The forest opened before them like a great black maw, its trees whispering secrets in the wind. Just beyond the thickness of tree lines, two horses waited, stomping their hooves as if impatient to flee the night in this land.
"You never told me who's helping you," Elaika wondered, eyeing the animals warily as she swung onto the saddle. She poured the scent-hiding potion into the fabric of her new clothes, its acrid aroma stinging her nostrils and then her scent matched the forest.
Zaira mounted up beside her, adjusting her cloak with practiced ease. "Her name is Phoria."
Elaika's brow twitched. She didn't recognize the name. But is someone so fluent in spellcraft? That stank of witchery. That wasn't easy to earn strong spells.
They galloped beneath the moonless sky, hooves pounding over soil and stone. The air grew heavier the farther they rode from Thegara as if the land itself mourned their passage or Elaika felt so. She was leaving the land she loved the most.
