Marked and forsaken
“Don’t be afraid.”
He glances at me, voice trembling. “But… how does that even work, my lady?”
I don’t know myself,” I say, “but someone’s controlling them… from afar.”
And the moment it’s done, the cats burst forward—eight shadows cutting through dust and wind. We sprint beside them toward the farms, loading food on their backs in pairs. Then we run again, and again—eight full turns before the sun even dips.
Osric starts to enjoy it, his laughter breaking through the heavy air. “My lady, you’re so fancy,” he says between breaths.
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