Kael Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Kael packed before dawn and walked north until the pines thinned into scrub. He set his camp near a spring on the second night, three days into the Thicket. He had a small fire going and a rabbit on a spit when he heard something crash through the brush. A man staggered into the firelight and fell on his knees. His shirt was torn open across the ribs. Four deep cuts ran from his shoulder to his hip. Kael counted the marks. Four claws, spaced wide. The gap between them told him the paw was bigger than his own hand. Kael dragged the man closer to the fire and cut the shirt away. The wounds pumped in time with the man's heart. Kael pressed both palms down hard and shouted at him to stay awake. The traveler's eyes rolled. Kael grabbed his pack and dumped it out. He had needle, gut thread, a flask of spirits, and the pouch his grandmother had pushed into his hand at the door. Dried yarrow. Powdered root he did not know. He had laughed at it then. He tore the pouch open now. He packed the yarrow into the deepest cut and poured the spirits over the rest. The man screamed and came awake. Kael threaded the needle and started stitching, top wound first, fast and rough. Blood ran over his fingers. He worked through the second cut, then the third. The man's breathing steadied a notch. Kael asked him what he saw. The traveler's jaw moved. Nothing came out. Kael slapped his cheek and asked again. "Cat," the man said. "Big as a horse. Six toes on the front." His hand crept up and gripped Kael's wrist. "It watched me first. Sat and watched. Then it moved." He coughed and blood came up. "There's a ruin. Stone towers. Vines all through them. Old writing that glows at night. It sleeps in there." Kael pushed him back down and tied off the last stitch. The man's grip loosened. His eyes closed, but his chest kept rising. Kael sat back on his heels. His hands were red to the wrist. He had a location now. A ruined castle deep in the Thicket, marked with lit runes. He also had a wounded man he could not carry and could not leave. At first light he would have to walk the traveler back to the edge of the pines and hand him off before he could turn north again. Two days lost, maybe three. He wiped his hands on the grass and looked at the dark line of trees. His grandmother had been right about the pouch. He wondered what else she knew and had not said. He banked the fire high and did not sleep.