Swoosh—thud!
Another arrow buried itself in the high back of the leather saddle, inches from Salviana's hip. Behind them, the sounds of the possessed royals and knights were getting louder. They weren't just running anymore; they were moving with a supernatural, predatory grace, leaping over fallen logs and pushing through briars without a single cry of pain.
Soar let out a frantic, shrill whinny, his eyes rolling back to show the whites. The stallion was terrified. The smell of blood and the unnatural "wrongness" of the forest were pushing him to the brink of a panicked bolt.
"Steady, boy!" Alaric roared, leaning forward to press his weight into the horse's neck, trying to ground the animal even as his own strength flickered.
