Forsaken by the one person who was supposed to love her unconditionally, Red must brave the magic and monsters of the Wylds to find her true place in the world.
*****
Plague...
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I strode away from the graveyard of orchids and bones, splattered in green blood that stung in my scratches and cuts. The absence of the canteen was a phantom weight at my side, constantly drawing my thoughts back to the Orchid Mantis' last moments. It had been a horrible death, full of pain and suffering, but it had been swift; alarmingly swift, considering the size of the magnificent creature. I supposed she could have choked to death on her own blood, after the shards of metal nicked an artery on their way down, but that didn't account for the foam at the corners of her mouth, nor the efficiency of the process.
No, the only answer that made sense was the medicine that sloshed down her throat. It was entirely possible that my version of Harry's tonic was too potent; I hadn't known the exact proportions of each herb to put in, and they had certainly steeped for too long before boiling in the residual heat of the wildfire. But still, that line of inquiry dredged up a memory: the sharp, angular petals of a pressed flower, crushed to a fine powder with a mortar and pestle...
All thoughts of death fled my mind when I saw my companions huddling together, alive if not well. The Wraith could not bring himself to meet my eyes, but there was normality to be found in the Kirin foal, at least, who was thankfully unharmed. And still eating. I shook my head in wonder and a little jealousy, wishing there was something edible for me to gorge on. I was famished, despite being splattered in stomach-turning gore from head to toe.
I imagined Lady Midnight felt the same way. There were dark bruises beneath her speckled eyes, but they were open as the night sky, quietly assessing me. And she was standing, clutching her injured shoulder with a grimace, though she refused to lean on the Wraith's shoulder for support. Or stand anywhere near him, for that matter.
"I owe you a life debt," the wyvern ground out. She tried to pass off her pained expression as anger, but I knew how much blood she'd lost, how perilous her recovery had been up until now. She wasn't out of the woods yet - literally.
"Technically you owe me two," I said with a wry smile. The movement made a split in my lip sting. "I seem to recall helping you out of a sticky situation on the plains."
Her eyes narrowed, possibly at the memory of the wooden spikes in her side, but I was willing to bet it was in response to my pun. "I suppose killing you will have to wait," she muttered.
I chuckled. "Yes, I'd appreciate a rain check on that."
Though a little part of me warmed at the thought of another face off with the winged beast lurking beneath her skin. I'd had my fair share of epic battles over the last few days, and though I couldn't say any of them had been fun, there was something alluring about the frenzied dance of action and reaction, every move of which had to be executed perfectly in order to survive against the odds. It was in those moments I felt well and truly alive, something I had never experienced with the Blood Moon Pack.
