I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

The roar faded somewhere beyond the trees. For a few seconds, nobody along the road said anything.

Then Bram raised his voice. ”Clear the road. Check the horses. I want us moving before whatever made that decides to come closer.”

The guards moved at once, pulling spears free from the dead Blacktusks while the drivers calmed the horses and dragged the nearest carcasses away from the wagon wheels.

Arthur stayed beside the dead Blacktusk, Whisperwind still in hand, his attention fixed on the dark veins around its face and neck.

Derren came over, wiping the last of the blood from his sword. He nudged the dead Blacktusk with his boot.

”I’ve seen territorial packs charge hunters before,” he said. ”They don’t chase wagons for a mile and throw themselves at armed escorts after half the pack is already dead.”

Arthur looked at the yellowish foam around its jaws. ”Diseased?”

Derren shrugged. ”Could be. Poison, bad water, magical exposure. Ask someone smarter than me.”

”Got more tracks here,” one of the guards called.

Arthur and Derren walked over while Bram continued getting the wagons ready. The muddy shoulder was torn apart where the Blacktusks had burst through, with lighter tracks crossing over and beneath the heavy hoofprints.

Derren crouched near the brush. ”Deer. Fox.” He shifted slightly and pointed to another set. ”Forest cat, I think.”

Arthur followed the overlapping trails with his eyes. ”They’re all heading toward the road.”

Derren looked deeper into the trees. ”Away from the forest.”

Something moved between the trees.

Arthur raised Whisperwind slightly before a woman stepped through the brush and into view. Dark wolf ears rose through her messy black hair, swiveling toward the noises from the caravan, while a thick tail moved behind her.

Fitted hunting leathers covered most of her body, though the cropped hide top left her toned stomach bare. A few old scars crossed the skin there, and she carried a short spear like she’d been walking through these woods with it all her life.

She walked straight past Arthur and Derren and headed for the arrow-killed Blacktusk.

Arthur’s eyes followed the movement of her ears as she passed.

She stopped beside the carcass and glanced back. ”You’ve been staring at my ears since I came out of the trees.”

”They’re new to me.”

Her tail flicked once, and Arthur’s gaze followed it before he could even pretend otherwise.

She noticed. ”Apparently that is as well.”

Arthur smiled. ”More interesting, actually.”

The wolfkin stared at him for a second before crouching beside the Blacktusk.

Arthur stepped closer as she inspected the bloodshot eyes and yellowish foam around the animal’s jaws. Her hand stopped above the dark veins running along its neck, and her ears flattened.

”You’ve seen this before,” Arthur said.

”Several times this week.”

Derren stepped closer. ”Other Blacktusks?”

”Not just boars.” She stood and wiped her fingers against her trousers. ”A hunter tried cornering a deer two days ago. Instead of running, it turned around and nearly opened his stomach.”

Derren frowned. ”A deer?”

”Exactly. Predators are abandoning old hunting grounds too, and smaller animals keep pushing toward the western roads.”

Arthur looked toward the tracks beside them. ”How long has this been happening?”

”About a week. Long enough that the hunters started paying attention.”

Derren nodded toward the corpse. ”Any idea what’s causing this?”

”No.”

Celia leaned out through the open coach door, watching the three of them beside the dead Blacktusk.

”You recover quickly.”

Arthur looked over. ”From what?”

Celia’s eyes moved from him to the wolfkin and back again.

Arthur frowned. ”That’s not an answer.”

”Didn’t need to be.”

The wolfkin glanced from Celia back to Arthur. One ear twitched.

Beside him, Derren suddenly became very interested in covering a laugh with a cough.

Before Arthur could answer, something crashed through the brush farther up the road.

The guards raised their spears as a deer burst onto the dirt track. It stumbled once, recovered, and raced straight across the road into the opposite woods.

The brush broke again almost immediately.

A spotted forest cat burst from the same side moments later. It never even looked toward the deer, crossing the road at a dead run before vanishing into the same stretch of woods.

The wolfkin reached the crossing before anyone else, dropped into a crouch, and pressed the butt of her spear into the churned mud.

”Same direction.”

Derren came up beside her and looked between the two sets of prints. ”Predator and prey.”

”And neither one cared about the other.”

Derren stared after the forest cat. ”Not migration season either.”

Arthur looked back toward the dead Blacktusks. ”So whatever they’re running from is deeper in there.”

The wolfkin followed his gaze. ”Looks that way.”

Bram rode up beside them, still watching the tree line. ”You local?”

”Rauk Hollow.” The wolfkin nodded toward the branching roads ahead. ”Name’s Rhea.”

”Bram.” He gestured toward the forest. ”How bad does it get from here?”

Rhea looked into the deeper woods. ”I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

”Nearest safe stop?”

She pointed her spear toward a branching road farther ahead. ”Rauk Hollow. Hunters, healers, walls. I was heading back there anyway.”

Bram glanced toward the fading light, then back at his horses.

”We’re stopping there.” He turned his mount toward the wagons. ”Get the line moving.”

Rhea fell in beside the lead wagons when they started moving again, matching their pace without any trouble.

Arthur returned Whisperwind to his inventory and climbed back into the passenger coach across from Celia. Derren joined them a minute later, shutting the heavy wooden door as the caravan lurched forward.

Arthur leaned against the window frame and looked toward the front of the caravan. Rhea was walking beside the lead wagons, her dark tail swaying behind her with each step.

Celia leaned closer to the window, following his gaze. ”The ears or the tail?”

Arthur considered the question seriously. ”Still deciding.”

Celia laughed and settled back into her seat as the caravan picked up speed.

The caravan turned off the main trade road and followed the branch toward Rauk Hollow. For the first stretch, every snapped twig had one of the guards looking toward the trees, but the forest stayed quiet.

Eventually voices started carrying between the wagons again. Somewhere near the front, a driver hit a deep rut and loudly cursed whoever was responsible for maintaining the road.

Arthur smiled to himself. Things were getting back to normal.

Arthur was half-listening to Derren complain about Celia’s definition of fair play when Rhea stopped at the edge of the road and crouched over a patch of soft mud.

Her tail had gone completely still.

Arthur leaned farther out the coach window as they rolled closer. Something had pressed deep into the wet earth in front of her.

A paw print.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. It was far too large for any ordinary wolf he’d seen.

Arthur looked from the print to Rhea. ”You know what made that?”

”Yeah.”

Arthur waited, but she didn’t elaborate. ”Planning to keep the rest to yourself?”

Rhea stood and tightened her grip on the spear as she looked into the forest.

”It shouldn’t be this close to the road.”