giggles, causing Thorn to stop and raise his brow in confusion. "What's so funny, kid?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She points to her temple. "Morrow's in my head."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What does the hound want?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She knows Morrow's holding back from completely invading her end of the bond, not bothering to waste his full energy until they reach where they need to go, the Acropolis.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Just before she can ask, he already answers her question, reading her internal monologue.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I just want to make sure you're okay and alive, Morrow confesses. Just call me through the bond if it changes. I might not be much help, but hell, I need to know if I'm about to lose you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She closes her eyes, simmering in the growl that tremors through her. Got it. And you'll be okay back there?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎So worried about me, sparrow?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'm always worried about you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I know, his wolfish aura ripples through her. I can read your thoughts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Just make sure you eat and get plenty of sleep? You'll need as much energy as you can get if I need you. Which they will. If Rhimme is who rumours say he is, then she'll certainly want the assistance of her mate.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'll be alright. Ronyn keeps shoving food down my throat while his goddamn wolf keeps demanding to cuddle. Fucking puppy. Morrow exhales, then sends a wave of heat down to her blood. It trickles from her heart straight downwards to her core. Her cheeks immediately flush, and she's glad Thorn faces ahead of him and hasn't stopped to turn back at her. I love you.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I love—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn extends his arm, halting her from taking another step forward. She bumps into his pack on his muscular back, and she can tell by the clenched nature of his jaw that he's picked up on something that she hasn't.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Did you see something?" she whispers, suddenly afraid to make too much noise.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We're being watched." He snaps his head to the right, his greying eyes squinting, studying the misty shadows of the blight-woods. "He knows we're here."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She gulps, studying the landscape around her. Er, if there was much of a landscape to see. The mist remains thick, a shield to any predators watching them from afar. Even the ancient woodlands remain silent, not even a bird singing or cricket chirping, only the eerie haze.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn briefly looks down at the compass, then continues onward. "Let's keep moving."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He begins to take steps forward, his pace quicker, strides longer, causing Elowen to chase after him. "You said we were being watched."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We are, so what do you expect me to do about it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Shouldn't we try to cover our tracks so they can't follow?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He releases a sarcastic ha. "This is Rhimme we're dealing with. Until he decides to strike, there's nothing we can do." He shivers. "But I hate having my fucking hair stick on end like this. Darkness tends to do that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She takes a couple more steps until a skeletal shiver runs up her spine, one so cold that she can feel the bitter ice settling in on her skin. A frosty breeze brushes over her ear, an almost gentle caress, and she swears she hears a man's voice beckoning her deeper into the shadows of the woods. It's tempting, a strange reassurance that the darkness will be okay, despite the nausea in the pit of her stomach.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her bond snaps into place. You good, sparrow?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I'm just fine.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What the fuck was that? he hisses. Your thoughts changed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's nothing. She taps into his mind, his head spiralling with a thousand concerns that she's forced to ease down. We're still making progress.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's unsure of how much time has passed, but she guesses it to be a couple of hours. The light finally starts to fade as the evening takes over, but the goddamn mist refuses to let up. By now, the mist leaves a damp layer on her clothes, another reason for her chills (as if the lingering presence of Rhimme wasn't enough to ice her.)

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn hasn't stopped walking, his pace still like a mountain goat as he jumps over a toppled stone watchtower. It's the first structure she's seen besides a few ill-standing bridges and fences, not that she can see much with the wall of fog surrounding them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We shouldn't be far from the Acropolis," he states, his voice quite monotone. If he holds any fears, he doesn't let them show.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Meanwhile, her nerves are bursting at the seams. "Are you sure we can relight the torch?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grunts. "Well, we can't turn around now."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I know, but," she gnaws at her lip, gazing at the watchtower ruins. There's blight vines weaving up towards the peak, and she swears she catches the skeleton of a decaying ancient through the toppled opening. "But I feel like we're set up to fail."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We are."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She stops walking, stunned at the answer. Only, Thorn keeps going. Through the darkening sky and the heavy-weighted mist, his image only becomes half-clear in her vision.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What do you mean 'we are'? Is there anything we can do to change that?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Nope," he says, finally stopping. He crosses his burly arms as he turns to her. "Now get the hell over here. We can't separate! That's what Rhimme wants."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She begrudgingly saunters forward until she's only two or three steps in his shadow, and together, they continue onward. Though, it never halts the endless questions swirling inside of her, and she no longer gives a crap whether Thorn wants to answer them or not.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What's the Acropolis like?" she asks. The day-gloom keeps fading, and the frigid darkness of night settles in with every passing second.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He hums. "It was a beautiful place back when I was younger. Every ancient was just... just drawn there, but the eternal flame has that kind of impact on us. We're like little moths to that fucking fire," he chuckles as he reminisces old memories, "but only hell knows what kind of state it's in now that Rhimme occupies it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's never heard him speak of the Acropolis until today's travels, not that she ever prodded about the eternal flame's residence. He'd told her that the ancients went there frequently, a site sacred enough that it allowed them to gather without fear. If only she could teleport back to that day when Rhimme invaded Pailon with his darkness, because then she'd know what happened to the flame and the rest of the ancients.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Another hour drones by until they're surrounded in pure twilight. Thorn snaps his fingers, igniting a small spark of ancient fire so he can see. The sight of the fire awakens the hum in her blood, a summon to her to do the same. After a few lazy snaps, a mimicking flame sparks within her palms. Light.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She catches the outlines of Thorn's face, a proud fatherly smile plastered on his cheeks. She can't help but smile in return, only to get cut short by a sharp howl from deep within the woods.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn tenses. "Oh, fuck."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What was that?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Rhimme's sending his old friends to do his dirty work."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She swallows, her silver hues darting within the nightshade. "His what?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Hellhounds."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The word alone stiffens her frozen, the light within her palms snuffing out. Back in Reovell, hellhounds were only spoken in spooky mythical fairytales. Her mother told her that they didn't exist, but she still swore she saw shadows of smokey beasts moving in the corners of their pleasant mountainside home.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen quickly regathers her senses, letting the heat of her light-wiedling abilities warm her up as a faint glow licks at her fingertips.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn takes a cautious step forward, stones crunching beneath his boots.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He stops. "Call Morrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She hardly has a chance to link to Morrow when the world around them blurs in black ether. A four-legged beast mauls into Thorn's side, taking him off guard, and tackling him off the cobblestone road and into the soil. The ancient man jostles with the goliath creature, his hands finding something solid beneath the veil of smoke until light radiates from his palms.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's a hellhound, a beast shrouded in darkness so bleak that no colour or light reflects off its ghoulish fur. She can hardly tell its true form beneath the shadowed ether, but the faint glimmer of its menacing talons grip into Thorn's skin, piercing it enough to draw crimson blood.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her magic heats up in an instant, warmth filling every crevasse in her hands just to seer the darkness away from the ancient man. She sends out a pang of light, the beam zapping against the hellhound as it ripples through its skin. It cries out, whining, allowing Thorn to roll free from beneath.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The hellhound retreats back into the darkness, but not without a large earthquaking howl. The sound nearly petrifies her to stone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn inspects the claw marks on his shoulders, dismissing it with no concern. At the same time, her mind crackles to life, and Morrow's presence consumes her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sparrow, he growls in urgency. His own claws tap into her thoughts, replaying the image of the hellhound attacking Thorn. Are you alright?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not even a scratch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Fucking hellhounds, Morrow hisses. Didn't think they were real, but I've read about them in the library. Don't ever think that they'll be the same as the were and our wolves. They're a whole different breed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not the same as the were. Perfect. The were aren't exactly friendly at first glance either.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Outside of her thoughts, Thorn curses under his breath. "We gotta move, kid!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn runs ahead down the pathway, not even bothering to check if she can keep up. Sweat drips down her skin as she sprints behind him, flapping her wings just to get a taste of the breeze to aid her. In the distance, another howl ruptures the silence, a deadly call that sends shivers through her. Again, she swears she hears a voice beckoning her into the shadows, a brief promise of safety that it could provide.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Don't give in, sparrow, Morrow warns. His voice seems to sober her attention.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We should be close!" Thorn yells. "Another hour if we—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A screech ends his voice as a hellhound mauls into Thorn once more, toppling him down to the ground as a talon digs into his hip bone. It's the last she sees as black ether swirls between them, shrouding most of Thorn's body in shadowed mist. All she can hear is him, followed by the sound of tearing flesh.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Elowen!" Thorn's voice calls for her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎You need to do something! Morrow hisses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen screams back, her magic igniting like a supernova. She raises her fist into the air, tendrils of light leaching towards the beast, strangling its body in beaming ropes. Elowen wraps her fists around those ropes, tugging them tighter until the hellhound is knotted in agony. The beast growls under the captivity of Elowen's light, a light that fleets under the clouds of smoke.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tighter!

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She listens to her mate, her palms growing raw from the ropes of light.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sparrow!

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The strain takes its toll on her, and the ropes snap into nothingness. Her magic fleets, and she forces the hum of her ancient abilities back into her hands, but it remains nothing more than a spark.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Its then she catches Thorn erect a spear of light from dust, shoving the weapon deep into the hellhound's chest. It howls, raising its grotesque head to hell's clouds before dissolving into ashes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Thorn rushes to his feet, taking her hand in his own and pulling her down the road. "Move! We're close. Just a few more miles and we'll be there."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen tries to bring back her magic, but it fails to answer her call. Her blood remains quiet, almost docile to the darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My magic isn't working," she pants. It's not—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow cuts her short. ELOWEN. BEHIND YOU.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A hellhound bites into her wing, dragging her body down to the muddied soil as claws tear into white feathers. She wails, the sound of a knife in the silence as she grits her nails into the hellhound's coat. Blood pools from the opening wound. Her wings flap with fury, the ferocious sound of slapping feathers against the hellhound's skin drowning out her own petrified voice. Elowen attempts to spark her fingers, to draw some sort of light from deep within her to stun her captor.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Instead, the hellhound rips, talons digging into the base of her wing and pulling.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎SPARROW.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's the last she hears before her mind-link ruptures, a snap that rattles her entire body. The vessel that beats inside her chest breaks, her heart ceasing for a bleak moment in time. A new hollowness forms; hollow, yet it feels like a heavy burden. Morrow's wolf vanishes from her. Gone, like dust in the wind. She wants to deny the truth. He has to be there. He must, but the darkness tampers with her and her magic. Now? Now she's alone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow? she calls down the bond.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's nothing there, not even a thread of their tether to salvage.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Another tug of claws against her wing brings her back to reality. Every breath she breathes contains the ether of the hellhound, a poison that makes her head spin. Her silver hues search for signs of Thorn's light, just a flicker of magic, but she's surrounded by pure deceit. Not even his voice seems to reach her ears.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"THORN!" she cries.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎An ominous chuckle brushes past her ear, the tone low, almost humouring her. The last she feels is the warm caress of a man's breath that sends pebbles down her skin.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I've been expecting you."

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first of all, merry christmas! my gift to you this year is actually finishing a chapter in a week so i'm super proud of myself. hopefully i can get the next one written quicker to! there's only 6 or 7 more chapters left after this one (probably) so the end is near!

also, we're in pailon! and it's foggy as hell. but all the spookiest stories happen in the fog! but also, i was seriously imagining it to be like, scooby-doo fog. send your prayers and wishes to poor elowen who is officially seperated from thorn and has a broken tether to morrow.

ivy <3