Chapter 27
The werewolves continued their pursuit as Iellieth and Marcon sprinted toward the mountains. They darted in and out of trees and over ridges, climbing higher into the Frostmaws.
Iellieth collapsed shortly before dusk. Orange light glinted through the trees, on the verge of fading to crimson before it disappeared and left them alone in the darkness. She clutched the cramp in her side, on her knees in the grass. “Marcon”—she panted—“I can’t.” Each breath was agony, and the muscles in her legs burned.
Marcon breathed heavily beside her but remained standing straight. “Take a moment, lady. I’ll check our perimeter.” He walked to the end of the ridge, shield at his side, to search the trees below for their pursuers.
“I don’t see them,” he said as he returned, “but we cannot linge
