The Veil of Danu

Passing Wisdom (12)

That night, the woods came alive with sounds and movements just at the edge of perception. Soft laughter floated through the darkness, light and melodic, yet so out of place it sent a chill crawling up my spine. Glowing lights flickered between the trees, darting like fireflies but too large and too deliberate in their movements to be natural. And then there was the song—low and haunting, weaving through the night like a thread of silver, pulling at something deep inside me.

I stayed still, my hand resting on Nox's flank. He was tense, his body coiled and ready, a low growl rumbling in his throat every time the noises drew near. His lips curled back, revealing sharp teeth as if warning the unseen figures to stay away.

The Rowan branch tied around his neck swayed gently as he moved, and I felt its presence as an anchor, a protective shield against whatever lurked beyond the firelight. The strange movements, the lights, the song—they all stopped short of breaching the boundary around us. I began to believe in its power, its silent strength keeping the creatures of the woods at bay.

But they didn't hide their existence. They wanted us to know they were there, watching. Waiting.

Sleep was impossible. Every time my eyes drifted shut, another sound—a crackle of leaves, the faintest echo of words—snapped them open again. Nox and I were a mirror of each other, tense and alert, braced for a danger that never fully came.

By the time first light broke over the horizon, turning the woods from shadow to gray, I was already packing up our meager camp. Nox stood beside me, his pale blue eyes darting to every shift in the underbrush.

"We're done here," I muttered, my voice hoarse from the night's silence. The sooner we were back on the road, the better.

Kaida had said the city of Avila was two days' walk from the village. With every step, I felt the urgency to reach it growing. The thought of spending another night in the open, vulnerable to the things that roamed the wilds, sent a shiver through me. I adjusted my pack and quickened my pace, Nox matching my stride without complaint.

The road stretched ahead, winding through hills and patches of dense forest. It was quiet now, the stillness of the day a stark contrast to the restless night before. The Rowan branch swayed gently from Nox's neck, catching the light as we moved. I felt its presence more keenly now, as if its power pulsed faintly beneath my skin.

The first day passed uneventfully, though my eyes stayed fixed on the shadows, and Nox's ears flicked at every distant sound. When the sun began to sink low in the sky, we came upon an old stone marker half-buried in the dirt. Weathered runes were etched into its surface, and though I couldn't read them, they gave me a strange sense of reassurance. A sign that we were moving closer to the edges of civilization.

I decided to make camp just beyond it, where the road curved into a clearing. The fading light painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson, and the air was cool but not unpleasant. I built a small fire, careful to keep it low, and Nox settled beside me, his head resting on his paws but his eyes never fully closing.

As the fire crackled softly, my mind drifted back to the song from the night before. It had been beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. It had felt...familiar. Like it was calling to something buried deep within me. The thought sent a ripple of unease through me, and I reached out to touch the Rowan branch tied around Nox's neck, its rough texture grounding me.

"They're watching, you know."

The voice came from the darkness beyond the firelight, smooth and steady, with a faint lilt that set my nerves alight. I was on my feet in an instant, Nox growling low beside me, his hackles raised.

A figure stepped into the light—a man, tall and lean, with hair the color of midnight but reflected greenish tint in the light, and eyes that glimmered like stars. He was dressed in simple traveler's clothes, but something about him was undeniably otherworldly. He moved with a grace that set him apart, as though the ground itself bent to his will.