me gone in the morning, that I had been grateful to them.
I slept a little, but I was so nervous for the day ahead that I was up before the sun broke the horizon. I slipped through Hill o’ Hope before the roosters woke everyone up. I held on to my magic like a child holding a parent’s hand tightly in the marketplace, terrified of being lost to the wildness of the mountains.
The morning air was chilly, but as the sun rose and filtered through the trees, I grew warm in the humid environment of the forest. I had to take off my jacket. With no one around, the fact that the trousers were beyond indecent on me wouldn’t matter.
Stopping at midday for a quick snack and some water, I mulled over Brint’s words of warning. He’d told me the next town up from theirs was full of good people. However, I decided I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d been lucky with Brint and his townsmen and women. Remembering how badly things had gone in the past, I wasn’t going to press that luck. Instead, I stayed on the outskirts of the town, keeping to the trees and treading slowly and quietly so as not to draw any attention.
Through the trees, a town, smaller than Hill o’ Hope, flashed in and out of view. Children helped their parents milk cows, sort out wool being clipped from sheep, and collect eggs from hens. They worked in tandem, a machine of teamwork, just like Hill o’ Hope.
By late afternoon, I was exhausted. My shirt was soaked with sweat underneath my waistcoat and my feet were in searing pain from the blisters populating my soles, toes, and heels. If I kept walking, I didn’t feel it so much. But then I’d make the mistake of stopping for water, and when I moved to walk again, the agony would start over tenfold.
I pushed on through the night until my eyes began to droop. At the sight of a tree with a large root curling around the soil like an arm, I took off my pack and slumped down behind it, hidden from view. Every muscle in my body screamed. The pain in my feet made me whimper. I shook my head in disgust. When had I become this soft, genteel creature who couldn’t withstand a little exertion? I felt miserable and incompetent.
When I’d lived on the farm, I could run for miles without stopping. I could climb trees like a trapeze artist, walk and climb and walk some more and never want to stop. Living outdoors had been second nature. Now I was pampered and useless, and everything my parents had abhorred. I thought of Wolfe and had to hold back frustrated tears. I just kept betraying them over and over again.
Even angrier at myself for being pitiful and maudlin, I exhaled and looked at the little bed I’d made for the night. A large spider with spindly brown legs crawled slowly up from the soil onto my leg. It tickled through the fabric of my trousers. Gently, I leaned over and scooped up the spider, putting it down on the ground behind me so it could scuttle off and not get squashed beneath me as I slept.
Watching it, I was reminded of my little brother. He hated spiders, was terrified of them—said he didn’t trust their fast little legs. It was the only thing he ever squealed at, and I knew to come running to rescue not only him but the poor spider from his fear. Despite the spider, he would have loved this, I thought, gazing up through the thick branches of the Arans above me, hardly able to see even a drop of sky. He would’ve thought this was quite the adventure.
I dug through my pack and pulled out my dagger, clutching it in comfort as I waited for exhaustion to give in to the inevitable. Somehow I did drop off to sleep, fatigue tugging me under despite my nervousness about being alone in the mountains.
My neck tingled, the feeling turning to something sharp enough to pull me out of semiconsciousness. I groaned and slapped my hand to the spot and pulled away a huge centipede, its legs clambering frantically as it dangled between my fingers. I yelped under my breath and threw it away, shuddering as I touched my neck to make sure there was nothing else there. I winced. The damn thing had bitten me!
I jumped to my feet,