Snowberry's Veil

Part 2

Now at the bottom of the valley, I had run around the lake I'd seen and into a fan of smaller valleys, picking one at random and following it. I kept to a small animal trail, knowing that the creatures that made it used it so often that it formed a visible trail did so because it was a good path to follow, leading somewhere useful. Leaving the pathway might be a good way to travel, and it might not: there was usually a reason that animals kept to the trails they did. A likely enough looking way might lead straight to a cliff. And there were worse things than terrain in the wilderness.

It was late afternoon then and I knew I needed to find shelter soon. This part of the wood did not look like it was traveled much by anything but smaller game, and I was hoping the wolf clan on my trail would not follow me too deeply into unknown territory. A single target might not be attractive enough to follow, but then I'd made them angry with the bees from my little pouch now lost on the mountainside. I would have cursed but I needed to save my strength and my breath.

I kept a steady pace up, long used to travel by running, trying to ignore the pain in my legs and in my back. I also tried to ignore the numbness of my feet and nose and fingers. Fully dressed it hadn't been so cold, but now I was shivering with the chill. The little trail led along a ridge and my eyes caught a hint of a path leading up the side. What was more important was a plant that I saw by that path. It was a small shrub that I'd been hoping to spot, with waxy blue leaves and yellow stems, each stem ending in sets of six willow-long leaves. The plant never flowered, but did produce string-like sticky appendages that attracted bees and other pollen-carrying creatures. But it wasn't the leaves or the sticky growths I was after, it was the root.

I had bare seconds to spare, yet if I could get at the roots, I could perhaps save my life and shake the feral wolves off my trail, and if I was clever, the beastmen as well. Digging furiously with my hands I revealed a thick, yellowish root and picking up a sharp looking stone I hacked at it viciously. The root finally gave way, and I could hear my pursuers growing closer. They were not cautious, so perhaps this area was known better to them than I'd hoped. With the root in hand, I crushed the end using the stone and rubbed the mangled, wet end on my feet. I shuddered looking at the torn flesh and battered soles of my feet and the root coming away smeared with blood. Through the numbness somewhere deep in my feet I felt stabbing pain as I jammed the root mercilessly against them. The thick, wet sap coated my feet and swiftly dried, leaving a glossy surface.

That surface would protect my feet slightly, but what's more it would staunch the bleeding and most importantly the mild enchantment of the eads herb would negate the ability of the wolves to track me. I would leave no scent, no track at all, for as long as an hour. Throwing dirt over the roots, I tied the eads root into the rags of my tunic around my waist as I fled. That root could serve me again for a few days, if I lived that long. I left the path I was on, following a faint trail rising along the ridge, and kept low, moving slower now, trying to make as little noise as possible. Moving carefully, I avoided stepping on anything that would break or rattle and tried to avoid brushing up against any plants. Speed was less important than being undiscovered at this point. A cold wind blew along the ridge, reminding me of how bare I was against the elements of the mountains.

Below me I could hear the wolves and beastmen reach the point I left the animal track. The feral wolves growled and whined, sounding frustrated, confused, and less confident in a new meal. I heard what sounded like the wolf clan discussing the matter in their language, and I continued moving as swiftly as I could without revealing myself. They could still smell me on the air if the wind shifted; at present it was blowing past the wolves toward me, but it might swirl or back and the lack of a trail would become meaningless as they would follow the scent of my body.