Dry leaves crackle under Solma’s blade foot. She winces at the noise and casts a furtive glance back, checking to make sure they aren’t being followed. Now that they’re doing this, she’s acutely aware of what might happen if they get caught. Bell’s warnings ring in her ears and Solma grips the hilt of her hunting knife. She really wishes she had a pistol.
Warren and Taipan have no such qualms. They skip ahead, chattering. Solma tugs her knife free of its sheath. Her eyes scan the unfamiliar terrain, suspecting every shadow. Forests have never been safe places, as far as she’s concerned. She remembers the giant boar from nearly four years ago, raging and screaming as he mangled her leg beyond repair …
She shudders and shakes the image away.
“Warren,” she whispers. No response. “Warren!”
