*Rory*
The forest swallows sound. Only the wind moves, brushing the treetops and rattling leaves, and the only light is from the moon and stars. I’m thankful for the bright full moon as I press forward, my eyes scanning every track, every broken branch. Cait’s out here, somewhere.
If Cait had died on that field, I’d know. I’ve looked at every face, every broken body left behind when the fighting stopped. I searched through every blood-soaked and torn tartan. I looked under every shattered shield, lifted limbs and turned over corpses until my hands shook. And she wasn’t there. She’s not among the dead. I’d feel it if she were. Something in me would break beyond repair. No, she’s alive. She has to be.
If she isn’t dead, then she’s been taken, and there’s only one man who would dare. Lach
