Sasha only just managed not to fall off her horse as it scrambled, terrified, through the underbrush. She held on for dear life as twigs and branches of trees scratched across her face and raked the horse's sides, threatening to send her tumbling to the ground.

The sounds of shouting and of Rannok calling her name filtered up through the treeline, but she knew far better than to stop. Instead she gave Chesnut's sides a kick and spurred him forward to a spot of rock that was a little less precarious than the others. Sasha held on as he heaved himself up, then breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the clatter of cobblestones under the horses' feet.

She had to move on, then. She had to leave the village and find her way somewhere safe. Not that there was any safe place in the mountains, but now Rannok was gone and that would make things easier. People would question less when she came into their towns and asked to stay at their inns. They wouldn't brush her off with a snort when she asked about work. They wouldn't pretend they'd never heard her ask to begin with.

Anger boiled below her skin again, fresh and hot, like an opened wound. She never should have trusted him. Her legs tensed around her horse and her teeth bit into her lip as an icy gust blew down the road. They must be in a ravine, then. They could ride a few miles and then find a place to camp. It would be much easier without Rannok spooking at the horses, and for once she'd get to sleep a full night without him waking her up. 

Her heart hammered in her chest as she eased the horses forward, hands squeezing so hard on Patches' lead rope that her nails dug into her palm. He couldn't do this to her, disappear like this, without so much as a warning. He couldn't leave her alone in the woods without anyone to lean on.

Sasha reached up with her free hand and wiped the water from her eyes. It was done. He was gone. He wasn't coming back. Who knew what was even going to happen to him at this rate? She had no idea what the punishment for stealing was out here, and she didn't really want to know, either.

The road narrowed, then changed from cobbles to dirt as the sky grew darker and the thoughts raced around inside Sasha's head. It was hard to see anything in the inky blackness, let alone tell if she was moving away from the tiny mountain village, or back towards it. It didn't really matter either way, because she had nowhere to go to. One of the horses whuffled and she patted Chesnut's neck to reassure him, a gesture that didn't make her tremble any less.

They moved on in silence after that, along the winding road until it gave out, then up into the woods, where no one would ever find her and the horses. Where no one would even think to search, not even Rannok. By the time she'd stopped her legs ached so badly she nearly fell dismounting from the horses. She tied them and opened up the saddlebags, praying that the guards hadn't taken all her supplies in addition to her money.

She lifted out the tentpoles, struggling in the dark to make sense of what else was in the bag. Her hands made contact with a few scraps of fabric and she lifted them out. They'd left the blankets then, and their changes of clothes. When she reached into the bag again, her hands met only leather.

Gone were the coffeepots and the coffee and her fishing kit. Gone was all her money. Gone was the hunting knife they'd used to lovingly craft sticks into something that looked like shelter, or a spear the times they'd needed one. 

Sasha's legs went wobbly. She leaned her back against a tree and pressed it to her mouth, willing herself not to cry. Something red and shiny reflected off the blanket in the moonlight. She reached out and grabbed it, letting the gossamer texture flow over her fingers.

It was a feather. She wheezed a breath out of her throat. It came out as a keening noise. He wouldn't find her out here, even if he looked. He probably wouldn't even look to begin with. He'd have to free himself first, and she wasn't even there to help.

He'd left her. Even if it wasn't his fault, he'd left her. He'd told her she was important and soothed the terrors that came at night and held her hand when she was frightened, and then he'd left her. She thought back to the police cart, when she'd dared him to. When he'd threatened to leave at the next port, to part ways and not turn back.

She'd dared him to do it. She'd dared him to take off. She couldn't believe how fucking stupid that statement was, and now she couldn't even do anything to take it back. Now she was never going to see him again. A crack of thunder split the sky. Sasha glanced around for a moment before remembering that no one was there to lose their head over it.

She sank down to the ground. It was wet and cold and dirty, but she didn't care. She left the tentpoles abandoned in their heap, they didn't matter anyway. She was stupid, so very stupid, so very shortsighted and needy and now she was alone and it was all her fault. She never should have pushed him. She never should have demanded they stay in an inn to begin with. 

She clutched the blanket to her chest and let the tears come, hot and angry and desolate. He wasn't coming back. There was nothing she could do about it. It was so all-consuming that she barely paid attention when she felt something poke at the edge of her consciousness.

Well, thinking like that, you will certainly never see him again.

Sasha sniffled and whipped her head up, searching for the sound of the voice that had echoed behind her eyes. She knew that voice. She wasn't certain she would ever forget it.

On Patches's saddle horn sat a black and white crow, its beady, yellow eye fixated on her.