Chapter 71: Grief in the Fog
The group moved silently through the bone-white forest.
The fog clung to the earth like a second skin, curling around their feet, swallowing the distance between trunks. The Shadow Wolf hadn’t returned, but its presence pressed in from all sides—low growls echoed faintly from the mist, as if the forest itself breathed threats into their ears.
No one spoke.
They marched east in tense silence, weapons drawn, spells at the ready.
Gindu and Fenric were up again, both walking on their own. Gindu, scales sharpened and eyes hard, had his pride stitched back into every step. Lucy, still soulthreaded to him, felt the quiet frustration simmering inside.
He was embarrassed that he’d been the only one taken out of the fight.
’Poor fog dog. Next time it shows up, Gindu’s gonna turn it into a scarf,’ Lucy thought, smirking.
He imagined Gindu tearing it apart, blood flying, then planting a clawed foot on its corpse and declaring himself Wyrmling Boss Supreme. The image made Lucy snort softly.
And then there was Fenric.
The blood junkie was strutting like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just tried to rip Gindu open moments ago. Lucy narrowed his eyes at the back of Fenric’s head.
’Yeah, Tara and I are gonna have words. Angry, well-articulated words.’