The Forever Blaze [3]

C H A P T E R - 5

It's okay, Sophie transmitted as Silveny circled above them. I won't let him hurt you.

But as Greyfell thrashed again, nearly pulling Jurek over, she wondered if she could really keep that promise.

Meredith stepped forward in an attempt to calm him down and Greyfell calmed down by a bit.

Everything about Greyfell was fierce. His wild eyes. The constant twitching in his bulky muscles. The gleam of his teeth as he tried—and thankfully failed—to snap through the thick rope holding him.

And yet, the cold waves rippling through Sophie's mind felt more like fear than rage.

"Careful," Keefe warned as Sophie took a step closer. "I'm getting some pretty serious I-will-bite-your-hand-off-if-you-touch-me vibes."

It's okay, Sophie transmitted. I'm not going to hurt you.

Greyfell stamped his hooves.

Silveny whinnied, transmitting, Sophie! Danger! Fly! But Sophie ordered her to stay back, wishing she could block Silveny's panicked shouts from her head.

She closed her eyes, letting everything else fade to a hum as she imagined her consciousness stretching toward Greyfell like a blanket of feathers. Most Telepaths couldn't open their minds to the thoughts of animals, but thanks to her enhanced abilities, Sophie's head filled with images of snowcapped mountains and towering trees and lakes so clear they looked like mirrors of the sky. Everything felt bright and open and free, and yet a hollow ache laced through every scene—the same mournful emptiness Sophie remembered feeling the first time she met Silveny.

You're not alone anymore, Sophie promised Greyfell. Friend.

She sent images along with the word: scenes of herself caring for Silveny, and flying with Silveny, and letting Silveny nuzzle her neck—anything to prove that Greyfell could trust her. She even showed him she could teleport, wanting him to know how deep their connection went.

A word filled her mind then—one that took Sophie a second to translate from the alicorn language Greyfell was using.

Kin.

Yes, Sophie transmitted, opening her eyes to study him. Greyfell's irises were flecked with gold—just like hers—and as he held her gaze, tiny bits of cold speckled her consciousness, like icy drops of rain inside her head.

The more she concentrated on them, the more they turned into a steady stream.

Then a downpour of nightmares.

Sharp-toothed beasts, and humans with gleaming weapons—chasing, hunting, out for blood. Screams and war cries echoed in her consciousness as the ache of scars still healing brought tears to her eyes.

She tried to pull her mind free, but Greyfell kept sending violent, bloody scenes filled with lumpy-faced monsters—ogres, she realized—beating and bludgeoning everything they touched until the whole world was red. She wanted to cry, scream, scratch the scenes out of her brain. But she could only stand there as the fear seemed to crystallize inside her, freezing her from the inside out.

"Whoa," Keefe said, dragging Sophie back. He held her tight as she shivered against his chest. "It's okay. I've got you." Meredith stumbled back a bit and steadied herself.

"What happened?" she asked when her voice was working again.

"I have no idea. One minute you and Greyfell were becoming BFFs. Next minute you were shaking, Mer was trembling and Greyfell was thrashing so much Jurek had to sedate him."

"He did?" She tried to spin around and felt her knees collapse.

Keefe barely managed to catch her. "Hey—take it easy. He's fine, see?"

He turned so they were facing Greyfell's collapsed body, which didn't look fine. His wide eyes stared at nothing and his purple tongue drooped to the ground. But his chest was rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths.

"He'll wake up as soon as I remove this," Jurek said, pointing to a lei of tiny green-blue flowers around Greyfell's neck.

Sophie usually loved anything teal, but there was something ominous about the pointed petals, like nature was trying to warn everyone to stay away.

"Dreamlilies," Jurek explained. "The slightest touch of their pollen and you're out like a hibernating bugbear."

Sophie didn't know what a bugbear was, but she hoped they slept peacefully.

"So," Keefe said, making her realize she was still holding on to him. "You two okay now?" Keefe stood beside Meredith who seemed to be shaking herself out of some kind of stupor.

"Yeah. Sorry." She pulled away to stand on her own, hiding behind her hair so he couldn't see her blushing. "Greyfell's just had a much harder life than Silveny."

Her voice quivered as her mind replayed the horrors Greyfell had shown her. He must be centuries old, and had witnessed the murder of his own kind at the hands of all manner of vicious creature. Most of the time he'd barely escaped with his own life, while friends, family—even his mate—weren't as fortunate.

But one memory was far more terrifying than the others, partially because it was familiar, but mostly because it was recent.

"The rebels have been here," Sophie whispered.

"You're sure?" Keefe asked, the same time Jurek said, "That's impossible."

But Sophie knew what she'd seen. "Greyfell saw a black-cloaked figure do something to Silveny while she was sleeping. That's why he's afraid of her."

"If what Greyfell showed me was correct, it is going to be a huge problem," Meredith said gravely.

"Wait, he showed you stuff?" Keefe asked.

"Bits and pieces but enough for me to figure stuff out. Sophie, call Silveny down. I need to check for something."

She called Silveny down, half hoping Meredith was wrong as she led her a safe distance away from Greyfell's unconscious form. But when Meredith traced her fingers through the shimmering silver strands of Silveny's tail, it didn't take long to find what she was looking for—right where Greyfell had shown her it would be.

"This is why Silveny keeps chasing her tail," Meredith said, holding out a quarter-size disk with  five tiny crystals set into one side.

Sophie'd never seen one so large or intricate, and she'd never seen one made of silver.

But she knew exactly what it was, even before Jurek tore his hands through his hair and said, "That looks like a tracker."