Danuta’s voice cut through the night, sharp as a whetted blade. The spear-shaft vibrated, humming against the moss where it struck. Zosia pulled her chin down, her focus flitting between the ash-wood haft and the huntress crouched on the ledge. Scarred knuckles gripped Danuta's second spear; Zosia had seen those hands snap a winter stag's spine without breaking stride. The old welt across Zosia's shoulder blades flared hot, phantom leather dragging against raw skin.
But before Zosia could even formulate a panicked apology, a shadow fell over her. Bramor, who had been an enormous, still presence, was suddenly anything but. He moved with a speed that belied his massive frame, surging to his feet. His torso, broad and thick with dense muscle, became a living barrier beneath the canopy's mossy sheen. He placed himself squarely between Zosia and Danuta, his back to the huntress, his broad shoulders shielding Zosia entirely. He didn’t growl, didn’t posture aggressively, but the sheer size of him, the unyielding line of his back commanded the space. A low, rumbling vibration emanated from his chest, a sound Zosia felt more than heard, resonating deep in her bones.
For a moment, Danuta seemed to freeze, her spear-arm still poised, her eyes narrowed. Danuta's knuckles blanched on the haft; every tracker in the north knew stories of the cursed brute roaming these sunken crags. Zosia, tucked behind Bramor’s immense thigh, felt a spark ignite within her, a fierce, protective warmth blooming in her chest. This creature, this terrifying, gentle giant, was shielding *her*. It was a sensation she had never known.
Instinct, honed by years of surviving the cruelties of her old pack, took over. The trembling stopped. A grin, bright and empty, spread across Zosia’s face. She softened her stare, letting her chin tilt with practiced vacancy. She poked her head out from behind Bramor’s leg, her voice a little too high, a little too saccharine. “Oh, Danuta! Fancy meeting you here! Did you… did you get lost? It’s ever so tricky, this ravine, isn’t it? All the pretty lights make it quite disorienting!” She waved toward the phosphorescent ferns beneath the rim, as if remarking on midday clover.
Danuta’s expression shifted from fury to bewildered contempt. “Lost? You think I’m lost, you simpering fool? I tracked your pathetic scent for two days! You’re trespassing, Zosia. And you’ve found yourself a pet monster.” Her gaze flickered to Bramor, who remained impassive, an unmoving mountain of muscle and bone. “The elder will make an example of you. Coming here, defiling the old borders…”
“Defiling?” Zosia interjected, her smile unwavering, even as a cold knot tightened in her stomach. “Oh, no, Danuta, darling! This place is just *too* beautiful to defile! Look at all the sparkly things! And this big fella,” she patted Bramor’s leg, feeling the solid warmth of him, “he’s ever so gentle. Like a big, fluffy teddy bear!”
Bramor vibrated again, a low, guttural sound escaping him, almost a growl, but it was directed at Danuta, a warning rumble. He didn’t like her tone, Zosia realized. He didn’t like the words she spoke, even if Zosia’s own facade was unwavering. The thought sent another unexpected warmth through her, a fierce, almost possessive joy. He understood. He saw through her pretense, perhaps, but he protected it.
Danuta scoffed, her lip curling. “Teddy bear? You’ve lost your mind, Zosia. That thing is a blight, a danger. It’s what keeps this whole rotten ravine impassable.” She took a step forward, spear still leveled. “Move, beast. I’m taking the girl back.”
Bramor didn't move. He held his ground, unyielding against the slope. His head, massive and covered in soft fur, turned slightly, and Zosia felt his gaze on her, a profound depth in his dark eyes that belied his muteness.
Then, without warning, a searing heat erupted on Zosia’s left wrist. She cried out, a raw sob of pain that tore her cheerful mask apart. Simultaneously, a brilliant, cerulean light flared into existence, not just on her wrist, but on Bramor’s as well. It was as if invisible threads of pure energy had woven themselves around their forearms, glowing with an ethereal intensity. The blue flare pulsed with her racing pulse, weaving into tight, spiraling bands of script that etched into their skin. The burn bit deep, yet an immense, anchoring calm grounded her heels into the loamy earth. Zosia stared down, mouth parted, every ounce of artifice burned away. The glyphs settled into indigo lines under the skin, clear as brand marks.
Danuta gasped too, her spear clattering to the ground. Her furious scowl dissolved into slack disbelief, then horror. Her eyes, wide and fixed on the glowing marks, searched Zosia’s face, then Bramor’s. “The… the Embrace of Olenya,” she whispered, her voice rough with disbelief. “A bonded pair… It’s a myth! You… you’re fated.” Her gaze lingered on Zosia’s face, taking in the bared shock where the painted smile had failed.
“Fated?” Zosia managed, her voice barely a whisper, still reeling from the sudden, powerful magic. Her wrist throbbed, but it was a comforting ache now, a promise. She looked at Bramor, who watched her with an ancient, steady gravity. He too seemed stunned by the mark, his gaze flicking to his own wrist, then back to her, a deep rumble vibrating from his chest once more.
Danuta shook her head, running a hand through her burnt umber hair. Her stare swept across the phosphorescent valley, then rose to the faint barrier humming overhead. “This… this changes everything.” She knelt, retrieving her spear, but held it loosely, no longer pointing it. Her voice dropped, now grave, devoid of its previous venom. “The Zhivomir pack isn’t the only one hunting you, Zosia. Warlord Kajetan… his forces are moving. The blight in the Western Steppes has devoured three more settlements. He believes the curse in the beast’s blood is the cure. He’s marching on the Hollow. He’ll be here within a handful of sunrises.”
Zosia choked down a dry gasp. Kajetan. The name was whispered in fear throughout the scattered packs. The warlord would slaughter Bramor like an ox to draw the curse from his veins. Her glance darted to Bramor's forearm, then to the translucent barrier shielding the valley's upper rim.
A soundless split jagged through the dome overhead. Black fissures spiderwebbed across the ward-skin above the valley, choking out the pale blue mosslight in a sudden blot of shadow.