The Trials of Sybil

Chapter Three

Sybil

I let myself get lost in the rhythm of the horses' pace as we make our way through the forest. The trees continue to grow more dense with each passing hour. A musky scent of decomposing leaves permeates the air.

We briefly stop at a stream to refill the canteens before continuing on our way. My captors spoke amongst themselves in jovial tones when we first left camp this morning, but as the journey progresses, everyone has fallen into silence.

The longer I sit on this horse, the more infuriated I'm becoming. Hours and hours on this damn animal, with little breaks in between have me sitting on edge. I feel hackles rising in defense; between the lack of interaction amongst my captors and myself and this damn horse, I'm about to scream! Not to mention how the poor creature must be feeling; carrying myself, Aramis and the bags they packed of my stuff from my house! I just want to slip off his saddle and canter away.

However, every opportunity to escape is made impossible by all the eyes constantly on me, or with the magic binding me to my human form.

I'm starting to go crazy, in truth.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out one of the yarrow leaves. I crush it between my fingers before rubbing the poultice to my aching wrists under the cover of my cloak. The rough fibers of the rope that had repeatedly tightened as I struggled for freedom myself have chafed my skin raw. I ran a finger across the iron bracelet wrapping around my left wrist and frown as I feel the magic tickle the pads of my fingers. There's no trick locks–no real indication of a way to break out of this bracelet, and I'm unable to escape without my magic. Disappointment settles further in my skin, with frustration rearing its ugly head at the top.

"What are you doing, shifter?" Aramis' baritone murmurs against my skin, goose pimples raising on my forearms.. His arms cage against me with tension, a white knuckled grip on the reins..

"Nothing." I shift my weight. I can hardly feel my bottom or legs attempting to grip the stallion's wide girth. At this rate, I'll happily walk all the way to Shadowvale, if it means I'll never have to ride a horse again.

There's something demeaning about it, too. Despite understanding that both our weights can't be comfortable, horses are almost like kin to me.

"What is that smell?" Leaning forward, he peers over my shoulder, his warm breath caressing my cheek. I can smell his heady scent of bergamot and cedarwood.

"Why do you care?" I clench my teeth, growing restless. I have to escape. And soon.

"I have a prisoner riding in front of me who smells different than before. I'd like to know why." He replies impatiently grabbing the edge of my cloak with one of his hands and yanks it back.

"Ugh!" Sticking forward my arm from my cloak, I bare my wrists to him, now covered in the drying green poultice. "Happy now?"

"What is that?" He asks as he pulls his hand away and wrinkles up his nose.

"It's a poultice. No thanks to you, my wrists were chafed raw from your magical binding rope," I reply sarcastically.

"Well if you didn't move around so much they wouldn't have tightened to the point of chafing," he retorts.

"You're the one putting a unicorn shifter on a horse. This is ridiculous."

"I thought unicorns were supposed to be more docile. You're nothing but a–"

"A what?" I demand.

"A pain in my ass." He grumbles, his fists clenching on the reigns. Percy tosses his head restlessly into the air at the movement.