Epheria is a land divided by war and mistrust. The High Lords of the south squabble and fight, only kept in check by the Dragonguard, traitors of a time long past, who serve the empire of the North. In the remote villages of southern Epheria, still reeling from the tragic loss of his brother, Calen Bryer prepares for The Proving—a test of courage and skill that not all survive.
Ella stayed low, keeping her breaths steady as she crept through the grass. She moved from cover to cover, tree trunk to boulder, Faenir at her heels. Despite his bulk, the wolfpine moved like a shadow, his steps eliciting not so much as rustle.
Ahead, the torches of the Lorian camp flickered in the night, clustered together at the foot of the hill, backed by a forest on the other side.
Suka moved to Ella's right, along with two of the other scouts: Arlon and Ferol. Both Arlon and Ferol were twins near Ella's age. They were tall and gangly, but where Arlon had grown a scraggy beard, Ferol was clean shaven, his hair long and slicked with oil where Arlon's was tight cropped.
Varik and Juro shifted through the night to Ella's left alongside two more scouts, Jaks and Ligin. They moved as though the shadows bent around them.
The night was as dark as any Ella remembered, the moon blanketed over by black clouds. And yet, Ella could see better than she should have been able to, though the world's colour seemed faded, shades of grey rather than greens and browns.
She stopped for a moment, resting her hand on the trunk of a tall tree, closing her eyes as she steadied her breathing. Everything over the last few weeks had happened so fast. The red mist clouding her thoughts, the wolf calling in the back of her mind, the coppery tang of blood on her tongue. She would have been dead twice over had the wolf not howled in her blood. But it terrified her to her core. The lack of control, the savagery, the bloodlust. She had felt it. The wolf pulled at her even then, clawing to get out, hungering for control. No. I will not.
"Slow and steady," Suka whispered. Ella could hear her breathing, drawing deep, slow inhales, then exhaling through her nostrils.
Ella matched her breathing, nodding.
"It gets to us all sometimes." Suka held her hand on Ella's back. "Death is an ugly business."
Ella looked back at the woman. She wanted to tell her that it wasn't what they were about to do that set the anxiety in her bones. But how did she tell someone she was terrified of losing her mind? How did she tell someone she was afraid that if she lost control for even a moment, she might become a monster? Instead, she settled with a soft, "Thank you."
"All right," Juro whispered as he, Varik, and the others came closer, looking down the hill towards the Lorian camp. "Tanner, Yana, and the others should be in position near the supply wagons. The Lorians still have their hackles up, so when Farwen draws their attention, most of them should clear from the camp, but keep your wits about you, there will still be plenty of sharp steel down there."
Those gathered responded with a nod, their breaths misting. They had all witnessed the battle a couple of days gone. They'd watched it from atop a hill to the east of where the Three Sisters met. What they'd seen had shaken each of them – Farwen most of all. The elves had left Lynalion and were waging war. Not only that, but they had dragons. A year ago Ella had never even seen the Dragonguard. All she had heard were stories, tales to keep the South in line. But now, not only had she seen dragons with her own eyes, she had watched them die, watched them tear each other to shreds. The sight had set a fear in her that had caused her hands to shake.
After the battle, Ella and the others had stayed parallel to the imperial army, matching their movements from afar as the elves harried them, nipping at their heels. When the elves pulled back and consolidated and the Lorian army had made camp near the bottom of a gently sloping hill, Farwen decided the time to strike was now. While the Lorians were watching for what was behind them, they were blind to what was coming from the other side.
Ella and those with her were tasked with slipping into the camp once Farwen had dragged most of the soldiers away, while Tanner, Yana, and the others were creeping along the northern edge, ready to destroy the supply wagons. Get in. Set fire. Get out. While all this was happening, they had sent two of the scouts back to Tarhelm on horses to report on what had happened and what was coming.
"We need to move closer," Varik whispered, looking over the trunk of a fallen tree towards the camp. "Once the alarm is sounded, we don't want to waste a second."
"Agreed." Juro gestured towards one of the twins. "Arlon, torches."
Arlon hefted a large sack from his shoulders, long rag-covered sticks jutting from the top. Before the battle, Juro had procured a small barrel of rendered fat from a travelling merchant on his way to Holm, which had been used to soak the rags for the torches.
Ella took her torch from Juro, the wood rough against her fingers.
Slowly and steadily they made their way further down the hill, drawing lower to the ground as the trees thinned and their only cover was long grass, bushes, and the black of night. They stopped at the edges of the camp's torchlight, hunkering down behind a rise in the land.
Juro peeked over the crest of the rise. "Looks like they were in such a rush they didn't space the tents out, and the wind's blowing north-east. Perfect night for a fire." He dropped back down, resting on his haunches. "We move on my mark. Not a second sooner, not a second later. Ella, Suka, and Jaks with me. Ligin and the twins with Varik."
"We know the plan, Juro." Varik spoke in a hushed whisper, his voice calm and level.
Juro glanced at Ella.
"Wait for Farwen to cause a panic," Ella said. "Move on your mark. Stay together, stay low. Don't get ambitious, let the fire do its job. Get in and get out."
"And don't hesitate," Varik added. "You hesitate, you die."
"And make sure to drop the torch," Arlon added, scratching at his long beard.
"Drop the torch?" Ferol gave his brother a curious look.
"Well, if you don't drop the torch, then the empire will see you running away." Arlon shrugged.
"Fair point, brother. You've got the brains, I've got the looks."
Ella moved her gaze from Ferol to Arlon and back, eyes narrowing.
"What?" Ferol asked
"You're twins," she said. "You look exactly the same."
A brief moment passed, and both Arlon and Ferol gave Ella a look as though she had just said the most nonsensical thing they had ever heard.
Horns bellowed, cries and shouts burst from the camp, echoing in the night, carrying on the wind.
"As amusing as whatever this—" Juro gestured towards Ella, Arlon, and Ferol "—is, I think that might be our cue."
The shouts grew louder and widespread, until eventually Ella heard the words, "Elves, to the east!"
She risked a glance over the crest of the rise. Soldiers were running about carrying torches, mail shirts clinking, feet crunching into the dirt. A loud neigh rang in the air, and a group of horses charged past the outer rim of the camp, black as ravens, larger than any horses Ella had ever seen. Their riders were garbed in black plate that matched the horses, and curved blades hung at their hips.
"Blackthorns," Varik whispered.
Ella's heart pounded as she watched the Lorian soldiers stumble from their tents, strapping armour on as they did, running to answer the calls and shouts. She felt the wolf clawing at the back of her mind while at the same time Faenir nudged against her hip, trying to calm her. He was so large now his head would have been at her shoulder if he was standing at full height. Whatever she was, druid, or something else entirely, she wanted it gone. But if it was gone, then so was her newfound connection with Faenir. That was when it had all started: when Faenir had found her after Rhett.
"Slow and steady," Suka whispered, resting her hand on Ella's leg. "You control it, it doesn't control you."
Ella's heart stopped for just a second, her mind becoming crystal clear. "What did you say?"
"It doesn't take a genius like Arlon to see you're battling something." Suka squeezed Ella's leg. "And we all saw you in the forest and then again the other night with the scouts. Whatever beast is pulling at you, you are its master."
Juro's voice sounded before Ella could say anything more. "Move, now. Ella, Suka, Jaks, with me."
The light of the torches sent shadows flitting about the camp, ever-changing as the soldiers scrambled to and fro, dragging themselves from their tents, some of them fresh from sleep, some of them drunk on wine. They clambered into armour, strapping weapons belts around their waists.
Farda stood with his arms crossed, watching.
"What's happening?" Ilyain asked, tilting his head sideways to hear what he couldn't see. Chaos always made it harder for him to hear. Farda felt the man reaching out with threads of Air and Spirit, attempting to decipher the cacophony of noise.
"It seems we're under attack," Hala mused with a downturn of her bottom lip.
"What's happened?" Farda called out to a group of soldiers who were charging past. None of them answered, they were too focused on buttoning their leathers and strapping their weapons on. If the elves truly were attacking, everyone in this camp would be slaughtered. "Fucking idiots."
Farda reached out to the Spark and pulled on threads of Air. He snatched one of the soldiers around the neck, pulling them off their feet and dragging them across the dirt towards him. The other soldiers stopped in their tracks, gasping as they watched their companion grasp at the invisible tether around his neck.
Farda walked towards the man, pulling him across the dirt with the threads as he did. He reached down, grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt and hauled him to his feet. "When I call you, you answer. Understood?"
The man looked about as shocked as Farda would have expected, his face red as a slapped arse, his clothes now covered in dirt and dust. He drew in trembling breaths, eyes wide. "Yes…" A realisation dawned on the man's face. "Justicar Kyrana."
Farda loosened his grip a little, but still kept his hold on the soldier's shirt. "What has happened? Why was the alarm sounded?"
"The ehmm… the…" The soldier shook his head, swallowing hard, sweat glistening on his brow. "The elves, Justicar."
"What about the fucking elves?"
"They've been sighted. Scouts were attacked. To the southeast."
Farda nodded, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He released the man from his grip, pushing him backwards. "Go, don't keep your commander waiting."
The man staggered backwards, his eyes fixed on Farda. After a moment, he turned and rejoined his companions, looking back over his shoulder as they carried on.
"What news?" Hala raised an eyebrow, brushing white hair from her face.
Farda pulled his coin from his pocket, tracing his thumb around the edges. "The elves have attacked some scouts and are on their way here."
"They left scouts alive to report this?"
"Apparently." Farda flicked his coin in the air.
"Something is off." Ilyain's head was tilted to the side, his tapered ears listening.
A roar ripped through the night, and Farda looked up to see the gargantuan shape of Helios soaring overhead. The dragon's scales were so black the only way Farda could follow his movements was by watching where stars and clouds disappeared. No Karakes and Lyina. They are still in mourning then.
The coin thumped in Farda's hand. He looked down. "You're right. Something is off."
Ella moved through the camp as swiftly as she could without causing a racket. She stayed low, one hand wrapped around the shaft of her un-lit torch, the other resting on the short sword that hung at her left hip. Juro and Suka moved ahead of her, Jaks behind.
Now that most of the soldiers had gone, Ella was intensely aware of the sound of crunching dirt as she moved, the flapping of tent canvases in the wind, and the sound of her own breathing. Even her heartbeat felt as though it were as loud as a drum. She could feel Faenir's anxiety even from where he stood, near the camp's western edge. The wolfpine hated being apart, hated leaving Ella under anyone's protection but his own. But a wolfpine the size of a small horse wasn't exactly conducive to sneaking around. She would have tried to calm him with her own stillness, but she wasn't calm herself. She was scared, anxious, and a touch excited. They were inside a Lorian camp, and she was under no illusions that the Lorians would kill her where she stood if they found her.
The cream canopies of the Lorian tents flapped in the wind, banners and flags casting shadows in the torchlight, dark clouds covering the moon overhead. Ella's heart drummed louder.
"Back," Suka hissed, pressing Ella against a tent canvas. Ahead, Juro crouched behind a wagon.
A group of six Lorian soldiers emerged along a trodden dirt path between two tents ten or so feet ahead, moving towards the eastern edge of the camp.
"Move," Juro whispered as the soldiers jogged off into the distance.
They moved through the camp until they reached a spot where many of the tents were crammed together, the paths between them barely wide enough for someone to walk sideways.
"Here." Juro stopped beside a stack of crates. He dropped to his haunches and ran his hand across his weapons belt, his hand resting on the pommels of each knife that adorned his leather before resting on his sword. He nodded to himself, then looked to Ella, Suka, and Jaks. "We need to spread out a bit, make it hard to fight the fires. Light your torches off one of theirs. Stay low. Don't fuck around – wait till the fire catches, then move. Set two or three aflame, no more. They're close together and the wind is strong, the flames will feed themselves. Once you're done, get back here and then out the same way we've come in."
"What if there's a problem?"
"Problem? If anything goes wrong, run for your fucking life." Juro looked at each of them, eyes finally resting on Ella. "They're in the middle of nowhere here. Elkenrim is three days ride. The elves are between them and Steeple. They're hurting. If we can hit them hard here, it'll make all the difference. These are the chances we wait for. The few against the many. Now." Juro hefted his torch. "Try not to fuck it up."
Juro inclined his head towards them, then darted across the dirt, raising his torch and lighting it off a Lorian torch staked into the ground before vanishing around a tent. Jaks followed him.
"Don't go far," Suka said, gripping Ella's arm. She nodded over her right shoulder. "I'll go that way. You move a few tents ahead, then come straight back here."
Once Suka vanished between the canopies, Ella was alone. Farwen's words once again rang in her ears. 'A bird doesn't learn to fly by staying under its mother's wing.'
She settled herself with a breath, then made her way towards the dirt path the soldiers had emerged from. Where did she even start? How was she to know a good place to start a fire? Anywhere. Just start a gods damned fire and get out of this place.
Ella drew in a short breath, exhaling sharply. She tightened her fingers around the shaft of her torch and darted across the dirt path to where a standing torch was lodged in the ground, flame burning bright. Her own torch burst into flames after only a few moments of being held in the fire. She stopped and looked over her shoulder, constantly searching for any signs that a Lorian soldier had seen her. They're gone, for now. Most of them, anyway. Just get it done and get out.Ella's throat suddenly felt dry as cotton. There was something different about this. Killing someone who was trying to snuff the life from her was one thing. It was still dark and horrible and it made her feel like dirt. But this… She wasn't naïve; she knew people would die here. Men and women still sleeping, some in drunken stupors, some staying behind to guard. The flames would claim them. Death was death, but this just felt… it just felt different. But then as she stood there, Rhett's face floated from her memories, blood spilling from his mouth, the tip of the spear jutting from his stomach, her name on his lips. Her own screams.
'Don't you dare leave me! Rhett Fjorn, do not leave me alone!'
Something shifted in her. The wolf howled in her blood, sensing her weakness, snapping, lips curled back, fangs bared. She could feel Faenir too, only just, his emotions dull at the back of her mind. He snarled, memories of Rhett pulling at him. The edges of her vision tinged red. Her hands tensed around the torch, and she could feel her muscles bunching in her back. I am in control.
She was in control, but the only problem was she wanted the wolf, she needed its strength, so she let it bleed it into her. Her mind was set. These people would have lit her on fire and walked away as she screamed. They took her Rhett from her, they took her love. My Ayar Elwyn. My One Heart. She would not let them take any more.
Ella dropped to her haunches and touched the torch against the canopy, watching as the material caught fire, losing herself in the flames for just a moment. As the flames flickered and blew in the wind, spreading, she turned to the tent behind her and did the same thing. The days had been dry, so the canopy caught fire in seconds. She moved forwards through the tents, touching the torch off their bases until the flames could feed themselves. Juro had said to burn only two or three and let the flames catch, but something had taken her: an anger, a fear, a fury. Even the thought of it set her jaw clenching, a snarl forming in her throat.
A harsh voice called her back to herself.
"You, stop!"
Ella froze. She turned, the torch gripped in her hand, to see a man charging towards her in nothing more than his small clothes and loose tunic, a sword gripped in his fists. Ella made to reach for her sword, but then Farwen came rushing from between two tents and hammered into the Lorian with her shoulder.
He crashed to the ground, scrambling to get back up, but Farwen leapt on top of him, lifting her blade, then driving it down through his chest. He coughed and spluttered, blood sprinkling from his mouth. Farwen twisted the blade in a sharp jerk. The man convulsed, then went limp. She rose to her feet, stepping on the man's chest and ripping the blade free in the same motion. "What in the gods are you doing?"
"I…" Ella looked to the torch in her hands and then over the tents around her. The night was ablaze. She hadn't even counted, she had just burned. "I wanted to make sure…"
"Farwen, Ella?" Juro emerged from the darkness of a path between two tents, his voice a hushed whisper. "What are you doing? We need to get out of here."
Farwen looked to Ella, matching her stare.
"Let's go." Ella glanced down at her torch one last time then tossed it into the rising flames of a nearby tent.
Screams rang out as people awoke shrouded in fire and burning canvas. A glance over her shoulder showed Ella nothing but flames and sparks. Juro had been right. The weather had been so dry, the tents so close together, and the wind so strong, that the flames had spread as though burning through a field of wheat in high summer.
Part of Ella roared in triumph, her heart pounding. But that part paled in comparison to the guilt at the sound of the screams and shrieks that filled the night. She had caused those screams. She had burned those people alive. Regardless of the rationalisation, that was a cold, hard fact. And it was something she was going to have to learn to live with, because she knew it would never leave her.
A thunderclap sounded, and sharp pain lanced her in a wave from head to toe. Then she was hurtling through the air. She tensed, closing her eyes, wind whipping around her. She crashed into something with a snap. Fabric closed around her, and the wind was knocked from her lungs as she hit the ground.
Ella gasped, dragging in air, her head spinning, ears ringing. Pain burned up her back and across her left shoulder. In her mind she could feel feet hammering against the ground. Faenir. She tried to lift herself but fell, her hand catching something. She was going to get sick; she could feel it in her gut. Vomit rose, but she choked it back down, gritting her teeth.
She grunted, peeling open her eyes to see a dizzying haze. The touch of dry canvas beneath her hands let Ella know she had been thrown into a tent. The snapping must have been a pole; that would explain the pain in her back. She shook her head, the haze that blurred her vision lifting. She could taste blood. Her own. The slowly emerging throb in her mouth told her she had bitten her tongue.
Flames blazed, sweeping back and forth in the shifting winds, consuming everything they touched. Ella grunted, leveraging the corner of what must have been a crate on the inside of the tent. But when she finally hauled herself to her feet and her vision cleared, her heart seized, and a shiver swept over her skin.
Juro hung in the air, impaled on the shaft of a snapped tent pole, legs and arms dangling, blood pooling in the dirt beneath him. Ella stumbled forwards, her balance deserting her. The sound of clashing swords pulled her attention to the right.
Farwen moved in a flash of steel, exchanging blows with perhaps the only two people, bar Coren, who Ella had ever seen move like the elf. One had hair as white as snow, a sword gripped in her fist. The other was dark skinned, with a shaven head and a curved blade – an elf. What is another elf doing here?
The three danced around each other, each predators stalking their prey, steel probing for weaknesses and slicing.
Ella reached down to her hip, relief filling her when she felt the pommel of her short sword. She pulled the weapon free and charged. Farwen wouldn't have left her; she wasn't leaving Farwen.
As Ella charged forwards, two Lorians stumbled from a tent that was already half aflame. One wore a tunic and leather trousers while the other was shirtless in a pair of string-drawn linens. Both looked as though they had just had a rude awakening from a drunken stupor; both held sharp steel in their fists. They looked to Farwen and the two strangers, then over to Ella. A flash of grey burst from the dark and crashed into the shirtless soldier, knocking him back into the tent. The man's companion turned to the tent, blood-chilling shrieks rising from within. A second later, Faenir leapt from the tent's depths, crashing into the remaining soldier's chest, tearing and ripping. The wolfpine clamped his jaws around the man's throat and ripped a chunk of flesh free with a spray of blood.
Ella continued her charge, her gaze locked on the dark-skinned elf. She threw herself forwards, swinging her sword towards his head. The elf threw her half a glance, then swung his hand as though he were swatting a fly. Ella could sense a slight shift in the air, then something unseen cracked into her left side, sending her sprawling to the ground. She leapt to her feet only for the invisible force to hammer her back down again, sending a burst of pain jolting up her lower back. He's a mage.The wolf howled in her head, a burning sensation spilling through her veins. She clenched her jaw, the wolf snapping and snarling – waiting.
A glance told Ella that Farwen was holding her own against the white-haired woman, but blood now leaked from a gash on her arm and a slice across her left leg.
All right. Ella drew in a trembling breath, acquiescing to the wolf in her blood. Be free.
An all-consuming howl answered from within. Her fingers curled, tightening around the hilt of her sword. She felt her fingernails growing thicker and sharper, scratching at the dirt. The red mist fogged Ella's vision, a strength igniting within her. She leapt to her feet and lunged towards the elf, Faenir beside her, a vicious growl in his throat. Just as the other times the wolf had flooded her veins, an unseen tether pulled taut between her and Faenir. They moved as one.
Ella's hackles raised, and she sensed another shift in the air – the elf's magic. She swerved sideways, Faenir bounding to the left. An invisible wave passed her, its path marked by the whipping of dust from the ground. Ella snarled, not stopping, then launched herself at the elf. She swung her blade, but the elf met it with ease, knocking her off balance. He extended his hand, wrapping his fingers around her throat and lifting her off her feet.
Faenir snarled and lunged, leaping straight for the elf's throat, but Ella felt that same ripple in the air, and the elf's magic slammed into the wolfpine, knocking him backwards through the side of a tent. Ella swung her sword, but something unseen, something she couldn't sense, caught her arm midway through the swing, freezing it as though she was trapped in ice.
The elf stared into Ella's eyes, giving a downturn of his bottom lip. A red glow emanated from beneath his breastplate. "A druid…"
Ella's sword hand tensed, that same unseen force peeling her fingers back against their will, her hand shaking violently. She felt the short sword fall from her grip, heard it hit the ground. The whole time, the elf's hand remained clamped around her throat. She wanted to kick and growl and roar, the wolf within her thrashing to break free, but something held her firm, like a thousand threads of twine wrapped tight.
A fury flared in her mind, and Faenir burst from within the tent he had been thrown through, hackles raised, saliva dripping from his snapping jaws. The wolfpine bent his legs and launched himself at the elf. Dread shivered across Ella's skin, and she watched as Faenir was caught by the same invisible force that held her in place. The wolfpine snapped and snarled, mouth frothing and spittle flying. The red glow beneath the elf's breastplate intensified, and Faenir's snarling turned to pleading whimpers, his body twisting. The whimpers turned to shrieks.
"Let him go!" Ella roared, her voice muffled by the fingers around her throat. The wolf in her blood howled and howled, thrashing and raging. She screamed as she pulled at her invisible bonds, trying desperately to break free.
As she screamed, the red mist poured over her mind, covering her eyes, drowning her senses, consuming her. Then, in an instant, everything was black, dark, and empty. She could still feel the elf's fingers around her throat, her lungs fighting to drag in air, but he was gone from her vision, as was the entire camp, and Faenir. Panic flared as she lifted her hands; where there should have been skin and nail, instead her fingers, hands, and arms were wrought with a shimmering white light as though she were some kind of spirit. She looked down at her legs and torso to see the same white light. What was more, she wasn't standing on anything, she was floating, weightless, in an endless sea of black. She looked around, but everything was dark, no sounds or smells drifted on the air. What is happening?Where am I? Where is Faenir?She touched her fingers to her throat, where she could still feel the elf's grip tightening. The sensation was distant, as though her body was separate from her mind. Is this the void? Am I dying?
Frantically, Ella looked around, still seeing nothing but blackness. I can't die… I can't. I can't leave Calen alone. As Ella's hands began to shake, something changed in the dark. Small spheres of light came to life, spreading through the blackness like stars in the sky. There were hundreds, thousands of them. They burst into life all around her. She could feel things radiating from them: thoughts, emotions, consciousness.
Without anything more than a thought, Ella's ethereal body drifted upwards towards two small spheres of light close to her. She was unsure as to what she was doing or what she might find, but she couldn't just wait for the elf to choke the life from her physical body. As she drifted upwards, more glowing spheres emerged, becoming clearer. Ella reached out her hand as the two small spheres she'd been pushing towards whipped past her. As they drew closer, they took shape – two small birds, wings flapping, bodies wrought in an ethereal light. More of the spheres took shape around her: birds, rats, mice, lizards, donkeys, horses. She couldn't see any people, or even Faenir, but she could feel the wolfpine faintly in the back of her mind. Each of the spheres were living things, or maybe their minds or souls; Ella was sure of it – she could feel it.
I'm not dead then. At least, not yet.
Her physical body felt so far away, yet the pressure of the elf's grip still set a burning in her lungs. I need to do something – anything. Ella pushed her mind further, seeing small spheres of glowing light almost everywhere she looked. In the distance, two spheres as big as houses materialised, one almost twice the size of the other. She reached out, desperate. Whatever was happening, there had to be something she could do to save herself. Gently, she tried to brush her mind against the smaller of the spheres, but dread filled her as she drew closer and the spheres took shape, spreading. Enormous wings, bodies laden with muscles and scales, jaws framed by horns longer than Ella's body, eyes that, even in the misty white glow, shifted and shimmered like molten steel.
Dragons. As the realisation flooded Ella, the dragon roared, its ethereal shape turning to look at her as the sound rippled through the darkness.
It can feel me.
Ella pulled her mind away, scrambling, panic pounding through her, a fear the likes of which she'd never known piercing her heart. And then she brushed against a smaller sphere that took the shape of an owl, its spirit-like wings leaving a trail of white mist behind it. Ella pushed herself into the owl. The darkness burned with a flash of bright light, and then the world returned, and Ella could see more than simply endless black. But she wasn't looking through her own eyes. She was in the air, swooping downwards towards the camp, fires blazing in the night. Everything was sharper and clearer, but the world lacked colour; it was all blacks, greys, and whites. It was the single strangest sensation she had ever felt. She was free, light as the wind, soaring. But she was also close to death, those fingers tightening around her throat, her feet dangling. Her mind was in the owl, but her body was in the camp below, fading. Was this what Farwen had spoken of when she had said the druid, Galveer, could push his mind into that of animals? Was this Shifting? Whether was or not, she needed to do something; she needed to save herself.
Without thinking, Ella plummeted towards the camp, the owl's natural instincts guiding her. She could feel the pulse of her own true body, feel her heartbeat fading. She honed in on it.
Everything was bright as day, the light of the flames almost blinding, but the owl's eyes were far more powerful than her own. Within moments, she saw what she was looking for – she saw herself. Farwen and the white-haired warrior were still exchanging blows behind the dark-skinned elf, steel flashing in the firelight.
Seeing her own body held up in the air, the life being choked from her by the elf, filled Ella with an unsettling kind of fear. How long had her mind been in that strange place? What happened if she died while her mind was in this creature's? Where would she go? She didn't have time to contemplate it.
She unleashed a high-pitched shriek and dove towards the elf who held her. Ella crashed straight into the elf's face, talons slicing through skin like soft clay, blood sluicing. A rush of relief sparked in her as air flooded the lungs of her true body, a dull feeling of pain as it hit the ground. But that rush was soon cut short as the same unseen force that held Faenir in place pressed against the owl's body, wrapping around it, crushing it. Ella squawked and screeched, flapping her wings, trying desperately to get away as the pressure crushed her fragile ribs, tiny bones snapping.
A realisation set in: I'm going to die. She didn't know how to pull her mind from the creature, had no way of escaping. She was helpless. Pure undiluted fear turned her soul to ice as the elf's magic pulled tighter.
Snap.
Ella opened her eyes, screaming, shrieking, pushing backwards in the dirt. Tears were in freefall down her cheeks, her chest convulsing. Her throat felt as though it had been crushed by a rock. She wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering, the sound of snapping bones filling her ears. She had died. She'd felt the world close in around her, felt the pain of bones snapping, saw the light fade as the owl was crushed. She sobbed and convulsed, until a dark shape stood over her.
Something crashed into Ella's face, slamming her head backwards against the hard-packed ground. A thin, sharp noise rang in ears, her stomach turning, the pain almost blinding.
"Ilyain." A dark form took shape over Ella. Her vision blurred. "Why is she alive?"
"She's a druid." That voice was the elf's. She recognised it. "Farwen?"
"I let her go." The second figure moved, white hair coming into focus as Ella's vision cleared.
A second blow struck Ella in the face, and then everything went dark.