Chapter 57: Passing Through The Shadow Of Death
It was him—the leader of the soldiers she had met in town, and he was now at death’s door before her.
Alaric’s vision blurred, the obsidian blackness fading like the last traces of daylight. Against the backdrop of flickering embers, the world distorted, but his focus settled on the face before him—beautiful, ethereal, with eyes so light brown, they shimmered with a hue of amber, glowing softly in the dying light of dusk.
A woman? What in the gods’ name was a woman doing so deep in the jungle? Was he hallucinating, drifting between the edges of consciousness?
He fought the pull of the darkness, his mind clouded with desperation, clinging to the thin thread of life that threatened to snap.
But then, gentle hands eased him onto the damp forest floor. A faint yet sweet scent drifted through his senses, soothing the gnawing pain in his stomach. He exhaled heavily. His body begged for rest. His mind clawed for awareness.
Not yet.
Lara worked swiftly, yanking cloth from her backpack, pressing a paste of yarrow against his open wound. Warm blood seeped through the fabric as she wrapped the bandage tight, her fingers deft despite the rapid beat of her pulse.
Her thoughts, however, drifted for a moment. The mangled bodies the wolves had feasted on—were they the soldiers he’d been with? The chatterbox among them?
She had never wished for anyone’s death, even if the soldier had been an annoying distraction. After all, they were the protectors of the people, the soldiers of the Northem.
She exhaled sharply, pushing the thought aside.
"Come on, soldier," she barked, her voice sharp, laced with urgency. "You need to help me. Get up. We’re not done yet."