Jasta ran through the forest, her heart thumping in her chest.
The black trees that lined her path seemed to reach out to her, their gnarled branches looking like crooked arms.
She could hardly see the path ahead of her.
She heard a long, loud howl.
Branches snapped in the forest beside the path.
She ran faster, willing her legs onwards.
The air behind her was filled with growls and the snap of jaws.
Her throat burned with the effort of running so far so fast and for so long.
She turned her head to see what was chasing her.
The path was alive with thousands of black, mangy wolves, their greasy, matted fur gleaming with sweat as their stringy muscles bunched and stretched, propelling them forward so much faster than she could ever hope to run.
When she looked back at the path in front of her, it too was filled with black wolves.
She skipped to a frantic half just short of their snapping jowls, dripping with thick yellow saliva.
They slowly approached her, their teeth gnashing.
More than one had foam dripping from its yellow fangs.
She felt their hot, sticky breath on her skin as they closed in.
Her heart pounded in her ears.
She tried to scream but no sound came from her mouth.
The biggest of the wolves jumped at her, its jaws open and its claws outstretched and flexing as if itching to dig into her flesh.
She closed her eyes so tight that it hurt, waiting for the impact that was sure to come.
Jasta jolted awake, the dream vivid in her mind. Her heart was still pounding and her hair felt matted with sweat. She felt stifled and she took a deep breath, feeling as if she couldn't get enough air. She pushed her way out of the tent.
Cold, fog-dimmed sunlight filtered through the tangled mass of branches overhead. She was suddenly glad that she was still wearing Rowan's coat, which shielded her from the worst of the chill. She was sure she'd be positively frigid without it.
The fire was still going but the camp was glaringly empty. She looked around, hoping to spot Rowan between the close-growing trees. Without him there, her dream seemed closer.
She wished for something more comforting than the camp among the tiny patch of ground. Even one of the other camps that they'd used would have been better than having evil, black trees just feet away on both sides. She felt trapped, and within a hairbreadth of danger on every front.
After looking around for several minutes, she still hadn't caught even a glimpse of movement besides the flick of the horse's silvery tail.
Although hesitant, she decided to take a few steps into the forest. The twigs ground was decidedly bare, except for the very occasional twig or pebble. She shivered despite hardly feeling the chill. Even leaving the tiny excuse for a camp felt extremely dangerous.
"Rowan?" she called, hoping to find him nearby.
There was no answer.
She called again, taking a few more steps into the forest.
YOU ARE READING
Risk
Fantasy✔Completed✔ The forest is her home. She's been among the towering trees all her life. They are as familiar to her as her own family. She knows every curve and hill. She has never needed nor wanted to go beyond the boundaries of her home, no more...
