The Fires of Esus - Ranger's Apprentice

Chapter 17: I'm Blushing

It had been raining all day.

Horace was shivering in his saddle underneath his ice-cold chain mail, and Will wasn't much better. Like Horace, every article of clothing on his body had been soaked through in the downpour, and he was colder than he had been in a long time. Water streamed down their faces, and even Tug and Kicker shifted uncomfortably as they struggled to keep their footing in the blinding rain.

For most of the day they had ridden in a wide circle all the way around the edge of Redmont. Horace was in front, moving as quietly as possible, while Will was on high alert behind him with an arrow on the bowstring. It was an improvised version of 'look, shout, shoot', where Will watched from behind, ready to drop anything that appeared, and Horace, since his sword didn't have a fast reaction time like Will's bow, was on the lookout for anything Will might miss. He had only volunteered to go first because was more protected by his armor. It wasn't safe, but it was the only thing he could do for Will. Will had a lot on his plate, and he appreciated everything Horace did to try to help.

Even if he was making a bit of a ruckus. Will winced at every branch that snapped under Kicker's not-so-quiet hooves.

The two had nearly reached their limit. Being cold, wet, and on high alert for dangerous druids all day really frayed at their nerves, they discovered.

Will's eyes moved back and forth along the edges of the forest, his vision becoming blurry the longer he did. At this point, he was squinting, exhausted, and shaking from the cold. He seriously doubted his ability to aim at this point--his fingers wrapped around the bow had locked up and turned a bit blue. The way his shoulders and arms trembled, he didn't think he could hit the tree next to him, much less a surprise attacker.

"Horace, let's rest for a moment in the next clearing we find." He leaned forward, speaking softly enough that anyone nearby couldn't have heard him.

"What?" Horace turned clumsily in his saddle, his eyes dazed with the cold and monotony of the forest. In his haste, he spoke a lot louder than Will. In fact, he might have accidentally yelled it.

Will winced for the hundredth time that day, but then froze as his tired but trained eyes caught movement in the bushes. It was small, but he couldn't be sure if it was an animal or the retreating footstep. He could see it now--a druid turning on their heel to run off into the forest after spotting them on the trail, going to report to their leader, and their element of surprise would be ruined.

Will rose in the stirrups, his bow coming to full draw, arrow tip gleaming in the shadowy forest towards the direction of the rustling leaves. Tug stood stock still underneath him, and even Kicker stilled in place as he sensed his master's trepidation. Horace, who was still turned in the saddle, nodded silently to Will and put his hand on the dagger he carried in his saddle.

Will's eyes narrowed as the sound continued to move along the edge of the trail towards them, the leaves moving as the thing, whatever it was, drew closer. It was a faint movement, Horace couldn't even see it, but Will could sense it. Feel it.

The sound grew louder, and Will forced his hands to relax on the bow. His heart pounded in his chest, and he saw Horace's knuckles tighten on the hilt of his blade out of the corner of his eye. The forest had gone deadly quiet, not even a bird trilled in the trees above.

Or maybe that was Will's imagination--he could never tell.

He could see the shadow now, mingling with the bush and the dark patches on the ground from the clouds and leaf canopy above them. One more twitch, and he would have them...

There! He let the arrow fly, notching another before the first even hit its target. But he didn't need it. The first arrow hit the bush with a hiss-thunk, and a faint squeaking sound pierced the air.