Dawn arrived not with light, but with a cold, silver-grey color that filtered through the leaves. The fire from the previous night was just a black smear of ash, a few embers feebly trying to hold onto their last warmth against the early morning breeze.
Lycaon awoke not long after. He said nothing, just silently watched Elyra from his hollow. After a night flickering between pain and exhaustion, he felt a change. The silence between them was no longer one of vigilance, but of awkwardness, a rawness after having spoken their names. He felt weak and regretted having said his name, the name that belonged to a world that was dead.
Elyra sensed his distance. She didn't press. She just quietly took out the roasted roots left over from the day before, divided them in two, and gently pushed the slightly larger portion toward him.
That action, once again, was the only language they needed. Lycaon silently took his portion, the defensiveness in him subsiding.
They began their journey east, toward the direction Elyra believed was the way out. The path grew more treacherous, and the forest seemed unwilling to let them go. Slippery roots were like snakes, and muddy slopes threatened to pull them down.
And then, they faced it. A deep chasm, a giant tear in the earth, cutting across their path. At the bottom of the abyss, a swift current roared like a hungry beast.
They couldn't go around. This was the forest's first trial, a test for their fragile covenant.
Elyra did not panic. Her eyes scanned along the chasm, searching. She pointed to a thick, sturdy vine, dark green, wrapped around an ancient tree. "That kind... is very strong," was all she said.
Lycaon understood. He looked to the side, near the edge of the chasm, where there was another ancient tree. It was dead, its gnarled trunk bare, only a few large roots stubbornly clinging to the earth, keeping it from falling into the abyss. Ironically, it was just like him.
Not a word was spoken. Lycaon limped over to the tree. He leaned his shoulder against the dry trunk, putting all his strength into it. The sound of roots being torn from the earth was a creaking, mournful sound. With a final grunt that escaped his throat, he pushed hard. The ancient trunk let out one last groan and then fell, crashing across the chasm.
A makeshift bridge. But after the previous night's rain, the trunk was very slippery, covered in a thin, deadly layer of moss.
"You go first," Lycaon said softly, his voice hoarse. He would go last, as a protector.
Elyra nodded. She tied the vine securely to a tree root on their side, then threw the other end across. She moved lightly, holding her breath, crossing the bridge of death step by step. She made it safely to the other side.
It was Lycaon's turn. He took a deep breath, leaned on his oak staff, and began to walk. He moved very slowly, each step putting pressure on his good leg. When he reached the middle of the bridge, his crippled leg betrayed him.
It slipped on the damp moss.
He lost his balance. In a moment that stretched for an eternity, the whole world tilted. He just managed to grab onto the slick tree trunk with both hands, his body dangling over the abyss, the roaring current below.
"Lycaon!" For the first time, Elyra screamed his name, her voice tearing through the silence of the forest.
She had already secured the vine. Without a moment's hesitation, she threw it toward him. "Grab it!"
Lycaon looked at the vine dangling before him, then down at the deep chasm. He could try to use his arm strength to pull himself up. But he knew his strength was fading. He looked at Elyra's determined eyes on the other side.
He made a choice. For the first time, he chose to trust.
He let go with one hand and grabbed the vine. Elyra braced herself, her feet digging into the earth, pulling with all her might. The vine cut into her palms, drawing blood, but she did not let go.
Bit by bit, she pulled him up. Lycaon managed to get halfway onto the bank, then rolled over, collapsing onto the ground, gasping for breath.
They had survived.
After a long while, they got up. Lycaon looked at Elyra's bleeding hands, then into her eyes. He didn't say thank you. He just gave a slight nod, a small gesture that contained everything.
They continued on. Finally, the canopy of leaves began to thin, and the light of the outside world filtered in. They had reached the edge of the forest.
Before them was a vast plain, the fields of the Kingdom of Argonia stretching to the horizon. But this landscape did not bring a feeling of freedom, but a frightening suffocation. The sky was too vast, too empty, as if they were completely exposed under the eyes of the gods.