Quintra’s light filtered through the canopy in broken shafts, catching upon dew and moss until the forest floor glittered with scattered sparks. The damp air smelled of sap, earth and last night’s fire. Somewhere deeper among the trees, a bird offered the morning its finest song.

Suraia opened her eyes and blinked, taking a moment to remember where she was. Thorn’s arm rested loosely around her waist, while the steady rise and fall of his breathing warmed her back.

Near the fire, Vasha was already clearing away the remains of the night. The ebony-skinned Oakhai glanced towards the human woman and smiled.

“Morning,” Vasha said softly.

Suraia pushed herself upright, careful not to disturb Thorn more than necessary. The effort was wasted. The Ee’dornil opened his glowing eyes and rose with his usual ease, gathering the black cloak they had shared before the morning chill could reach her.

Vasha tilted her head. “You look less likely to faint today,” the fox-eared woman observed.

Heat touched Suraia’s cheeks. “I… I slept well,” she said, as though that explained everything.

Thorn reached into their supplies and broke the remaining bread, placing one piece in Suraia’s hands before giving another to Vasha. He divided the cheese between all three of them.

“You need to eat,” the large elf told Suraia.

She obeyed. The bread had toughened overnight and the cheese was firm and salty, but they filled the hollow in her stomach. Once they’d finished, Thorn stepped outside the shelter.

The curly redhead followed and carefully folded his oversized cloak before placing it beside his pack. She gathered her own bag, tucking the cauldron and sack of vials inside, while Thorn pressed his palm against the shelter’s living wall.

Branches slowly unwound. Leaves returned to their natural angles and moss sank softly into the forest floor. Nothing collapsed or broke. The shelter simply loosened until the clearing looked as though no one had ever slept there.

Vasha watched with wonder still bright in her icy-blue eyes.

Thorn collected his pack and fastened the rolled cloak beneath it. Vasha slung her bow over one shoulder, falling into place beside Suraia as they ventured deeper into Lyonne Forest.

The trees grew closer together. Roots knotted across the ground and ferns brushed against Suraia’s sleeves. Light shifted above them, brightening and fading with every movement of the canopy. Vasha travelled as though the forest had been waiting for her, silent when she wished to be and cheerfully noisy when she didn’t. The freedom of the woods suited her far better than the streets of Calithor, and she seemed more carefree than she had upon Meriquy.

Thorn walked with the certainty of someone who could read a path where none appeared to exist. He rarely hesitated, choosing his direction with little more than a glance at the trees or the earth beneath them.

Suraia stayed close and watched where she placed her feet. Beside the Oakhai and the Ee’dornil, the human healer might have looked out of place. For once, she didn’t feel it.

Late in the morning, they reached a clearing where Quintra’s light fell warmly through a gap in the branches. Suraia’s attention caught upon a cluster of rocks near its edge and the golden sheen hidden between stone and root.

Honey.

A beehive filled the sheltered crack, its heavy comb glistening in the light. A low hum lingered around it, while a warm sweetness softened the damp scent of the forest.

Suraia’s breath caught. “Oh,” she whispered, the word escaping like a prayer.

She was already crossing the clearing, tugging her cauldron free from her bag with such enthusiasm that Vasha’s ears sprang upright.

“Oh no,” the Oakhai said with open amusement. “I think Suraia found something.”

Thorn followed in long strides, but the redheaded woman had become surprisingly swift. She looped the cauldron’s handle around her wrist and began climbing the rocks without sparing the danger a thought.

“Miss Silverbell,” Thorn warned, his voice quiet but firm. “Be careful.”

Suraia answered with an eager little sound and reached towards the honeycomb.

Her boot slipped.

The world lurched beneath her, but the Ee’dornil caught her around the waist before she could fall. His grip held her securely against the rock.

“Slowly,” Thorn murmured.

Suraia found her footing. With the large elf bracing her, she broke away only a small piece of the comb and lowered it into the cauldron, leaving most of the hive undisturbed.

Honey immediately coated her fingers. One drop slipped down her wrist, while another found its way onto her cheek.

Thorn lowered her to the moss and released her once both boots were safely on the ground. His gaze moved from her sticky hands to her face.

“Miss Silverbell,” he said, the corner of his mouth beginning to curl.

Suraia laughed.

The sound was soft and bright, carrying an unguarded delight that made the clearing seem warmer. Vasha froze, then broke into a pleased grin.

“There it is,” the apprentice said. “I knew you had one in you.”

Still smiling, Suraia ducked her head and wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist. She only spread the honey farther.

“Perfect,” Vasha declared.

They settled upon the moss to share part of the comb. The fox-eared woman ate her portion shamelessly, licking the sweetness from her fingers with a contented hum. Thorn accepted only a little. Suraia took small bites, her earlier haste giving way to careful pleasure.

Then the healer brought out several clean vials and found a smooth sliver of wood with which to guide the honey inside.

Vasha watched her with open amusement. “You can’t simply enjoy it, can you? It has to become medicine.”

Suraia blinked and looked down at the vial in her hand. “It… it is medicine, in some ways,” she explained. “Honey can help clean and soothe wounds.”

Thorn’s gaze lingered upon the curly redhead. “You still have a little honey,” he told her.

He reached out slowly, giving her every chance to draw away, and brushed his thumb across her cheek.

“There,” the Ee’dornil said.

Suraia’s face became nearly as bright as her curls.

A scream tore through the forest.

It wasn’t a startled cry. Raw terror sharpened the sound, breaking through the trees before ending with terrible suddenness.

Thorn moved first, swift without rushing blindly. Vasha ran beside him with her bow already in hand. Suraia snatched up her bag and cauldron and followed, her heart pounding.

The forest clutched at her boots and skirts. Her legs began to burn, her breath thinning as she struggled to keep the other two in sight. When a second scream rang out, the healer forced herself to run faster.

They burst into another clearing and found two strangers beneath the trees. A half-elven woman stumbled backwards with a long blade raised before her. Several paces away, a man lay motionless upon the moss, blood darkening the ground beneath him.

A bear towered between them.

It was immense, yet hunger had left hollows beneath its patchy, matted fur. Dark veins spread beneath the exposed skin like bruised roots. Its red eyes held no recognition, no animal fear—only the touch of Ghor looking out through something it had ruined.

The corrupted bear roared and charged.

Thorn stepped into its path. Vasha’s bowstring snapped and an arrow struck deep into its shoulder, but the creature scarcely noticed.

Suraia ran to the fallen man and dropped beside him. Her hand hovered over his blood-soaked clothes before stillness told her what magic couldn’t change. He was already dead.

Behind her, brush exploded.

A second bear crashed through the undergrowth, smaller than the first but much faster. Foam hung from its jaws and the same empty red light burned within its eyes. It lunged towards Thorn’s unguarded side.

“No,” Suraia gasped, throwing out one hand.

Magic surged through her.

A pale barrier flashed into place beside Thorn, translucent and edged with blue. The second bear struck it with enough force to make the light bow inwards. Cracks spread across its surface like frost upon glass.

Suraia flinched. The creature battered the barrier again, each blow traveling through her outstretched arm and into her chest.

“I… I can’t hold it much longer!” the healer warned.

Thorn didn’t look back. He drove one hand into the earth and thick vines burst from beneath the first bear, winding around its legs and chest. The creature fought them in a frenzy, exposing the softer flesh beneath its foreleg.

Vasha drew, aimed and released. Her arrow sank deep into the bear’s chest. It staggered against the roots before collapsing heavily enough to shake leaves from the surrounding branches.

The second beast struck Suraia’s barrier once more.

Light shattered into pale fragments and vanished before touching the earth. Suraia reeled, but the moments she’d bought were enough. Thorn had already turned.

The bear lunged. The Ee’dornil braced himself as vines snapped around its forelegs and dragged its charge aside. Vasha’s next arrow struck between its ribs. The creature gave one final cry—fury thinning into something that sounded almost like relief—before it fell.

Silence returned as abruptly as the screaming had begun.

Suraia’s knees threatened to fold, but the half-elven woman was still bleeding. The healer crossed the clearing and knelt before her.

Blood covered the stranger’s arm and side. She held her blade in her left hand, its point still aimed towards the fallen bear, while shock widened her eyes.

“Please don’t move,” Suraia said softly, placing her hands over the wound.

White light bloomed with a pale-blue hue and sank into the torn flesh. The injury ran deeper than it had first appeared. Suraia clenched her jaw and continued until the bleeding stopped and the edges drew together beneath her palms.

When she finally leant back, her hands were trembling with exhaustion.

The half-elf stared at her mended side, then slowly returned her sword to its scabbard. “Thank you,” the woman said hoarsely. Her gaze passed from Suraia to Thorn and then to Vasha, who was retrieving her arrows.

“My camp isn’t far from here,” the stranger continued. “There are others. Please, come with me. I owe you.” She swallowed and looked towards her fallen companion. “My name is Kaelen.”

Grief tightened Kaelen’s face, but she moved with grim practicality. The half-elven woman crossed to the dead man and lifted him across her shoulders.

“Please, come,” Kaelen repeated.

Thorn inclined his head before walking to Suraia and offering his hand. He drew her carefully to her feet.

“Your barrier was impressive,” the druid told her. “How are you feeling?”

“I… I’m all right,” Suraia insisted, swaying once she released his hand. “I can walk.”

Thorn’s brow rose slightly.

The human woman managed one uncertain step, then another. On the third, her legs gave way and she pitched backwards.

The Ee’dornil caught her without ceremony and lifted her into his arms.

“Three steps,” Thorn observed, the faintest chuckle warming his voice. “Impressive.”

Suraia’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t protest. She tucked her face against his shoulder, too tired to pretend the healing hadn’t cost her.

Vasha returned her arrows to the quiver and fell into step beside them. Amusement lingered upon the Oakhai’s face, though her ears remained alert and her blue-tipped tail twitched as she watched the tree line.

Kaelen led them onwards through Lyonne Forest, carrying her dead companion as Quintra began to disappear behind the distant mountains.