Page 17

Seren

Seren wiped the sweat from her brow, her limbs aching. "You're never satisfied, are you?" she panted, glaring at Rheon.

Rheon folded his arms, his expression impassive. "Not when you're still dropping your left side. Again."

She groaned but reset her stance, lifting her fists. "You know, for someone who grumbles all the time, I am not surprised that you love making me suffer."

"If you have the energy to talk, you have the energy to fight," he shot back. "Now, strike."

Seren lunged, her fist shooting forward. Rheon deflected it with ease, shaking his head. "Sloppy. Tighter movements. Keep your feet grounded. Again."

She exhaled sharply but obeyed, moving through the drill over and over. When she finally dropped her arms, exhausted, Rheon grunted. "Better. But not good enough, pipsqueak."

"Of course not," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He ignored her and shifted the lesson. "Wolven-tongue. Speak."

Seren scowled. "You want me to fight and talk at the same time?"

"You think your enemies will wait while you find the right words? The tribe will be watching you, waiting for an opening. Predators are like that. "

She huffed but forced herself to focus. The words felt clumsy in her mouth at first, twisting and foreign, but she repeated them, again and again, under his watchful eye .

"Keep going," he commanded. "It will come. It must come."

Seren clenched her fists. "One day, I'm going to be better than you."

Rheon actually smirked. "Then you'll have to work twice as hard. Again."

Evenings belonged to the Crone. The scent of crushed leaves and the bitter tang of boiled roots filled the air as Seren sat cross-legged by the fire, listening, absorbing.

The first time she truly understood the power of her hands was when a wounded hare stumbled into their hut. Its flank was torn, the fur matted with blood. Animals somehow found their way to Seren. The Crone had been grinding herbs, but she simply watched as Seren knelt beside it.

"Close your eyes," the Crone murmured.

Seren hesitated but obeyed. Her palms hovered over the trembling creature, and warmth bloomed from her fingertips, tingling up her arms. When she opened her eyes, the wound had begun to knit itself together, the hare's ragged breathing slowing.

It darted away the moment she lifted her hands, leaving Seren staring at her fingers in shock.

The Crone only chuckled. "You will learn."

Another night, as they crushed bitterroots into paste, the wind howled outside, restless. Seren glanced up, her chest tightening with unease.

"Something's wrong," she whispered .

The Crone didn't question her. She reached for her staff and motioned for Seren to follow.

The moment they stepped outside, they saw it - a tree, ancient and gnarled, groaning as it leaned dangerously against the village wall. A storm had loosened the roots. It would fall.

Seren pressed her hands against its bark. She felt its exhaustion, its struggle.

"Hold," she whispered, voice thick with desperation.

The tree shuddered but steadied, its weight shifting just enough to keep from toppling. The Crone worked quickly, muttering incantations, sealing its roots with earth and magic. When they stepped back, the tree stood firm once more.

Seren exhaled, her pulse racing.

"You are tied to this land more than you know," the Crone said softly.

There were other moments - when she touched a sick child's forehead and felt the fever lessen, when she sensed a fox's fear before she even saw it, when the air itself whispered before danger struck.

It was thrilling. It was terrifying

Then, one evening, the raid happened. The alarm sounded, and the women and children were rushed into the bunker beneath the village.

Seren huddled in the dim space, heart hammering, until she heard it-a cry, high-pitched and terrified, from outside.

Her niece, Via. Without thinking, she darted out into the chaos.

She found the little girl trembling near the entrance and scooped her up, running back to safety.

She handed the child to waiting hands and was about to climb down. She almost made it .

A rough hand grabbed her from behind, yanking her backwards.

The trapdoor banged shut. She twisted, fought with all her might, but she was no match for a full-grown man.

He got his arms around her chest, his grip crushing.

Pain exploded in her arm, the sickening pop warning her it was close to breaking.

He leered and spat obscenities at her. And then-

She screamed.

The next thing she knew, he dropped her.

Blood poured from his eyes, his ears, his mouth.

He convulsed and fell, dead. The sight sent a bolt of terror through her, and she ran, stumbling back into the bunker, saying nothing.

Even after they were rescued, she told no one. Had it been a fluke? A curse?

Life moved on. Her mother, ever pragmatic, taught her how to cook, insisting she would need the skill for her betrothed. Seren rolled her eyes but obeyed.

The warriors teased her endlessly whenever she asked about Hagan.

"Eager, aren't you?" one would chuckle.

Another ruffled her hair. "He'll be lucky to have you, little princess."

Raik, always the fool, smirked. "Careful, Seren. What if Hagan takes one look at you and runs off into the hills? Might want to learn how to make a meal that won't send him fleeing."

Boren, the ever-gloomy one, shook his head. "Or worse - what if you arrive and he's hideous? Big nose, bad teeth, smells like a goat." He sighed dramatically. "Poor thing, doomed before she even starts."

Seren scowled. "You two are the worst. "

Raik grinned. "That's what my mother says."

Boren grunted. "Mine too."

Before they could continue, Rheon's sharp voice cut through. "Off with you both, jobless twats."

Raik snickered but obeyed, dragging Boren along with him.

Seren watched them go, shaking her head. "They're insufferable."

Rheon grunted. "Aye. But they're not wrong. You better hope Hagan's got all his teeth."

Seren groaned.