❛ the ground. that's the dream. ❜
On the list 𝘓𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘑𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘛𝘰𝘱 𝘛𝘦𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘖𝘧 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦, getting arrested is definitely up there. But, hey! At least there's a silver lining ━━ getting shoved into a drops...
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[ this book is officially getting updated at 6pm est every Monday for two reasons: 1. I hate Mondays and this will make me feel a little better 2. I literally finished writing season two over the weekend and have like 35 unpublished chapters. I am literally this close to just spam publishing all of them ]
THE FOREST IS CLOGGED WITH SHADOWS, darkness drenching the trees. Starlight leaks through the veiny trees and yet does almost nothing to light the path. A barren stasis simmers between branches inhabited by voids and running through the gloom beside Monty, Lyra feels lost.
The night air is freezing, even with the Nasa jacket zipped all the way up, and wind screams in her ears as she sprints like her life depends on it.
Well. It actually does depend on it.
Midnight blues across the horizon shift to freezing lilacs. Pink hues streak the skies. Dawn.
Something like thunder rumbles through the trees. Rippling through the fading darkness. Pounding the Earth. Beating against the air. Dirt billows beneath Lyra's feet as she forces herself to run faster.
"War drums?" Monty shouts somewhere from behind her.
"Yeah, sure," Lyra mutters, leaping over a tree root and hissing as her ankle takes the brunt of her weight. "Killing people with background music. Why not?"
Without warning, the bridge slams into view.
She skids to a messy halt, gulping in gallons of oxygen. She tries desperately to figure out what's going on, her gaze darting around wildly. The bridge. On the Grounders side of the howling river is torchlight, flames flickering in and out of view, hidden in the trees. On their side, Finn and Jasper. Standing upon a small crescent overlooking the bridge. They have the high ground. They're looking at ━━
Raven.
Crawling across the bridge. Dull crimson blooming across her bronze skin with morbid haste. Matchstick bones engulfed by the flaming sunrise, shivering beneath dawns first light as she pushes herself forward. She barely seems to move.
At her right sits a rifle. Ahead of her, the tin of gunpowder.
