In order to save the world from eternal night, Red must find a way to unlock the dormant power of the Sun Goddess running through her veins without killing herself and everyone she loves.
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I sank into the pool of Gretchen's making, tilting my head back so that my hair soaked through to the roots. I could feel the blood and dirt lifting away in effervescent little flecks, clouding the water briefly before settling at the bottom.
It was almost a peaceful moment. Rana exploded from the depths with a gasp of air, shaking the excess water from her hair. It sprayed into my open mouth, making me splutter.
"You should see your face," Rana snickered.
Scowling with mock anger, I splashed water straight into her face. Her dumbfounded expression was enough to send me off into a fit of giggles; she'd obviously expected me to take the high road instead of fighting back.
A feral gleam stole into her eyes and a noisy splashing match ensued. It was ridiculous, but my heart soared at the childish simplicity of our game, the sheer fun of our pointless competition. All my life, I'd avoided communal bathing areas and swimming trips for fear of being ridiculed for my poison-riddled body. The Blood Moon maidens had an eye for cruelty, but even worse was the pity expressed by the few who were kind. It had been the towels held out as privacy screens that hurt the most, for they implied that I was not fit to be seen by the women of the pack, let alone the men.
But to Rana, I was simply Red -- another opponent to be bested. She held nothing back, capitalising on her shifter strength to send veritable waves my way, so large that they crashed upon the land and caused ashy mud to slide into the pool. I squealed, dunking my head before another wave could break over my head, going rigid as a wooden board as the cold water consumed me.
When I broke to the surface, all the joy had fled from Rana's face. I whipped around to see why, only to freeze like a mouse at the cry of a swooping hawk. Some of the mud had splashed up against Gretchen's boots.
"Enough!" she scolded, pointing a daunting finger at us. Daunting, because it had the power to turn us into real mice. "I told you to clean up, not get dirtier!"
"Sorry mum," Rana said, heaving herself out of the pool. I followed suit, wringing excess water from my hair. "Got any towels in that miracle bag of yours?"
"Of course," Gretchen scoffed, reaching into the seemingly bottomless depths of her travel satchel. It only looked large enough to hold two or three books at best, and it sagged against her hip as if it was completely empty, but somehow her entire arm disappeared as she felt around for two large, fluffy towels.
We'd barely caught them when she starting throwing other things our way. Namely clothes, but the weight of an iron canteen caught me by surprise. I took a long draught, delighted to find that it refilled of its own accord the moment I screwed the lid back on. "Nifty," I said.
"Wait till you try on that tunic," Gretchen said, crossing her arms with a smug air.
Drying off as quickly as possible, I picked up the khaki tunic and pulled it over my head, running my fingers along the expertly hidden seams. The material was softer than the fur on a kitten's belly, breathable and pliant, with a subtle shimmer that reminded me of fish scales.
