Small beads of cold sweat trailed down your forehead and chest as you ran through the underbrush.

The last of the moonlight gleamed through the canopy and was your only guide. 

You ran so fast that you barely noticed as your face scraped against a stray branch. Under other circumstances, you would have felt the sharp sting, stopped and cried. You smelled the coppery blood as it trailed down your cheek. 

And kept running.  

Your life depended on it. 

You glanced down—and your legs were wrong. 

Just… wrong. 

They were already wet and cold from the sodden forest ground. 

Nothing felt like yours.  

You ran as fast as your body would take you. 

But it still wasn’t enough. You weren’t strong enough. 

Your lungs burned like fire.

Your legs ached for rest. 

“Over here!” One of them called. Other voices cried out to their comrades as they chased after you. 

The violent screams in the distance were too close, and the footfalls of the ones chasing after you even closer in the thick, murky wood.

It was dense and alive. The shining green leaves were dripping with morning dew from the cold night still swirling around you. 

A thick mist curled all around you, its tendrils almost wrapping you like a cocoon. 

And you couldn’t even see the ground, but you could smell it, feel it.

The soft, fuzzy moss underfoot, that fresh scent of dampness and earth. 

It was early morning, but still incredibly dark, and the sun yet to rise. The darkness felt endless.

You knew, instinctively, the threat of strangers. 

And whoever these people were… you knew they were dangerous. 

What was happening? You didn’t understand.  

The sounds of fighting were too close. You knew you had to run and hide, find somewhere safe. 

But you didn’t know where to go. There was nowhere to hide. 

“Wake up.” A voice cut through the dark, low and velvety, from far away.

It threaded through your panic, warm and soothing. 

And you hated that it did.  

You hid behind a tree and squeezed your eyes shut, praying you could disappear into it.

Something small and tight circled your wrist. Red ribbon, clumsily knotted. It smelled of soap and sun-warmed skin.

“Don’t take it off,” a small voice echoed, half-remembered.

Then the woods swallowed the voice whole.

“Wake up.”

The forest lurched, like the world was being yanked away.

“They’re coming!” a female voice screamed. 

Fingers shook your shoulder. 

The rough bark against your skin turned to a blanket. 

The darkness turned to light.

                                                                 ****

“Y/n, wake up,” the Commander’s deep, velvety voice pulls you from sleep. 

You jolt upright, gasping for breath. You never thought you’d be this grateful for daylight and to be awake.

Cold morning air floods your lungs.

You glance down, but your wrist is bare and only your shackles remain.

The phantom tightness lingers. And you know it isn’t the restraints.

Lush greenery stretches in every direction. 

It’s almost like your dream.

Almost.

But it’s early morning. 

Mist hovers over the ground and curls around like clouds. The fire from last night is nearly gone with only a few embers still burning.

The Commander crouches by the dying flames and feeds a few smaller logs.

You splay a hand across your chest, trying to ignore the way your heart thrashes so wildly you fear it might burst. It all felt so real.

But it wasn’t. 

Not at all.  

Relief rolls through you, thin and fragile as a tiny spider’s web, but you cling to it anyway.  

Safe. For now.

You gaze at the Commander’s muscled back as he tends to the horses, saddling them, preparing for the day’s journey. And then you remember where he’s taking you. 

The Capital.

Toward your doom.

Even though the air is cold, you can feel a fine sheen of icy sweat covering your face and neck. Dampness clings to your underclothes. You suddenly need to be alone.

You can’t let him see you in this distraught state. You’re afraid he’ll know you had a nightmare. 

He’ll only think you weak.

Foolish. 

Helpless. 

Just like you were in your haunting dream.

“Your hands are shaking,” his low voice slices through your thoughts. 

You clench your hands so hard your nails dig into your palms. To your horror, you realize he’s been watching you. 

Oh. How long has he been watching? The genuine concern in his voice has warmth blooming in your chest–warm and dangerous, traitorous. 

You try controlling your breath. 

“I’m. Fine.” You dismiss him harshly and quickly thrust out your shackled hands without meeting his gaze. 

You can feel his eyes roaming over your face and lingering there. 

But you refuse to meet them. 

To your relief, he quickly unshackles you without fanfare. 

You break out in a brisk walk into the forest, again glancing at the edge of the deceptively serene tree line. 

Oh, how you hate the forest.

But you force yourself in. Your breathing is still ragged, but you hide behind the safety of a huge gnarled white tree, settling against it and shutting your eyes tightly. 

Your chest heaves.

Your eyes burn with tears threatening to spill out from the horrific dream, no…it was a night terror.

Gods, you were so frightened.  

It wasn’t real, but your body doesn’t seem to know that. You wipe the cold sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

You inhale through your nose and rub your chest in soothing circles, until you can calm the thunderous beating of your frantic heart. 

Sherinde. 

It’s everything you hate. You narrow your eyes with fresh contempt, remembering the insulting exchange with the Commander last night.

Perhaps it’s elf sorcery.

Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or maybe it’s the shackles. Maybe it’s his voice.

You shake your head at the thought. It can’t be.

You vow to be cautious as you take care of your personal needs and wash up, heading back into the camp to your log.

To your shock, your combat clothes you wore the day you first met him are laid out.

You blink in disbelief. They shouldn’t be here.

The Commander put them out for you. 

You grab your leathers, inhaling them. 

They’re freshly laundered.  

Your body hums with shock and confusion. What is he trying to do?

“Why are you giving these to me?” you ask, unable to hide the suspicion tinging your voice. 

“I thought you would want a clean change of clothing. We’ve a long journey ahead,” the Commander’s low, unhurried voice calls out to you. 

The sweet warmth of it wraps you in a swirl of heat, almost too much to bear. 

Your entire body stills beyond your control. This move is entirely unexpected. 

Must use caution. 

This entire journey with him has been unnerving—and something in you doesn’t settle.

You refuse to name it. 

You brush it off. After gathering yourself, you grab your combat clothes and change quickly. Carefully, you transfer your hidden fork and press it against your chest. And you’re pleased it fits tightly.

It’s your only chance at a weapon to escape.

**** 

You feel like you’re almost back to your old self as you walk back into camp. 

The Commander has stowed nearly everything except for a small red-clothed bundle he left on your log. 

“Eat. We must leave quickly.” 

You sigh, but quickly wolf down the bread, cheese and salted hunk of meat, enjoying what you can of it, even if it’s only a little. 

When you’re finished, he stands before you. His tall figure blocking the sun.

You know the drill by now and thrust your hands out. 

He reshackles you.

But this time, you’re not surprised or shocked by it at all and hurry to your saddled mare. 

You’re much too preoccupied with that dream. You mount her quickly, wondering why you’re being affected like this. 

Deep in your heart, you know something is wrong.

Perhaps it’s this place. You try to blame the water. The air. 

Anything but him.

The dangerous thought enters your mind. 

You flick it away fast. 

Either way, you’ve got to figure out how to get out of this. 

The Commander sets a leisurely riding pace at first, but you notice where he’s heading. 

Into the depths of dreaded forest. 

Your stomach tightens. 

You take a deep breath.

And grip the reins. 

You watch as the Commander’s horse moves past the thick tree line into the heavy shade of the trees. Your mare soon follows obediently. 

Quickly, you realize your nightmare hadn’t ended when you woke.

It had only changed shape.