Chapter Five – The Chase
The trees closed in around her like old friends. The earth was damp and wild beneath her paws as Eira raced through the woods, her white fur streaking like light across the darkness. She kept low, weaving through bramble and root, skimming past moon-drenched ferns and fallen logs.
She didn’t know where she was going.
She only knew she had to keep moving.
Voices rose in the distance. Shouts. Snarls. Footsteps crashing through undergrowth. The patrols had discovered her absence.
Eira veered off the path, chest heaving with effort, paws slicing through soft moss and sharp stone. Pain bloomed in her limbs, but she pushed harder.
They would scent her if she slowed. They would catch her if she stopped.
She passed an old creekbed, then leapt over a shallow ravine, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Her ears pinned back. Her breath came in sharp pants.
Another howl echoed through the trees behind her.
Closer.
She dove into a thicket and froze, crouched low in the mud. A pair of guards passed by just yards away, their wolven forms massive and snarling. One of them paused—sniffed the air.
Eira held her breath.
Then they moved on.
She didn’t wait. She ran again, using the chaos of her scent trail crisscrossing over itself to buy time. Her legs burned. Her lungs ached.
When she finally stumbled into a river, she collapsed against the water’s edge and let herself roll into the current, submerging her body to the neck.
The cold was a shock—but it masked her scent instantly.
She waded through it, teeth bared, until the current slowed. Then she dragged herself out onto the opposite bank, trembling, soaked, and near collapse.
There was no strength left.
She curled beneath a large overhang of twisted roots near the riverbank, the moss damp beneath her body. Her heartbeat slowed. Her breathing steadied.
And for the first time in her life—no one knew where she was.
Sleep took her like a storm.
When she woke, her body was no longer furred and feral. The wolf, exhausted, had seeded control back to her human form.
Eira lay naked on the damp moss, limbs curled tight against the morning chill. Her skin was pale and goose-pimpled, water still clinging to her from the night before. A shiver tore through her as she sat up slowly, arms wrapping around her chest.
She had nothing—no clothes, no food, no sense of direction. Just a pounding ache in her muscles and the taste of freedom in her mouth.
A branch snapped.
She spun, scrambling behind a nearby tree, heart slamming against her ribs.
A figure emerged from the trees—a tall man with a traveler’s satchel slung across his back and a hood pulled low over his face. He paused when he saw the blur of movement.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said calmly, his voice low, worn from the road.
Eira didn’t answer.
The man slowly removed his cloak and held it out in her direction without stepping forward. “You look like you could use this more than I can.”
She hesitated. Then, cautiously, reached out and snatched the fabric from his extended hand, retreating behind the tree again to wrap it tightly around her shivering form.
He turned slightly, giving her his back in a gesture of trust.
“I’m just passing through,” he said. “But if you need help... I’ll stay a little longer.”
Eira said nothing.
But her grip on the cloak tightened.
And for the first time since she ran, she didn’t feel completely alone.
The traveler crouched by the riverbank, collecting dry twigs and moss from beneath a nearby tree. Eira stayed close to the shadows, the cloak clutched around her body, watching him with cautious eyes.
He struck a flint, and soon a small fire crackled between them, the warmth leeching the damp from her bones. The heat was intoxicating. Her fingers crept closer to the flames as she inched her way out from behind the tree.
Without a word, he pulled a hunk of bread from his satchel and handed it to her, along with a tin flask of water. She hesitated, then took both with a nod, murmuring a soft, rasped, "Thank you."
He sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire, not staring, not prying. Just giving her space.
After a while, he spoke again. "There’s a village not far from here. Small. Quiet. You’d be safe there—at least for a little while. I can take you if you’d like."
Eira looked up, lips parted.
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She hadn’t thought past the forest, the river, the escape. But the mention of safety—a place where she wouldn’t be recognized, where no one would bow or bind her—felt like a rope thrown to a drowning girl.
She gave a small, unsure nod.
"Alright," he said simply, tossing another stick into the fire. "We’ll move when you’re ready."
They set out at dawn, the fire smothered and the forest still damp with dew. Eira walked beside the traveler, the borrowed cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders, the hood low over her face. Her feet were bare, each step sharp against the dirt and stone, but she said nothing. The pain kept her grounded.
They spoke little. He led her along winding forest paths and through meadows overgrown with wildflowers, always keeping an easy pace.
By midday, the trees thinned, and the distant shapes of wooden rooftops appeared over the ridge.
The village.
As they entered, heads turned. Children playing near the well stopped to stare. A stable boy froze mid-shovel. Eira could feel the weight of their gazes—on her tangled hair, her filthy skin, her naked feet caked in mud. She looked like something wild that had crawled out of the forest.
A beautiful, feral mess.
The traveler said nothing, only placed a steady hand at her back and guided her toward a warm-lit building with familiar red lanterns swaying from the eaves.
A brothel.
The air smelled like perfume and sin, but it was shelter.
The madam saw them as they stepped inside and raised a brow.
“She needs a bath, a meal, and a bed,” the traveler said. “No one touches her.”
The madam studied Eira for a moment before nodding. “Come with me, darling.”
Eira followed, silent.
And for now, safe.