Chapter 7 — The Stream

We left the crack in the earth behind, scrambling down a slope of shattered stone into a valley brushed silver under the alien sky. My legs ached, every muscle raw from climbing and running, but the open air drove me on.

The land rolled uneven, half meadow, half jagged rock, dotted with trees whose leaves shimmered like beaten metal. Insects with wings like shards of glass buzzed past, leaving trails of light in their wake. The air was sharp and clean, filled with scents I didn't know—sweet, resinous, wild.

Merlin padded beside me, steadier now, tail swaying faintly. He lifted his head to sniff the breeze, ears twitching. Whatever else this place was, it was alive.

We found water at last: a narrow stream cutting through the valley, its surface glowing faintly as if stars had spilled into it. I dropped to my knees, plunging my hands into the icy flow, and drank until my throat stopped burning. Merlin splashed in beside me, lapping greedily, then dunked his whole muzzle and snorted, shaking droplets into the air.

For the first time since the circle, I laughed.

The forest on the far bank rustled. Merlin froze, ears forward, growl low. I tensed—ready for more claws in the dark—but what stepped out was no Hollow Maw.

It was small. Delicate. A creature the size of a fox, but with long, deerlike legs and fur that shimmered like silver moss. Its eyes were wide and bright, curious rather than fearful. A pair of feathery antennae twitched atop its head as it tilted to study us.

Merlin stiffened, then wagged his tail once. Slow. Careful. He stepped forward into the shallows, ears perked.

The creature sniffed, then bounded playfully to the bank, splashing in the shallows opposite him. Merlin gave a soft bark—the kind he used with friendly dogs back home. The little thing chirped in response, a sound like flutes.

They circled each other, tentative at first, then playful. Merlin pawed the water, sending a spray across, and the creature bounded back with a trill before darting forward again.

I sat back on the stones, watching. For a moment the horrors of the circle, the horns, the Hollow Maw—all of it—fell away.

Merlin was just a dog again, meeting a stranger by the water. And in this strange, terrible place, something could still be friendly.

Above us, the violet sky rippled with bands of green light, and the stream whispered over the stones.

For the first time, I let myself believe we could survive here.

— Second day, finding water and shelter —