chapter 6:Tracks in the Ash
751 Words
The wind pressed again, harder this time.
Only this time it brought something with it.
Ronan’s head tilted slightly—instinct, not thought. A note under the normal forest sounds. The faintest crunch. Too measured for a stray branch falling, too deliberate for a scavenger sniffing for scraps.
Sylra noticed the change in his posture.
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer. He was listening. Hard.
His wolf used to make this easy—separating layers of sound, scent, movement. But now, the curse left everything muffled, like hearing through water.
Still… something was there.
“Outside,” he said finally.
Sylra moved instantly. No hesitation, no demand for proof. She was already on her feet, one hand slipping behind her back. When it came forward again, there was a blade in it. Not a hunting knife—too long for that, too balanced for chopping wood.
It was a fighter’s blade.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “You carry steel like that through Hollowfang territory?”
She didn’t look at him. “I carry steel like this through any territory.”
The crunch came again. Closer. Just beyond the half-collapsed doorway, in the drifted snow.
Sylra’s gaze flicked once to him. “Stay.”
He almost laughed. “Not a chance.”
“You can barely stand.”
He pushed himself upright anyway, using the wall for balance. His muscles screamed, his wound pulled tight, but he ignored all of it. “If it’s Castor’s men, they’ll smell me before they see me.”
Her head tilted just slightly. “Then maybe you should let me deal with it.”
He opened his mouth to argue—but froze.
A shadow slipped across the narrow shaft of light near the door.
Neither of them moved.
Ronan’s hand found the short dagger lying near the firepit, its hilt cracked from age. It was a poor excuse for a weapon, but it was better than bare hands.
The shape outside paused.
Snow shifted again, and this time a low, wet snuffling reached his ears. Not human. Too heavy in the chest, too wet in the breath.
His eyes met hers.
Direhound.
Sylra’s blade angled slightly lower. “Not alone,” she murmured.
He caught it too—another set of paws, lighter, circling. The curse made the sound fuzzy, but his gut still mapped the movement.
Ronan stepped forward, ignoring her hissed warning. “If it’s hunting, it’s already picked up our trail.”
“Then we make it regret that.”
The first hound’s head pushed into view, a slick black muzzle dusted with frost. Its eyes caught the firelight—pale, almost colorless, the way all the cursed things in Hollowfang looked.
It sniffed the air once. Then growled.
Ronan didn’t wait for it to leap. He moved.
Not as fast as he used to. Not as fluid. But fast enough to meet the beast halfway, his dagger catching the creature’s flank as it lunged through the doorway.
Pain lanced through his side as he twisted, forcing the hound to the ground. Its claws scrabbled against the stone, hot breath blasting against his neck.
Sylra was already there. Her blade flashed once, clean, across its throat.
The hound went still.
Ronan staggered back against the wall, breathing hard. Another shape appeared in the doorway—the second hound, smaller but quicker.
Sylra didn’t wait this time. She moved to meet it, feet silent on the frozen stone, and when it lunged, she stepped aside and drove her blade straight up beneath its jaw.
The body collapsed in a heap of dark fur.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the fire popping.
Then Sylra kicked the nearest carcass toward the doorway. “Drag them outside before they thaw.”
Ronan smirked faintly despite the ache in every muscle. “You give all your patients this kind of bedside care?”
“Only the ones who might survive the night.”
The words should have been cold. But there was something in the way she said them that felt like an unspoken admission.
She sheathed her blade, knelt by the smaller hound, and began checking its fur and claws like she was confirming something.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Marks,” she said without glancing up. “Collars. Branding.”
“Why?”
“Because if these belong to Castor…” She trailed off. “Then you’ve got less time than you think.”
- Writer
