The twisting grove did not trap him, but Samo did not leave yet. The shade of the criss-crossed branches muted the rich russet colours of his pelt, and the still-healing wounds that stood stark and raw against it. This was not Gaul—he knew this already. But there was an old familiarity in the darkness of the forest. He had learned to hide among the trunks as a boy, slipping easily out of reach beyond an enemy’s sword.

They had been fools to let the Romans lure them out into the open.

Samo would never make that mistake again. He heard footsteps, but he stayed where he was, eyes trained on the pale shape that approached through the gloom. The figure kept coming closer, however, and Samo knew he must be spotted.

Who goes there? Samo asked, the barest hint of a snarl on his lips. Yet his ears were pinned, tail tucked low; he did not wish to fight, but if someone dared to try and take him back to where he came, Samo would die fighting them off.

Eliana

---

dying was peaceful.

though it came too soon, in ways she did not deserve, it was more peaceful than the life she’d lived. gone were the voices, and all the things she wished to not see. gone were her parents, their greedy hands and empty hearts. gone were the nightmares, and all the people who wished her harm.

gone was the girl she was expected to be, the wishes she would never grant.

but the pain had gone nowhere. it clung to her, wrapped around her like a lover’s cruel embrace. and yet...she welcomed it with open arms, with tears that soaked into her skin and filled the hollow in chest, until, for the first time, she felt whole.

it was a pain she sacrificed herself for. a pain she had been ready for.

so when the time came, and she was forced back into the world of the living, all she could feel was disappointment. her mind stirred, rebuilding, reawakening—dragging her back into a reality she did not want. she wanted more time, more nothingness. was that too much to ask? didn’t she deserve something—anything?

swallowing down the sudden grief that coiled in her throat, eliana took a few shallow breaths, groaning as her chest rose. her pale face twisted at the taste of ash that clung to her tongue—a cruel, lingering reminder of all she had suffered. there was no smoke. no smell of of burning or sounds of crackling oak. a good thing, she supposed. hoped. but there was also no salt in the air, no crisp tinge of the sea that had always made her smile and wish to escape on every new boat that docked itself at shore.

instead, earth met her. the scent of dampened old wood, the low calls of ravens. and the darkness that had followed her even in this life.

before she knew what she was even doing, eliana was stumbling forward blindly like a newborn fawn, cheeks stained, tail tucked low between her legs. panic shot through her, spreading like hungry fire, and fear found its old home within her bones, settling in as if it had never left.

and then a voice—and the girl froze, heart stuttering in her chest, breaths stalling. no matter how hard she tried, she could not find words to save herself.

No answer. A bad sign. Samo kept low to the ground in an effort to make himself a smaller target. He crept cautiously through the underbrush, muscles tensed, hazel eyes wide. He tracked the sound of quicker, shallower breaths of the stranger, trying to keep downwind—

Yet when he sighted her through the branches, he realized his error. The stranger was not a Roman legionnaire, but a small, pale-furred slip of a girl. Frightened into silence.

At once, the knot of tension and fear in his stomach eased. Guilt trickled into its place.

I do not mean harm, Samo said quickly. I thought you might be a soldier. I am sorry.

---

his voice washed over his like distant thunder, and though it sounded softer now, less angry, she flinched. 

s'il te plaît, she managed. barely. her voice was a low, rough rasp in her throat, like she’d forgotten how to use it. like she’d lost it in in the ashes, and didn’t want it back.

swallowing down panic, eliana shook where she stood, head dipping low. her tail, long enough that tendrils kissed at her ankles, taunting her like teasing whispers, tucked tightly between her legs. she wished for the comfort of her room. lonely as it was, it was all she knew.

was that an apology?

this was how it always started, wasn’t it? soft voices, gentle lies. her family had spoken in lullabies  before they took her eyes. they had wept and whispered their regrets, with greedy grins hidden behind their masks

her lips parted, a breath struggling to escape like wind through cracking stone. she tried again, though not from bravery, but from fear. out of helplessness. her english was choppy from misuse, her accent thick, but she tried. s'il te plaît, p-please. who...you?

she looked for him, frantic, milky eyes pearly and shining, finding nothing. I—no soldier... her tongue caught, clumsy and uncertain. I…fille...I— what was she? who even was she anymore?

no prophet or oracle. not a sister, or a daughter. not a gift, or a girl sought. not even a girl hunted.

not here. not now. 

The girl was frightened out of her mind. Samo empathized, but did not know how to calm her. Her eyes shone murky white in the dark, and he realized that she was blind.

I am Samo, he told her. He took a step back, sinking low enough the fur of his belly brushed against the leaf litter. Here, to your left. By Taranis, I swear I will not harm you.

A binding oath by the gods was the best assurance he could offer her. No slave, freedman, or citizen would dare break it—or so he had believed, once, but it was all he could do.

What is your name? Why are you alone?