My tracking skills weren’t the best, but these tracks were fresh. One set—Seth’s—was heavy and readily marked the dew-damp grass and mud of the trail, while the lighter paw prints would soon fade, though Misty informed me the smell of dog was strong and easy to follow. The trail led, as expected, downstream. Why the brothers had drugged us and hauled off Elara was beyond me. As we followed the path, I began examining the events in detail.

‘Maybe I was hasty in how I dealt with Bran,’ I thought. ‘Maybe the knife was to cut my ropes. I didn’t exactly give him time to talk.’

I looked at the cat. “What do you think, furball? Did I do right?” Misty just looked at me, huffed, and carried on leading the way.

“Maybe you’re right, cat,” I said. He had a knife, I didn’t. He thought I was tied; I wasn’t. My mind was starting to tie itself into convoluted knots, with morality and survival instincts warring against each other.

‘But if they wanted me dead, why not quietly slit my throat once I passed out?’ This was really starting to grate on my gears. ‘Del, you are NOT a murderer!’ I forcefully tell myself. ‘This was self-defence.’ And they still had Elara—or rather, he still had her, I thought ruefully.

We came to a small branch in the path. The well-used one continued downstream while a narrow track led to the water’s edge and a barely noticeable ford across. Misty immediately indicated they’d branched off here and crossed, or at least entered, the river. I picked her up—darn thing never liked getting unnecessarily wet, I chuckled. Once across, she had a good sniff, and I examined the ground. The tracks were fainter here as the ground was harder, and the early damp was disappearing as the morning warmed up. Misty, though, could still smell the dog, and I could see faint signs, so we knew we were still on the right path.

[Tracking has improved slightly]

‘So not to the village then?’ I mused. Misty gave a small mewl, the scent was stronger; we were getting closer. “Okay, girl,” I acknowledged, “let’s keep it quiet and careful until we know what’s going on.” Our speed through the thickening woods slowed as we tried to be as quiet as possible while gaining on our quarry. Misty continued to lead, mentally nudging me with updates and looking back in disgust every time I managed to snap a twig underfoot or failed to catch a branch that whipped back as I passed.

‘It’s okay for you,’ I grumbled. ‘I’m bigger than you, and I wasn’t born to be stealthy.’

Misty just turned her head, looked at me, and blinked slowly. “Yeah, same back at you, cat.”

As we got closer, Misty’s slinking grew lower, and I paid a lot more attention to where I stepped. The breeze was blowing downhill toward us as the path wound slowly uphill—a relief, knowing a dog’s keen sense of smell. Up ahead, I started to pick up the sound of voices—one angry, female. It had to be Elara; the other, I guessed, was Seth.

‘Good, keep that up,’ I thought. ‘Any distraction helps get you free.’

I sent a thought to Misty. ‘See if you can find a good position. I’ll carry on up the path.’ She gave me a look. “Yes, I’ll stay quiet,” I hissed at her.

Not long after, I was peering through dense foliage at them. From the look of it, they’d paused for a rest. Newt was lying down, ears pricked and eyes on Elara. She had some sort of complicated chain glowing faintly around her hands and was sitting on the ground, looking very angry, shouting at Seth one moment, then almost pleading the next.

“Get these damn chains off me, you fat, hairy ape!” she yelled.

“You know I can’t do that,” Seth replied, almost too calm in the face of Elara’s vitriol.

“I won’t run—Newt could catch me easy. Please, I need to go. You know, go?” She crossed and uncrossed her legs dramatically.

“Step behind that tree if you must. You don’t need me to unchain your magic to take a piss.”

I watched the two of them, almost admiring Elara’s pluck, despite her circumstances. ‘Keep on putting on the pressure, lass,’ I thought. I stayed hidden, figuring I might find out more about what was going on if I just exercised a hint of patience.

“But whyyy?” she really drew out the word, sounding plaintive and tearful. “You’re so big and strong, and I couldn’t hurt you if I tried.”

‘Damn, Elara, way to play the emotion card,’ I admired.

“If you don’t stop whining, I’ll gag you as well,” Seth retorted with a hint of frustration. “If you shut up and walk, we’ll be there just after the midday sun.”

‘Be there? Be where?’ I needed more.

“You complete and total moron, Seth. I’m not the prize you think I am.” Her voice rose. “Let me GO!” she screamed, tears of anger and frustration running down her face.

‘More, just a bit more, Seth,’ I urged silently, hoping for more clues.

Just then, the wind turned, gusting up the rise toward them. Newt’s head perked up, looking my way.

‘Shit,’ I thought, trying my best to slow my breathing and steady my heart as my pulse immediately reacted.

In a blur, a small ginger missile appeared out of nowhere. Claws extended, Misty raced across Newt’s back, leaving bloody trails in her path before disappearing into the undergrowth. Newt immediately leapt up and charged off in pursuit, and as I unslung my bow, I saw a little smile curl up on Elara’s lips.

I stood up, bow drawn and pointed right at Seth’s heart.

“Now why don’t you do what the lady says and untie her? Then we can all sit down and have a nice, friendly little chat.”

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“What the hell, how are you here?” He started to draw a knife and stepped my way. I loosed the arrow, another notched before it even got halfway to him.

‘Damn it, missed,’ I curse myself, but it makes Seth’s step falter.

“That’s the only warning shot you get. The next one goes in your leg, then your arm.” If in doubt, bluff it out—a motto that’s served me well enough.

“So why don’t we have a civilised talk instead?” I shrug, keeping the bow unwavering. “I don’t want a new dog, and I don’t like killing animals.” I pause. ‘Got to love the dramatic pause,’ I chuckle to myself. “You, on the other hand, still have options. Do you want to live or not?”

I knew, from his stance both last night and today, that he wasn’t a fighter; in truth, he was probably little more than a simple woodsman—one in over his head. His brother, on the other hand, had felt dangerous right from the moment we’d met him yesterday. Bran is definitely the fighter of the pair.

‘Was the fighter,’ I mentally amend. Seth slowly sheathes his blade and reaches for a key in his pouch, which he passes back to Elara.

“Where’s Bran?” he asks. “How did you find us?”

I wait until Elara is free before responding.

“Take a seat and give the girl a drink. I’m sure you’re both…” From the woods, a painful and pitiable yelping erupts. Seth spins in that direction.

“Newt!” he yells, his voice full of anxiety.

The yelping continues, rapidly heading toward us. Newt bursts through a bush, his nose and muzzle streaming blood with several nasty slashes on his flank. With a whimper, he charges up to Seth, trying to hide his large black body behind his owner, shaking in pain and fear.

From the underbrush, a ginger cat saunters out, gives us all a look only a cat can, and starts calmly cleaning the blood spots from her fur.

“What in all the hells is that?” Seth exclaims.

“That’s Misty,” I answer. “Surely you know what a cat is?”

“I know what a cat is, but that thing is some kind of demon spawn.” He crouches down to hug his dog. “Have you seen what it did to my poor dog?”

“She gets protective of Elara and me,” I say simply.

Seth is completely distracted by Newt, pulling a pot of salve from his pack and liberally applying it to the dog’s wounds while Newt quietly whines. If we weren’t in the middle of a twisted life-or-death situation, it would almost be touching how he ministered to the injured animal.

Every so often, Newt’s eyes turn fearfully to Misty, who, now clean, just sits watching, her tail twitching slowly back and forth.

‘Good girl,’ I think to her through our mental link. ‘Extra fish for you tonight.’

Once Seth is done, I gesture for him to sit, and he does. Newt immediately lies across him, trying to curl up as small as possible into his owner’s lap. Well, that makes things easier, I think. No way he’s getting up fast from under that weight. Feeling the situation is now more under control—with Elara free, Newt subdued, Seth pinned under 150 pounds of dog, and Misty on guard—I sling the bow across my shoulder and walk fully into the little camp.

“Now, isn’t that better?” I say. Crouching down, I give Misty a little scratch behind her ear, then go to Elara and give her a gentle hug.

“I knew you would come,” she says quietly, the ghost of a smile crossing her face.

I smile back. “Of course,” I say.

Seth looks at me, his face a mix of emotions—fear mostly, but also relief. I don’t think he wants to fight, and now he at least has hope he might live to see another dawn.

“So where is Bran?” he asks again, a slight catch in his voice. “How did you find us?”

I ponder for a moment. I hadn’t planned on lying, but truth can be coloured in many ways. I didn’t want to fight Seth; I knew how it would end. I didn’t want to be the man who took the path of least resistance and easy bloodletting.

“Bran is back at the lumber yard,” I answer honestly. “And you weren’t that hard to track.”

I consider how best to handle the situation.

“So why did you drug us?” I ask. “What was the plan with Elara and me?”

Seth looks defeated, his plans all unravelled, and he seems to visibly shrink.

“There’s a man—a wizard, I think—back a couple of days into the woods. He came by a while ago and asked us to look out for an elf girl.” He sighs. “Two days later, you both turn up. I didn’t want to do anything other than feed you and see you on your way in the morning. But Bran…he always wanted to find an edge, make some quick coin.”

He looks upset, as though laying bare dark family secrets.

“The next thing I knew, Bran brought in the beer, and I knew he’d laced it. I didn’t say anything—he can get angry easily.”

He looks up at Elara with eyes glistening.

“I argued with him for a long time, but he said either I took you to the wizard man, or he’d just kill you and sell Elara to the slavers.”

“What were his plans for me?” I ask quietly.

“He told me he was going to keep you for another day or so, then let you go.”

“Did you believe him?” My eyes bore into the top of his head as he keeps his gaze downcast, focused on the dog in his lap.

“No,” he answers quietly. He glances up at me, then quickly back down again. “What happened to him?”

“He came at me with a knife,” I respond simply. “But I was already free.”

Seth glances up at me again, this time holding my gaze.

“There was a fight. He didn’t win.”

Seth takes a breath, as if to steady himself. “Is he…?”

“Yes,” I answer gently. I’ve come to realise Seth is just a gentle giant. I feel the truth in his words, and I feel empathy for him in a way I hadn’t expected.

Tears roll down his face. “Mum always said one day he’d pick on the wrong person.”

I look towards Elara; her face is also sad, and I’m well aware that my own feelings at this moment are very confused. I’d been right in thinking Bran had no good intentions; killing him was totally self-defence, even if pre-emptive. But on the other hand, I’d created a situation where a brother is now left to figure things out on his own.

‘Menolly, I think you were right about moral ambiguity.’