《Thorned Moon》

Chapter 7: The Apple and the Knight

A sharp burning pain on her arm jolted Elowen awake. In the oppressive darkness of the barrel, her memories blurred, and she couldn't tell how much time had passed. She groped around, fingertips brushing against the wooden surface, while muffled bird songs and insect chirps seeped in from the tiny ventilation hole. Through it, she glimpsed a spider diligently repairing its broken web among tangled branches. The forest, once disturbed by her fall, had resumed its tranquil rhythm.

"Wu Jing?" Elowen called out softly, but there was no response.

Panic clawed at her chest. Maybe the great white goose had finally abandoned her. Unlike her, Wu Jing could always return to the goddess's embrace. Only Elowen, cursed to wander without roots, feared solitude.

The sting on her arm yanked her back. She reached under her sleeve and found the familiar mark: the rose-shaped scar inked into her skin by Amber herself. Years ago, when Elowen had been bitten by a terrified hound, the wound refused to heal. Amber had used the thorns of a blood rose, dipped in potion, to seal the cursed bite with a thorny tattoo, hiding it from prying eyes.

Now, tracing the delicate, raised petals beneath her fingertips, she remembered Amber's words: "You are special. Never forget who you are."

Summoning her courage, Elowen withdrew a tiny flask from around her neck—the last sip of golden Witch's Fire. She whispered a prayer into the darkness and drank.

Almost instantly, warmth flooded her veins. Her tongue glowed faintly, just enough for her to spot a fissure at the barrel's base—a tiny, overlooked crack! Heart pounding, she kicked with all her might.

Light burst through the splintered wood.

Elowen tumbled out into a riot of leaves and sunshine, landing amid the sturdy limbs of an enormous apple tree. Juicy, red fruits jostled around her, and sweet dew moistened her lips. For a blissful moment, Elowen marveled at her miraculous escape—until a loud snap warned her that the branch she clung to was giving way.

She braced for another fall but instead landed safely in someone's arms.

Startled, she found herself face-to-face with a young man clad in dazzling silver armor. Golden curls stuck damply to his forehead, and his clear green eyes glinted like sunlight through olive leaves. His smile was radiant, if somewhat sheepish.

"A wishing tree indeed," he laughed, carefully setting her down.

Elowen's heart thudded painfully against her ribs. She recognized the twin gemstones on the hilt at his waist—one blue, one green—marking the wielder as a Silver Knight of the Church.

Before she could react, another thud landed nearby: Wu Jing, flapping indignantly, crashing down like a snowball.

The knight gaped. "Now if only it had been a roast goose," he teased lightly, still smiling.

Elowen clutched Wu Jing protectively. Her mind raced. Silver Knights were famed for hunting witches—but also known for their strict codes of honor. She needed to act fast.

Thinking quickly, Elowen plastered on a weak smile and, in heavily accented Common Tongue, croaked, "Herbal remedies! Good for broken bones, bleeding wounds… Great bargain!"

It was a desperate bluff.

To her relief, the knight didn't seem suspicious. He introduced himself as Musha Holzdroger, newly knighted at seventeen, full of boyish enthusiasm beneath his intimidating armor. Apologetically, he explained that he had injured his arm — "perhaps from the falling…cargo?"

Elowen flushed. She hugged her medicine box closer and muttered another apology through her feigned accent.

Musha chuckled warmly. He knelt, offering his bare forearm. Beneath the rolled-up sleeve, his skin was pale but firm, strong yet unscarred. A boy raised for battle, yet still untouched by it.

Elowen hesitated. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, but she recalled Amber's teachings: when trapped, play your role well. In this deadly "game of wolves and witches," one must hide their "witch card" skillfully.

Carefully, she rummaged through her medicine box and produced a cooling salve. As she dabbed it onto his arm, Musha watched her with wide, fascinated eyes.

"You fell from the sky," he said, half in wonder, half in jest. "And brought a goose with you."

Elowen bit back a laugh. She realized then: perhaps fate wasn't mocking her, but merely offering her a new hand to play.

Above them, the apple tree's branches swayed gently, showering them with golden sunlight. And in the knight's boyish grin, Elowen glimpsed a fragile, fleeting hope—a promise that even fugitives might find moments of grace.