I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

Arthur reached the eastern gate and found Lysa waiting beside the palisade. Derren sat on a low wall nearby, finishing a piece of dried fruit.

Rhea was nowhere in sight.

Arthur looked down the road. ”I’m early.”

”No,” Lysa said. ”Rhea’s late.”

Arthur was already grinning when Rhea came jogging down the road a minute later.

She saw his expression and slowed. ”Don’t.”

”I haven’t said anything.”

Derren laughed from the wall while Lysa picked up her spear. ”Are we going?”

Rhea glared at Arthur once more before joining them, and the four of them headed east.

The first stretch was easier than Arthur’s last trip east. There were no blood trails to follow this time, and Lysa seemed to know every turn through the woods.

They reached a washed-out slope later in the morning. Rhea started toward the longer route around the ridge, but Lysa pointed her spear into a thick wall of ferns.

”There’s a trail through there.”

Rhea stared at the brush. ”There was a trail through there.”

Lysa pushed into the ferns. ”Still is.”

Arthur laughed. Rhea groaned, but she followed her mother down the slope.

The trail dropped sharply near the bottom, ending in a steep washout. Lysa jumped down first, landing lightly on the uneven stones. Arthur dropped down a second later. He didn’t need help, but Lysa offered a hand to steady him on the loose rock anyway.

Arthur took her hand and stepped down beside her.

Arthur took her hand and stepped down beside her.

Lysa glanced at the arm beneath his sleeve before letting go. ”You don’t move like an academy archer.”

Arthur looked up toward Rhea. ”Is that a compliment?”

”Don’t ask me,” Rhea called from above.

Lysa smiled as Derren slid down behind them.

The trail narrowed farther east. As they squeezed past a boulder, Rhea’s tail brushed Arthur’s leg.

Arthur glanced down.

Rhea caught him looking. ”Walk.”

Arthur did.

Farther east, Rhea stopped beside a shallow streambed and crouched over a mess of tracks in the mud.

”Deer,” she said.

Lysa joined her. ”Nothing was chasing them.”

The prints approached the eastern bank, crowded together for several yards, then turned sharply back west.

Derren leaned on his sword hilt. ”Animals know something we don’t.”

”That’s becoming a theme around here,” Arthur said.

They found the prospectors’ trail shortly before midday.

Torr’s cut trail was easy to recognize once they reached it. Someone had hacked a path through the brush and driven survey stakes into the soil. Old boot prints and handcart ruts still marked the dirt, with the broken head of a digging spade lying near one of the stakes.

Rhea checked the tracks. ”These are several days old.”

She stepped further down the path, pointing to a massive, familiar paw print pressed directly over one of the cart ruts.

”Hati came through later,” Lysa observed, crouching near the print. ”He followed them.”

Rhea studied the spacing of the wolf’s stride. ”Or he followed whatever they left behind.”

Derren eventually dropped onto a fallen trunk and reached for his waterskin.

”I got on that caravan because I wanted an easy trip north. Somehow I’m hunting a giant wolf now.”

”You chose to stay,” Arthur reminded him.

”That was before I learned you were contagious.”

Lysa accepted a piece of dried meat from Arthur. ”How did you end up in Rauk Hollow in the first place?”

Arthur gave her the shortened version. He had left the Thorne estate without much of a plan, wandered through Bellford, joined Bram’s caravan, and eventually run into Rhea after the Blacktusk attack.

Lysa looked at her daughter. ”So technically, this is your fault.”

Rhea stared at her. ”How did you get that from what he just said?”

Arthur pointed at Lysa. ”I agree with her.”

Rhea rubbed her temples, looking like she regretted every choice that had led her to this exact moment in the woods.

Lysa took another bite of dried meat. ”You’d barely made it back to Rauk Hollow before you ended up in Mara’s clinic.”

Arthur looked at her. ”Your family talks too much.”

”We’re wolfkin. Nobody had to tell me.”

Rhea nearly choked on her water.

They reached the camp an hour later.

The camp had been abandoned fast. Two tents still stood around a cold fire pit, and an opened crate had been left with tools scattered around it. A bedroll and two heavy coats remained inside one of the tents.

Near the edge of camp, Rhea found a torn pack stained with dried blood.

No bodies.

Derren checked the edge of camp. ”Tracks everywhere. Some went west. One headed south.” He pointed toward the clearest trail through the brush. ”Most went that way.”

Lysa followed his gesture. ”That’s the spring.”

Derren sighed. ”Please tell me we’re not doing this again.”

”I’m not carrying another injured man through the forest,” Arthur agreed.

Rhea stepped over a discarded rope. ”You complained the entire way.”

”I still carried him.”

Lysa stopped near the edge of the camp, her nose twitching. She looked down into a patch of tall ferns and parted the leaves with her spear.

A red fox lay dead in the brush.

Arthur crouched beside it. There were no wounds that explained its death, but dark veins spread from the corners of its eyes and mouth.

Its paws and muzzle were wet with mud even though the camp around them was dry.

Lysa leaned closer and smelled the damp fur. ”Water.”

Near the opened crates, Arthur found several curved blocks of worked stone half buried in the dirt.

Lysa stopped beside him. ”That’s from the old cistern.”

Rhea looked toward the trail east. ”They dug into it.”

”Looks like it,” Lysa said.

Rhea followed Hati’s prints around the edge of the camp. They circled the tents more than once without cutting through the middle, then turned east toward the spring.

Three deep claw marks scarred a pine near the same trail.

”He stayed here for a while,” Rhea said.

Lysa looked at the damaged tree. ”Agitated?”

Rhea studied the marks, then looked at the tracks circling the camp. ”Maybe. He was here long enough to do this without attacking anyone.”

Lysa studied Hati’s tracks for a few seconds.

”You were right.”

Rhea looked up.

”About him.”

Her ears lifted slightly.

”Don’t make me say it twice,” Lysa added.

Arthur leaned against a tree. ”I’d remember this moment.”

Rhea and Lysa both turned toward him.

Arthur wisely left it there.

They followed Hati’s tracks east from the camp. The trail climbed into rougher ground, and Lysa said the spring was less than a mile away.

Not far from the camp, Rhea stopped where water seeped through the roots at the edge of the trail.

The surrounding ground was dry, but a dark discoloration marked the mud wherever the water collected.

They crested the rise and found the old spring below.

A wide stone basin had been built into the embankment, with part of the retaining wall collapsed into the mud. Another section had been broken open recently, and several picks and spades lay nearby.

The spring was supposed to be nearly dry. Instead, dark water had collected in the broken basin.

Then Arthur saw him.

One of the prospectors sat slumped against the retaining wall, his clothes stained with mud and dried blood.

At first Arthur thought he was dead.

Then one of the man’s hands moved weakly against the ground.

Rhea started down the slope.

Lysa caught her arm before she made it two steps.

Hati was there.

Hati lay in the mud between the injured prospector and the exposed cistern. His body trembled beneath his dark fur, muscles tightening with each spasm.

One eye was bloodshot, black veins pulsing around it. The other remained clear.

Hati lifted his head and gave a low warning growl, but he didn’t rise.

Arthur lowered Whisperwind slightly.

Rhea stared down at him. ”He’s guarding the man.”

Lysa’s gaze moved past the wounded prospector to the broken cistern. ”Maybe.”

Rhea shifted toward the water.

Hati’s growl deepened immediately.

She stopped.

Lysa stared at the dark pool.

”No. The water.”