Addison's Arc

Chapter 4 of 6

Addison ran until the trees thinned and the sound of water cut through her ragged breathing. A small waterfall spilled down a stack of mossy rocks into a shallow pool. She slid behind the stone face, out of sight, and pressed her back to the wet rock. Her shoulder was soaked red. Her legs were shaking. She had minutes, maybe less. She dug the last of the crushed herbs from her torn pocket. The green clump was small now, barely a pinch. She wet it in the cold spray and packed it hard into the gash on her shoulder. Pain flared white behind her eyes. She bit down on her sleeve and held the pressure, counting breaths. The bleeding slowed. It did not stop. The herbs were not enough for a wound this deep, and she had nothing left to ration. She pushed off the rock and moved. But she had been still too long, and her body had paid the price in slow red drops. Behind her, along the stones, along the moss, along the bent grass where she had crawled, a thin scatter of crimson marked every step she had taken. She saw it the moment she turned. Her own trail, painted bright against the green. A boot crunched gravel on the far side of the pool. The hunter stepped out from the trees, blade low, eyes already fixed on her. There was nowhere left to run. He had followed the blood straight to her, and now the small clearing held only the two of them and the falling water.