Mag-log inOakleyI’m barely lucid when the rolling, golden hills of Silverhide come into view at first light. A giant breakfast spread was laid out in the center of New Glade when Ian and I traversed back down from the peak after several hours of just talking and watching the stars. I’m not sure it even happened, to be honest. It feels like a dream, even now, while walking in sleepy, quiet solidarity beside him. Neither of us have said a word since we set out after breakfast. I have no idea where Allison is, but I’m sure she is on her way home as well. I trust Ian, which means I should trust his friends, too, and if not, Miller has another thing coming for him in the form of Allison’s fierce mother. My house comes into full focus when we approach the village center. The shops are opening for the day, and the air smells like yeast and sugar from freshly baked bread with a hint of the smoke from the village fire. Ian has slowed his pace for the past half mile or so. I’m pretending not to notic
IanRhett frowns beside me, both of us leaning on a neat stack of logs yet to make it through the mill for processing. It’s well past nightfall, but the village of New Glade is bright under the haze of firelight. Music and dancing takes up my vision, but I’m keeping a close eye on Oakley while she stands in a group of young women a few yards away. I stayed close to her throughout the ceremony, which I’m sure can be daunting and a little outlandish, even for people from the tribes. Funeral pyres were a big deal in the Glade when our people were in Pantharas. Death was everywhere, according to my father and the elders. Now, people live long, happy lives, or will, anyway. All the children here live past their fifth birthdays. No one has to worry about their fathers, brothers, and sons getting swept into servitude or cullings. This ceremony is how we honor who was lost before the wolves of the Glade finally found freedom. Oakley took the ceremony in stride. She was interested, which ma
OakleyI need to see a healer, I think. A priestess actually. Yeah, that would be more helpful in my situation. I’m either cursed or losing my mind, along with chunks of memory, because I do not remember hurting myself last night. I meet my bloodshot reflection in the mirror in the bathroom while rubbing my swollen wrist with a potent healing salve I pilfered from my Aunt Shuna. It’s from Teshka, of course, like she is. It feels gritty on my skin, like the rough sand beaches in that territory, but it does quell the incessant tingling. A sharp knock on the door tears my attention from my reflection. My mom’s voice rings out, “They’re here! Prince Ian is downstairs waiting for you.”“I’m coming,” I murmur, shaking my head several times like I can somehow knock loose the wool rolling through my mind like a ball of yarn, snatching memories and rational thought with it. When I step out of the bathroom, every female hand in the house begins to fuss over me like it’s my wedding day. By t
Ian“Ian?”I haven’t even closed the front door to my childhood home before Mom’s voice rings out through the foyer. For a house in New Glade, it’s rather nice. The foyer connects to two front rooms and a wide staircase leading to the upper floor, where three bedrooms and a bathroom soak in late afternoon light. Downstairs, a small, seldom-used kitchen is tucked in the back, as well as another, larger room where my parents spend most of their free time. I find her there, at a worktable, priming arrows. Shelves line the walls, full of weapon-making supplies and little trinkets of past adventures. Family pictures hang on the wooden walls, alongside blades dangling from hooks. My toy box is still in the corner of the room collecting dust, but I used to sit here, at this very table, playing with little carved effigies of warriors and wolves while my parents talked in quiet tones about hunts and the occasional skirmish between packs and tribes. I can still feel that silver chain around
OakleyIt takes three days for my arm to heal. Even so, the wound itches like mad and will definitely scar when the scabs heal over. But, there’s work to be done. Chores, as well as avoiding my mom and aunts, are all I plan to do today because, if I’m out of bed, I’m able to return to the forest tonight under the glare of the moon. I’d like to stop that from happening. Allison moves a few feet ahead of me in the garden behind the fiber shop. It’s an expansive space with fruit trees and flowers galore, as well as herbs and very specific flora we grow for even more specific reasons. Grandma Freya planted all of this decades ago, when she first came to Silverhide and the village was nothing but a few buildings, a packhouse, and the forge grumbling behind me. My Grandpa Andrew gave her anything she wanted and needed, carving out a sanctuary for his mate in the village that grew around them. My fingers are already stained a bright greenish-blue as I set down my container of true indigo
OakleyThere’s an epidemic in Silverhide. It’s a slow creeping kind of affliction that takes hold of almost every young woman starting around the age of thirteen. It turns some into raging, spiteful monsters. Jealous gremlins with sharp teeth and even sharper tongues, to be honest. Lifelong friendships suffer endlessly during those long, overwhelming years of late girlhood, and there’s only one thing to blame. Men. Handsome, slightly sweaty, gleaming men. I have never been, to be fair, one to go all goo-goo eyed over the boys who work the fields while I run my errands and do my chores. I’ve never seen the need to let the straps of my tank tops, which I’m not even allowed to wear, fall off my shoulders while hanging laundry on the line. I listen to my friends purr and giggle over their crushes and let those same friends shed tears on my shoulders when those crushes went awry. But I’ve never caught the bug. The love bug. I am just… too busy. I’m sure that’s the reason.Granted, I’ve
*Isaac*“How did you get in here?”The young man, no older than myself, rolls his neck as his gaze drops from my face to scan the room. “It’s a strange feeling being on the brink of war, isn’t it? Knowing it’s coming and knowing there’s only so much you can do to prepare.” His eyes meet mine again, co
*Maddy*There’s a commotion in the hallway outside the parlor door. I don’t know how long I've been sitting on the ground staring into the fire, but the click of the knob catches my attention, so I turn my head. Hannah, with her curly blonde hair tied back from her kind, smiling face, steps in throug
*Maddy*He doesn’t even know my name.That’s all I can think about as I sit beside Ella and desperately try to pay attention to the workbooks in front of me on a long wooden table etched with little carvings of stick figures. I run a fingertip over several sets of carved letters, a testament to the pa
*Maddox*“Are you going to be a good girl for me while I’m gone,” I rasp into her ear. We’re covered in sweat, and I’ve been drawing out every minute of the last hour to make this last as long as possible for both of us. I’ve made Isla come at least three times, but I’m not done with her yet. It coul







