Chapter 4: Wounds
Violet nodded. She turned toward the tent.
"One more thing." Leon's voice came from behind.
She stopped.
"This person you mentioned. When are they coming?"
"Two months. Maybe three. I'm not sure yet."
"You're not sure?"
"My information isn't perfect. But everything I've told you is true."
She stepped into the tent and sat down in the dark. She stretched out her injured right foot carefully, resting it against the tent's fabric wall. The cool cloth pressed against her swollen ankle. A small relief.
She buried her face in her knees. Her hands were still shaking. Her foot still throbbed. The three claw marks on her collarbone burned. The scratch on her neck stung hot.
She cried. Very quiet. So quiet the person outside wouldn't hear.
She thought of her apartment in Manhattan. The big bed. Two meters by two meters. The cheesecake always in the fridge. Friday nights curled on the couch watching bad movies.
All gone.
She was in a strange world now. Covered in wounds. Nothing to her name. She'd gambled and won twice. Once with her own life. Once with a beast's fear. She didn't know if she'd win the next one.
But she was alive.
She wiped her face and peered out of the tent.
The fire still burned. Leon sat beside it, back to her. His shoulders were broad. Even injured, his spine stayed straight.
"Leon," she called.
He didn't turn. "Yeah."
"When does your hunting party get back?"
"Tomorrow."
"So it's just the two of us tonight?"
"Yes."
Violet was quiet for a beat. "Then you take the tent tonight. I'll keep watch."
Leon turned his head and looked at her. "You?"
"Both your arms are useless. If something creeps in during the night, what exactly are you going to do?"
Leon stared at her for two seconds. "You're strange."
"What?"
"You said you were afraid. You said your hands shaking was normal. But when you came out of the tent just now—were you shaking?"
Violet paused. "No."
"Why?"
"Because fear and backing down are two different things. Fear is the body's reaction. Backing down is a choice."
Leon looked at her. A long time. Then he stood, walked into the tent, and tossed her the blanket.
"You take the tent. I'll keep watch."
This time, Violet didn't argue. She wrapped herself in the blanket and crawled inside.
In the dark, she heard his footsteps. Heavy. Steady. He sat by the fire, back against a rock.
The wind came through the gorge, carrying the smell of thorns and dead earth. The fire crackled. Sparks rose into the night sky, mixing with the light of the two moons.
Far off, a Thorn Wolf howled. Distant.
But there was another sound.
Violet's fingers stopped. Not a Thorn Wolf. Not the wind. Not the fire. Footsteps. From the south. Fast. Heavy. Not one person walking. Three. Maybe four.
Her body locked up. From beside the fire came a faint sound. Metal scraping. Leon's right hand closing around his long blade.
He'd heard it too.
The footsteps came closer. Closer.
Three figures emerged from the dark.
The one in front was a large male beastman. Wolf clan. Gray fur. A bone axe rested on his shoulder. Behind him came two more. Weapons in hand.
They saw Leon.
"Leon Hart." The lead one grinned, showing sharp canines. "You don't look so good."
Leon didn't move. His voice was low and flat. "Fang Tribe. In my camp. Looking to die?"
"You're the one about to die." The one called Fang took a step forward. "Heard you came to Thornveil Gorge alone to hunt. We came to see for ourselves. Both your arms are useless—"
His eyes moved to the tent. To Violet's shadow. "And you brought a woman."
Violet's heart hammered against her ribs. Three grown male beastmen. Leon's arms wrecked. She could barely stand herself. Three against one.
Leon said nothing. He just lifted the long blade off his knee and pointed the tip toward the ground. His movements were slow. So slow it almost looked like a taunt.
"Try it." His voice was soft. But every word sounded like it had been dragged across a whetstone.
Fang hesitated. Then his eyes landed on the tent.
"Who's in there? Your woman? Let's have a look—"
He took a step toward the tent.
Violet's hand tightened around the tent pole.
Then she heard Leon's voice. "Take one more step."
Not loud. Not a shout. But there was something in it. Not a threat. A promise.
Fang stopped. But his hand kept moving. He raised it slowly and made a gesture. The two behind him spread out. One left. One right. They weren't coming head-on. They were surrounding.
Leon's right arm was bleeding. His left arm was dead. He could only hold one direction. If both sides came at once—he couldn't stop them.
Violet's mind raced. Three wolves. Leon could take the one in front at best. Left and right—he had no coverage.
Dead end. Unless someone helped him hold one side.
Violet looked down at her hands. The tent pole. Wood. One end sharpened. Her right foot was still bleeding. The three claw marks on her collarbone still burned.
She took a breath. Then she crawled out of the tent.
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End of Chapter Four
Three against one. His arms wrecked. She can barely stand. A dead end. But she steps out of the tent with a sharpened piece of wood in her hand—not to die, but to negotiate. She still has one thing left to show. How many seconds can that last card buy her?