Chapter 93
We followed the trail deeper into the woods, guided by boot-sized footprints, snapped twigs, and occasional droplets of something that might've been goblin blood or possibly very stubborn jam. Finn kept poking at it and sniffing.
"I think it's green apple," he whispered.
"You're disgusting." I whispered back.
"A lick test wouldn't hurt," he said, bringing a finger closer to his mouth.
"Don't. Just, don't do that."
The forest grew thicker the deeper we went. Moonlight slipped through the branches in scattered streaks, patchy and silver, just enough to illuminate the tangled roots and uneven dirt. Every time I stepped on something crunchy, it felt like I was setting off a firework.
Bran led the way. His dented armor clinked softly, like a tired wind chime being dragged into battle. He didn't speak, didn't sigh, didn't even mutter about heartbreak. Just walked on quietly, looking uncharacteristically determined.
