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" From sprinkler splashes
To fireplace ashes,
I gave my
Blood, sweat, and tears for this "
―AT DAWN THE next morning, we all wake up in the heavy, cold mists of the Cera Huo, the place eerie and slightly beautiful as though the ashen trees on the horizon are lithe, graceful dancers, made to sway and twirl through the fog. Last night, we found a nice place beneath a waterfall and in a valley, the only thing remotely intimidating about the setting the bones piled at the bottom of the rocky cliff. It almost feels peaceful, and I would be content if it weren't for the leering threat of my brother, Altan, on my trail. I'm praying I'll be able to elude him, but Saints can't say how long he's been following us.
At least I have reason to assume that he's only after me, not my friends, and not Alina.
As we pack up our tents, I brush off the clumps of ash and they sprinkle to the ground like snowflakes.
Then a loud cry pierces the air.
We all go completely still, my heart bucking wildly in surprise.
"Could just be a hawk," Tolya offers, but he looked unconvinced himself.
Mal doesn't respond, shouldering his rifle and marching off into the woods without hesitation. I let out a huff of irritation before following with the rest of the group, my pack making my already sore shoulders ache, the scabs on my knuckles stinging as I grip the straps.
The climb up the back of the waterfalls, takes us too many hours to count. The rocks are slippery and steep but unfairly jagged all the same, and my legs begin to scream in discomfort the further we go. My pack weighs me down and I see the others tiring out as well, sweat on their brows despite the frigid morning air.
"When we catch this thing," Zoya pants, "I'm going to turn it into a stew."
"I'll gladly make the cauldron," I agree, taking a heaving breath.
Even so, it's impossible to deny our excitement. When Alina and Mal first found the stag, I wasn't there to see it, instead posted at the gates of Os Alta. But when Rusalye emerged from those icy waters, it was like everything else was forgotten and I was a child again, that naive wonder and awe drowning me like a smooth current. I can still remember the sight of his iridescent scales and sharp, piercing red gaze, those massive, shimmering fins whipping in the air and spraying droplets of seawater onto the whaler's deck.
