Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Lily

Dusk spluttered across the horizon, dripping between the trees, the last vestiges of sunlight pooling across the uneven ground. Lily watched her step as she strode through the undergrowth, wary of everything from fallen branches to malevolent creatures lurking in the shadows.

Her pack thumped against her back and, exhausted, she drooped against the trunk of the nearest tree. Darkness trailed her, swallowing her whole as she crumpled onto a carpet of moss and twigs. Brushing strands of stray, wavy hair from her face, Lily bit her lip.

Uncertainty stole her breath. Had she done the right thing? Though she was well trained in combat, she had never spent a night alone in the woods – let alone tried to make her home there.

Yanking her pack to her front, Lily dug through its contents and pulled her canteen free. She had to ration her water intake until she found a clean stream or river somewhere, and as of yet she had no idea where she might find one, or how soon that might be. Taking tiny, timid sips, she tried to force away the tears that pricked at her eyes.

Her determination was failing her, as swiftly and as surely as the dark was encroaching. Taking one last sip to wet her mouth and swallow back the lump in her throat, Lily packed away her canteen and stood, swaying slightly. She’d not broken for lunch nor stopped for any snacks; too great was her desire to get away, to put the Blood Moon pack behind her before she could turn tail and run back to those who had shunned her.

Working quickly so as to make the most of the remaining shards of daylight, Lily constructed her small, canvas tent. Tugging loose fabric and tying straps kept her hands and head busy, breathing short-lived relief into her aching body. Swelling loneliness ate away at her, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the silence that would come once she had exhausted her duties.

The darkness had infiltrated every inch of the woods by the time the tent was up. Too scared to light a fire, Lily waited until her eyes had adjusted before ripping off chunks of bread and dunking them into the pot of raspberry jam. Sat heavily on her bedroll, she stared blankly out into the tight-knit trees, heart thumping at every imagined sound.

But as her hunger abated and exhaustion pulled at her bones, the loneliness found its mark. It crept in slowly, filling the spaces of her mind unoccupied by fear or weariness or regret. She hugged her knees to her chest, the thin fabric of the bedroll scrunching beneath her. Had her dad realised she was gone? What was he doing, alone in the cabin without her? Such thoughts ate away at her chest, leaving behind a cavernous, gaping wound broken only by the fragile bones of her ribcage.

Lily wrapped the remains of the loaf back into the cloth she’d brought it in. Though she could only turn once a month, the other gifts of her kind were with her always: improved sight, which she was particularly glad of, as well as better hearing, quicker healing, and a stronger body than that of a human. A part of her hated those other qualities, just as much as she hated shifting – they signified the piece of her that she couldn’t control, the warrior within her dying to be set free. But, for now, Lily was glad of her gifts – glad that she could see well enough in the dark to manoeuvre without light, and glad that, should someone find her, she had a hope of defending herself. A small hope, but hope nonetheless.

Running a tongue over her teeth, Lily reached for her canteen. Her mouth felt gritty, and the sugar from the jam had coated her tongue and gums. She stepped out of the tent to swill her mouth out and take care of her personal needs, flushing even in the darkness, and was checking the knife was still carefully strapped to her leg when something rushed past her face.

She stilled. Then, ever so slowly, she slipped her hand to the blade’s hilt and yanked it free of its strappings. It felt cool against her sweaty palm, and she gripped it tighter.

A quiet buzzing cut through the night. Lily swallowed hard. Raising the blade, she turned, eyes darting between the trees. Silence. Then –

A large, bee-like creature swung at her, heavy wings stirring the cool, still air. Swearing under her breath, Lily ducked. The creature – a bowstring, Lily realised belatedly, her tired brain snapping to life as adrenaline flooded her veins – propelled itself back towards her. She sidestepped it neatly, before spinning on her toes and raising the blade as it through the night once more.

Almost as big as a cat, the bowstring struggled to turn tightly in the packed woodland. Lily adjusted her stance, spreading her feet wider, watching and waiting for the bowstring to face her. Her eyes drifted to the night-blooming flowers winding up the nearby tree trunks, and her heart fell. This was her own fault – her own damn fault that a bowstring was here, its webbing widening so as to propel it back towards her.

Unlike the placid wild bees that clung to the gardens within the pack’s territory, bowstrings sipped nectar from night flowering plants, like the death’s ivy that curled around branches, tiny white petals sprouting as the moon rose. Her canvas tent was so close to the ivy that Lily could have reached from its doorway to pluck the flowers loose. In the last rays of golden sun, the white flowers that distinguished it from ordinary ivy had not been present. Lily wanted to kick herself for forgetting.

With a soft whoosh, the bowstring released the webbing surrounding its stinger and flew straight at Lily’s face. She did not flinch as she sliced its furred body in two.

Yellow blood hissed free of its broken body, splattering her hands and cheeks. She toed its body under a small pile of debris, not wanting to see its gnarled wings and glassy eyes.

With a sigh, Lily used most of her water to wash herself clean. Dropping her canteen into the tent, she looked up at the fragments of the stars, splintered by the thick leaves and branches above. It was a small thing, to defeat a bowstring – they were nothing more than a slight inconvenience compared to the other creatures lurking in between pack territories – but pride and a giddy, childish sort of glee rose in her, and a smile cracked her lips.

She stepped back and wiped her palms on the thighs of her trousers, smearing dregs of water across their thick, weighty fabric. They would be too heavy for warmer climates, but the trees blocked out much of the sun, and its heat along with it. They also kept the knotted thorns away from her bare skin, and Lily would take that protection – even if it meant being too warm for the few hours surrounding midday.

Wrinkling her nose at the grime she’d accrued throughout the day, Lily picked at the dirt beneath her nails before common sense caught up with her. She’d be safe from bowstrings in the tent, she realised, and, cursing herself for her vanity, for her stupidity, she zipped herself firmly inside.

She would likely be grubby for the rest of her life. That life wouldn’t last long unless she kept her wits about her.

Settling on the bedroll, Lily listened to the nightlife emerging outside. She needed to rest, but her body remained tense. Hairs prickled down her arms and rose on the back of her neck. She rolled the ring around her finger, unable to see the gleam of the jewel in the darkness. Something was out there.

She shook herself. Though her ears strained, she could hear nothing other than the hum of insects and the flap of owl’s wings. She re-tied the blade to her leg, attaching it to her thigh rather than to her calf this time – her recent experience had taught her that it would be easier to grab from there. Something twisted bloomed in her chest, alongside the lingering hurt of Atticus’s rejection that she was sure would remain with her forever.

She was already learning, already changing. She could only imagine what a lifetime spent in the wilderness would do to her. With a slight snort, she wondered if she’d become the sort of warrior her dad – and maybe even Atticus – would be proud of.

Her eyelids were finally beginning to droop when a twig snapped outside. The sound roused her, and instinctively she reached for the blade, sitting up slowly, quietly, her eyes fixed on the zipped-up doorway. The canvas of the tent’s exterior suddenly felt far too thin.

“Lils?”

She sucked in a breath. She recognised that voice. Unwilling to reply, she waited for the man to speak again.

“Lily, is that you? Please – please, Lils, tell me it’s you.”

Desperate to see, terrified to leave the comparative safety of the tent, Lily rose to her knees, the blade pointed at the door. Her throat bobbed, and her hand shook as she moved to unzip the tent.

She had to. She couldn’t hide, not from him. Not from her father.