Chapter Nine — Shadows in the Trees
The fire's glow was gone by morning. Only a faint smear of smoke clung to the horizon when Renan opened his eyes, stiff from the cold ground. For a moment, he lay still, listening. The forest breathed around him—dripping water, rustling leaves, the distant call of a bird he didn't know.
It was almost peaceful.
Almost.
Then came the snap of a branch, far off but deliberate.
Renan pushed himself up, hand finding the hilt of his blade. His back ached from the hard earth, but his senses sharpened instantly. Lysa stirred beside the dying fire, her braids tangled, eyes sharp even half-awake. She caught his glance, nodded once, and reached for her weapon.
Marek muttered in his sleep. Ysolde was already crouched near the overhang, gaze fixed on the misty trees below.
"They're out there," she whispered.
Renan joined her, peering through the fog. He saw only shifting shadows, but he trusted her instincts—Ysolde's senses were keener than most. She had been the first to spot patrols back at the estate.
"How close?" he asked.
"Not close enough to strike," she said. "But moving this way."
Renan's chest tightened. He had expected pursuit—of course he had—but the weight of it settled heavier now. Last night had felt like a beginning. This morning, it felt like a test.
Lysa's voice was low but steady. "We can't stay here. If they follow the ridge, we'll be cornered."
Marek groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Cornered? We just got here. We need rest, not more running."
"We rest, we die," Ysolde said flatly.
Marek shot her a glare but didn't argue.
Renan stood, sheathing his blade. "Pack what's left. We move east, off the ridge. Keep low, keep quiet."
Within minutes, their camp was gone—reduced to cold ashes and flattened grass. They slipped into the trees, every step heavy with the knowledge of being hunted.
---
The forest thickened as they descended. Roots clawed at the earth, and mist clung to their ankles like smoke. Each sound seemed sharper now—the caw of a crow, the rush of a brook, the crunch of damp leaves beneath their feet.
Renan felt the pursuit even when he couldn't hear it. The estate's masters wouldn't forgive fire and rebellion. They would send their best.
By midday, they found a ravine, narrow and choked with brambles. It offered cover, but it was slow going. Marek tripped more than once, cursing softly.
"Quiet," Renan hissed after the third stumble.
"Easy for you to say," Marek muttered, voice low but bitter. "You think we can keep this up forever? Running, hiding, starving? Maybe freedom isn't worth—"
Lysa stopped so abruptly he nearly crashed into her. She turned, eyes hard. "Don't finish that."
Marek's mouth worked soundlessly, but he shut it.
Renan's hand tightened on his weapon, though he didn't draw it. "Every step we take is worth it," he said. "Every step away from their chains. Don't forget that."
Silence fell again, heavy and brittle.
They pressed on until the ravine widened into a shallow clearing. The sun broke through the clouds at last, scattering pale light across the wet ground. For a moment, it almost felt like relief.
Then Ysolde froze, hand raised.
Voices.
Faint, but close—men calling to one another, dogs barking in short, eager bursts.
The hunters had arrived.
Renan's pulse quickened. He gestured toward the treeline. The group slipped into the shadows, hearts pounding.
As they crouched low among the ferns, Renan caught sight of them—three figures picking their way along the ridge above, dogs straining at their leashes.
The chains were gone. But the past hadn't let go yet.
---
They waited until the patrol passed, the dogs whining and pulling against their handlers. Only when the voices faded did Renan signal the others forward.
The escape turned into a crawl. They moved in silence, weaving through undergrowth so thick it tore at their clothes. Hunger gnawed at them, the scraps from the estate already running thin.
By late afternoon, they reached a stream. The water was icy, but they drank greedily, filling their cupped hands again and again.
Marek splashed his face, shivering. "We can't keep running like this. Sooner or later, they'll catch us. We need a plan."
Renan crouched by the stream, letting the cold water numb his fingers. "The plan is survival. One day at a time."
"That's not a plan," Marek muttered.
"It's all we have," Lysa cut in. Her voice was like flint. "Unless you want to go back."
Marek didn't answer.
Renan studied him, seeing more than exhaustion in his eyes. Fear. Doubt. He couldn't blame him, but he couldn't allow it to fester either. Doubt was a poison.
"We'll find more than survival," Renan said quietly. "There are others out there. People who've escaped. People who hate the estates as much as we do. We'll find them."
Ysolde looked up from the stream. "If they don't find us first."
---
They pushed on into evening. The trees thinned as they climbed another rise, giving them a glimpse of the land beyond. Hills rolled in the distance, dotted with smoke from scattered settlements.
Renan's chest stirred at the sight—proof that there was more than estates and chains. Proof that the world was wider than the cage he had known.
But the hunters were closing in.
By nightfall, they found shelter beneath a crooked oak, its roots forming a hollow large enough for them to huddle in. They dared no fire. The cold pressed against them, unforgiving.
Renan couldn't sleep. His mind replayed the faces of those left behind, the screams swallowed by fire and stone. He saw them every time he closed his eyes.
Lysa shifted beside him. "You're awake."
"So are you."
She gave a small, humorless smile. "Hard to sleep when the world feels like it's waiting to swallow us."
Renan glanced at her. "You don't regret it?"
"No," she said simply. "Chains are worse than death."
Her certainty steadied him. For a moment, he let himself believe it fully—that freedom, no matter how thin and dangerous, was worth everything.
The wind moaned through the branches, and he thought of the words he had whispered the night before. No longer bound.
He would cling to them. He would carve them into the marrow of his bones if he had to.
Because the chase had only begun.
---
The next morning, the dogs found them.
A bark split the air, sharp and eager. Then another.
Renan shot to his feet. "Move!"
They ran, crashing through the undergrowth, hearts hammering. Shouts rose behind them, men urging the hounds forward.
Branches whipped Renan's face, mud sucked at his feet, but he didn't falter. Not now. Not when freedom was so close he could taste it.
A whistle cut through the air. An arrow thudded into the tree beside him.
Marek screamed. Not in pain—yet—but in panic.
Lysa grabbed his arm, dragging him onward. "Don't stop!"
The forest roared around them, alive with pursuit. The first day of freedom had been quiet, fragile. The second was fire and thunder all over again.
And Renan knew, as he drove his legs harder, that this was only the beginning.