Chapter 84: Forgotten Heroines Entry
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Ahead, the decoy pit waited. It was a bait of smoked wolf meat strung from a bent iron rod just above the false lid. Flies circled it, lazy and low. The meat sagged slightly but was still untouched.
Still intact. No curious nose had poked it. He relaxed. Just slightly. Zephyr veered around the trap, brushed a gnat from his cheek, and walked a little farther, until the pull in his bladder demanded release.
Behind a jagged thorn-slab rock, he answered nature’s call, then by old habit—scooped a handful of cold ash from a nearby pile and dusted the soil. Even scent could be a map to beasts with noses sharper than steel.
The air chilled again, as though the trees themselves held their breath. A mist ribbon crept along the grass. It was low, thin, and silvery. It curled around his ankles like a curious ghost.
He rubbed his arms once, shrugged against the rising breeze, and glanced skyward. Star was still in pattern. His shadow passed overhead once more.
Zephyr exhaled, long and quiet. The tension was coiled in his shoulders like a drawn bow.
Satisfied for now... he began the walk back, retracing his steps with silent confidence. The traps were ready. The drake was on watch. Fenna slept lightly; she always did. And the fire still cracked softly in their lean-to, casting narrow orange stripes over the earth.
At the camp’s edge, he tapped the whistle tucked beneath his shirt. A high trill broke the silence—sharp but brief.
Moments later, Star descended from the sky, talons stirring leaves as he landed. He huffed, the sound more breath than growl, then curled near the fire, heat naturally radiating from his scaled chest.
Zephyr nodded, slumped beneath the lean-to, and shrugged into his blanket. One hand rested by his thigh, where his hatchet lay ready. The other slid beneath the fabric to grip the hilt of his wrist-dagger.