We Walk As Wolves

Chapter 13

Redd 

Redd wasn't used to following. 

She wasn't used to walking in somebody else's tracks. She was used to making her own, used to following the path that had developed over the years because of her steps. She was used to the feeling of Wilder's eyes on her back as he followed behind, watching her like she was something staggeringly regal. 

She was used to leading. 

Now, he was in front, leading her. He was the one making the direction turns, the pace changes, the decisions. He knew where to go because of the sparks shooting through his nerves, knew Cass was by the ocean because of an ingrained feeling he'd woken with, and she trusted it - trusted him. 

But her body still reacted to their hunt naturally, and she made no attempt to suppress it. She still held her bow with a flexible wrist, still trailed a finger along a few of her knives. She still guarded his back, and her own. In front of or behind him, she remained his warrior.

As they walked, Redd kept a close eye on the tracks their own prints were retracing. She didn't think Wilder had noticed. He was brilliant, clever, but he was singleminded. She suspected it had something to do with his ruling of the island. There was always too much in his head, whispers from things that shouldn't have been able to whisper. He always spoke about the trees and the wind as if they were a friend. 

But recently, she'd begun to wonder if they really were his friends, or if they had other motives. He'd been more restless than usual.

Wilder may have been too captivated by the swirls of magic roaring inside him, but Redd had seen the oddity in the tracks almost immediately. She knew Cass's footprints, because it had been the first thing she memorized when they'd met. It was an important detail to remember, since she lived on an island that seemed to lose and misplace pieces of itself on a regular basis. His were small, shaped by the outline of shredded, wet socks. 

But there was an extra pair that ran along beside his - bigger and left more of an indent. Tall shoes, boots - there was more of an arch to the prints - and they wore something on their back, heavy enough it forced them to dig in with their heels. Cass wasn't alone like Wilder had predicted, and Redd didn't recognize the prints. 

The Lost Ones didn't own shoes, didn't care for them and said they squeezed their stems, and pixies - though they could grow their size if they wanted - refused to touch the floor because it had been soiled by simpletons. The air, apparently, was far cleaner. And as far as Redd knew, the monsters and beasts that lived in the woods didn't have a need for footwear. 

"Dagger for you thoughts, love?"

Her eyes slowly rose to meet his, then she nodded toward the ground. "There are two sets of tracks."

He ignored her gesture, didn't even look down to see the prints for himself. He just grinned. "Double the fun." 

She rocked an arrow between two fingers, felt her pulse knocking against the wooden shaft. "Double the blood."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

She smiled, laughed. Always too sharp, too loud. It startled the birds nesting in the treetops. 

Wilder stared at her with a crooked grin. "There's that laugh."

She lowered her voice, deepened her smile. "Stare at me with those big eyes any longer and I'll have little choice but to carve them out."

He laughed wildly, throwing his face up at the waning moon, then turned on a heel and continued down the path. He was always so graceful, never tripped or missed a step. It was as if he had never truly learned how to walk, had always floated one foot above the island's floor instead.