The forest is not whispered tonight.
It breathed .
"Ivy, you won't be better that I think you are," Rosa stands behind her, tighten the sound of nervousness.
Ivy went deep into thorns and ignored blood on her fingers.
"I just needed one stares," she muted, pushed a vine that was unnaturally curly. "You know it just blooms on cursed grounds."
Rose yanked his arm. "You can die. That thorn is a forest. We are not talking about, you remember?"
"I remember," Ivy whispered. "I just don't care anymore ."
Chest pain is pulsed with each step. Grandma's medicine did not work. Her own herbs were not quite strong. The villagers spread like smoke in the lungs of the villagers, and they ran out of time.
She slipped through intervals in the old fence. The way it is designed to hold something or outside.
The forest swallowed her.
Rose didn't follow.
The air inside was thick. Not moist. Heavy. Like being seen from all angles.
The thorns scratched her feet as a warning. The deeper she left, the bullet. Not cold as winter - but cold as memory. Like grief.
Still, Ivy pressed further.
She crossed trees with hollow tights and claw bark. Then a fox skull in a branch. And in the symbols of externally, the stones were cut near the roots. Old language. Older than she could read.
A low wind sat behind the ear, almost a sound.
She ignored it.
She found the bloom after an hour. Located under a twisted root, the moonlight shines like ice. It fainted about life, delicate and dangerous.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
Then came Groel.
Less. Roging. Too close.
She froze.
A huge wolf went from the dark. Black as zero. Eyes like fire.
It wasn't a cost.
It stumbled.
Then collapsed.
The blood soaked the floor of the forest under it and leaked into the roots of the path flower.
Ivy's trend was fired. She knelt, afraid of compassion for another. The fingers hover over its thick coat, soaked in blood.
"You are hurt," she whispers, even if it was absurd. "Poor…"
The chest grew quickly, like it heard her.
The eyes were open.
Not wild.
Run.
"You're not just a wolf," she breathed.
The wolf went jerky. The paw was transferred.
No - the hand.
Ivy began to pee and fell back, the heart of the ribs.
A man. A werewolf. Damaged and mid -shift.
Is this close to the village?
This should not be possible. The curse let them out or thus they were told.
He moaned and tried to get up. His body rose and broke again, fought the bone again among the molds.
"Stop," Ivy said quickly. "You'll bleed out."
He collapsed again, one leg refused to heal. Breathing shallow. Blood that collects as ink under it.
She was going to run.
scream.
Turn around and show that she saw nothing.
But there was some pain in the chest. A bridge.
He was not just a creature.
He was the victim.
And he was here. This meant something changed.
She looked at the flower. Still shines. Still fatal.
Then looked at the man.
The nervousness was from the chest. She couldn't take him. Not quite.
But she couldn't leave him.
"I'm going to regret it," she muted and brushed the dirt off with her skirt.
She grabbed his hand and tilted him on her shoulder. His weight almost crushed her, but she is staggering under stress.
His skin got hot. Feverish.
"I just need to bring you from the departments to the past," she said. "Then it can happen - maybe you will stop dying."
She pulled him.
Branch after branch. Thorn with thorns.
The thorns bit at her arms, hit the hair. Some whisper from the shade, like a breath through long and hollow water.
She didn't stop.
Couldn't .
Her cabin was small and half hidden under the ivy, her name was very good. She took him in. Barely.
He hit the wooden floor with a grunning.
She closed the door. Shut the blinds.Her heart thundered louder than any storm.
Ivy fell on her knees next to him as she examined his wounds.
Punk through the ribs. deep.
What had done this?
Not human. No animals. Something in the middle.
She grabbed her satail. The leaves crushed. The roots placed on the chest. burned sage in the corner. Some of this was left by her grandmother in all healing books. She put her wings. again.
But the bleeding decreased.
he whispered. Almost one grows. His body jerked, spread the muscles.
She pressed a cold cloth on his forehead, was afraid to look very carefully in the shift.
His face was handsome under injuries. Dirty, yes. But strong jaws, stubbled cheeks. A scar along his brow. Thick lashes. Strong functions such as the edge of a leaf.
"What are you?" she whispered. "And why do I think I already know you?"
He didn't answer.
But when she came for the bottle Fosteron Oil, his hand grabbed her wrist.
Fingers tight. The eyes shine.
"Not," he said.
Ivy Froz.
His voice was destroyed. Less. But humans.
"Are you awake?"
"Let me die," he said, Jaw clenched.
She was constantly staring at him. Nodded the head gently.
"Not tonight."
His grip was loose.
And he passed again.
But something in the room shifted.
The fire broke high.
Outside, the wind increased through the trees - and ivy felt it again. That bridge. Not just against him.
But into him.
As if their fate had already been wrapped - and she went into the right Net.