Metanoia

Chapter Three

The third day brought rain, a relentless downpour that soaked Nael to the bone. His cloak clung heavy and cold to his shoulders, and the muddy ground sucked at Pepper’s hooves with every step. Pepper plodded on, but even it seemed exhausted, its breath coming in hard puffs of steam.

Nael was no exception. From the first night of his journey, he could not find it in himself to rest, and the constant dampness did not offer any comfort. His eyes burned from fatigue, and his limbs ached after hours spent in the saddle.

He pushed on, though, despite his discomfort; jaw clenched. Thea would kill him if he gave up now.

The trail led onto a steep upslope, slick with rain and lined with crags. Nael dismounted and led Pepper by the reins as they began their climb. His boots slid on the wet ground more times than he could count, and he caught himself on the sharp edges of the rocks, scraping his hands raw. The air grew thinner as they ascended, and the sound of the wind howling through the cliffs set his nerves on edge.

When they finally reached the top, Nael paused to catch what little breath he had, his chest heaving. The view would have been breathtaking under different circumstances—a vast expanse of forest, faint hints of mist covering the distant hills with gray. But he had no time to admire it. The path ahead of them swerved sharply to the ground, tapering off into a precarious ledge that hugged the cliffside.

Nael swallowed through the lump in his throat, his grip on the reins.

“It’s okay,” he whispered to Pepper, though the words sounded more like a reassurance to himself.

They started their way down, each step a gamble. The ledge they stood on barely accommodated them both, and the drop to their left was dizzying. Nael’s heart pounded in his ears as he carefully guided Pepper forward; one step wrong, and they would both be lost to the chasm.

Hours later, the forest engulfed them once more. The dense trees were a welcome change of scenery from the exposed cliffs, but the relief was short-lived. The deeper they ventured, the darker it grew, and the air grew stifling with… something. The usual sounds of nature—birds singing, leaves rustling—had disappeared, leaving behind an oppressive silence.

Nael could feel himself grow more anxious with each step forward.

Instead, he forced himself to concentrate on other things. Food was running low, and the incessant rain had spoiled what little bread he had left. The next stream he crossed, he stopped to fill his waterskin, though he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder as he crouched by the bank.

By the sixth day, he'd been completely spread thin. His hands trembled as he tightened Pepper’s saddle, and his vision blurred from lack of sleep. The rain had stopped, yet the air still had that muggy and freezing feel to it, clinging to him on top of his damp clothes.

He managed to find a small clearing just before nightfall, deciding it would have to be for camp. The ground was uneven, and the trees overhead blocked most of the sky, but at least it offered some shelter. Nael built a fire with trembling hands, his movements slow and clumsy.

He discovered that he had a talent for starting fires with just a rock, so at least he has that going for him.

As the flames sparked to life, he leaned his head back against a fallen log, sighing. His whole body was throbbing with pain, and his thoughts were jumbled from exhaustion.

He had never felt so alone.

The path was almost unrecognizable now, barely more than a suggestion winding through overgrown underbrush. Nael guided Pepper carefully through the foliage and thick running roots, scanning the forest for signs of danger.

Then he heard it—a quiet, pained sound, almost like a whimper.

Nael stopped in his tracks, his hands clenching around the reins. He listened intently, his head craned to where he heard it come from. The sound came again, weaker this time, from somewhere off the trail.

Curiosity and caution warred within him. Straying from the path was a risk, especially in a forest as strange as this one, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the sound.

“Stay here,” he murmured to Pepper, who had taken the opportunity to feed on some grass nearby.

Drawing his sword, he pushed his way cautiously into the underbrush, parting branches and leaves as he moved, following the sound, and eventually, he came upon the source.

Hidden beneath the grass was a creature caught in an iron trap, one of its legs ensnared. It resembled that of a fox, but its coat was an unusual shade of silver that glimmered faintly under the light. Its stark, violet eyes zeroed in on Nael as soon as he approached, pained and wary.

Nael sank to its level, moving slowly. “Easy,” he whispered, sheathing his sword. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The fox grew low in its throat, its teeth bared, but it didn’t try to move. Couldn’t. The trap had done its work well, and the creature’s leg was all mangled and bloody within its confines.

Nael studied it carefully, his brow furrowing. It was simple but cruel, designed to snap shut with brutal force. He reached for the mechanism, only to have the fox snap its jaws at him in warning.

“Fine,” Nael said, sitting back on his heels. “If you want to bleed out here, then that’s your choice.”

The fox’s ears flattened against its head, and it let out a frustrated huff at Nael.

“Thought so.”

He worked quickly, prying the trap open with careful precision. The fox flinched as the metal released its hold, but it didn’t make a sound. Removing the trap, Nael got on his knees to examine the creature’s injured leg.

‘It’s bad, but not irreparable,’ he thought.

“You’re lucky I stopped,” Nael murmured, tearing a piece of cloth from his sleeve. “That thing would’ve taken your leg clean off if I hadn’t.”

The fox watched him closely as he wrapped the wound with the fabric, its bright eyes unflinching. Something was unsettling about the way it stared, almost as if it were studying him in return.

“There,” Nael said once he’d finished. “Not perfect, but it’ll hold.”

He stood, brushing his hands off. “You’re on your own now, though. I’ve got my own problems to take care of.”

Nael turned to leave, but then he heard a faint rustle sound behind him. He looked back to see the fox struggling to catch up to him.

“Oh, no, bad fox.” He held out his hand. “Stay.”

His response came in a small nose twitch.

“You’ll only slow me down,” he said, but it lacked any real conviction as he stared at its violet eyes. The forest was no place for an injured animal, and leaving it behind felt… wrong.

The fox sat down, its gaze unwavering.

Nael sighed after a while, relenting. “Fine. But don’t expect me to carry you.”

The fox’s tail flicked, almost as if in triumph, and it limped after him as he returned to the trail.

By the time they reached camp that evening, Nael had resigned himself to his new traveling companion. The fox settled by the fire without hesitation, curling into a tight ball and watching Nael with those unnervingly intelligent eyes.

“You’re quite strange, aren’t you?” Nael said, leaning back against his saddle.

The fox blinked but offered no answer.

“Figures,” he muttered, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. “Everything else about this journey has been strange. Why not you too?”

The fox let out a soft huff, its tail nestling over its nose.

Nael sighed, curling up, and though he could barely keep his eyes open, he couldn’t shake off the thought that something about the creature felt… off. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't have the energy to worry about it any longer as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

The fever struck, without warning, sometime in the night as he slept.

He didn’t know how much time he spent lying there, lost in the haze of his fever. Shapes danced along the edges of his vision, shadows twisting into faces with sneers and laugh lines. His skin was damp with sweat, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Through the fog, he felt something cool against his forehead—a pressure strange and yet comforting. Fingers.

Nael’s eyes fluttered open, his vision swimming in and out. For a moment, he thought he saw someone leaning over him, their face obscured by his daze.

“...Thea?” he croaked, his voice a rasp.

The figure didn’t answer.

His eyes finally focused, catching a flash of something odd—eyes, impossibly vivid, like shards of violet glass shimmering in the dark. They bore into him, filled with an intensity that pierced through his delirium.

A hand brushed through his hair soothingly, and the sensation lulled him toward unconsciousness. He blinked slowly, his heavy lids closing over fevered eyes.

Before sleep claimed him once more, his last thought was a fleeting one: the fox’s eyes had been violet too.

Then, darkness.