The Nighthral's voice thundered through the forest like a wrathful god, booming with such primal rage that even the skies seemed to darken in fear.
The tremors in its voice traveled through bark and bone alike. Skitterbolts abandoned their tunnels. Needlewings bees fled their hives. All animals knew that real trouble was coming. The Runewood itself held its breath.
Beneath the cloak of foliage and illusion, two figures darted through the trees.
Anast'cia ran like the wind, her breath shallow, her legs surging with magical wind vortexes. Strapped to her back was the broken, bloodied body of Mathes, and despite his weight and condition, she moved like a lightning bolt through the undergrowth.
"Come on, faster!" she hissed through gritted teeth, sweat pouring from her brow. "How the hell am I outrunning you when I'm the one carrying him!?"
