Shadewood o’ death

The stranger—Elwyn, Masque repeated in her head—was rather talkative. As they fell into step with one another and headed west into the woods, she volunteered more details about her situation. The similarities to Masque’s own left her mouth dry.

Gently shoving aside the absurd idea that the rise might do anything except prevail, she found herself asking, Do you regret it? Leaving them in the first place? Or was finding yourself worth it?

Masque’s golden eyes combed their surroundings, one of her recent conversations with Riley resurfacing in her brain. She’d lost out on Wealda but she’d been so certain that she was destined to be an Alpha female anyway. Now that part of her felt so remote—remoter than the rise itself.

The trees here were some of the broadest, tallest ones she’d ever seen. Masquerade paused at the foot of a towering oak and craned her neck to stare at the bare branches forking across the winter sky. Her breath sighed out of her in a cloud of curling vapor.

She stared for another minute or two, then realized Elwyn hadn’t answered. Masquerade dropped her eyes and saw no sign of the woman who had been walking alongside her just moments ago. Blinking, nose working, she spun in a slow circle. She tried to catch her scent to track it but it had faded.

She didn’t believe in ghosts, though Masque stood there for a very long time, wondering. Goosebumps broke out across her body, causing her fur to stand on end. She let out another misty breath before suddenly breaking into a lope, keen to find her living, breathing mate. She would not speak a word of this encounter.