45. Briss

Zena is as good as her word. We have a truck to ourselves, stacked with food and other goods. Without revealing a single detail she triumphantly set us up in as much comfort as possible.

Every other truck was overflowing with men, stuffed together like sardines. On a passenger bench big enough for three I sat stretched out, my wounded leg supported with a makeshift pillow-thing she had built out of all the discarded and ripped shifter clothes. Zena next to me driving, continuously catching my eye with a proud little smile on her face.

She hasn’t stopped for a second. I can only watch as her mind works overtime. I know better than to question whatever scheme she has going on.

Eventually, the whole convoy starts up and we are away. Zena drives steadily, making sure we end up at the very back of the Shadowlands convoy. She doesn't give her burned out coven a second glance.

There was no special pyre or ceremony for Padgett either. Her body has been lost to the cabin fires. A woman who ha