Mist & Whispers by C.M. Lucas Page A

watching,’ he said, still examining her foot.
    ‘That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?’
    He glanced up at her, his cheeks reddening. ‘I’ve not seen a girl before. Not that I can remember anyway.’
    ‘You could have come down and said hi . We don’t bite, you know.’ She sensed him holding back a smile.
    ‘I wasn’t in the mood. Me and my father don’t really see eye to eye at the moment.’ He lifted her foot a little higher, and after another few second’s deliberation, he pulled out the inch-thick twig without a care.
    Anya let out another howl. ‘OW!’
    ‘Do you want me to fix it or not?’
    ‘Don’t tell me there’s a sewing kit stashed away in that armour of yours?’ 
    ‘Something like that.’ He placed his hand over the wound and just as the King had glowed whilst reviving the mallow bush, Harrion shone, lighting up the nearby trees. She could feel the muscle and tissue knitting back together, the innermost layers healing first until only the skin was left.
    When he returned her foot, it was perfect. Not even a scar. ‘Now, where are your shoes?’
    She tried to think back through her jumbled memories of the feast. A vision of red feathers and vines unfolded in her mind and she remembered kicking her feet, one by one, into the air, Steph giggling uncontrollably while Anya’s flying shoes narrowly missed Tim’s head. ‘I think they are back in the hut.’
    Harrion closed his eyes and his fingers stroked the space between them. A pair of black and white trainers, reminiscent of boats, appeared in Anya’s hands, and when he opened his eyes he looked confused. ‘Are these yours?’ he asked her, wrinkles crossing the bridge of his nose.
    ‘Absolutely not!’ she laughed. ‘They’re Tim’s.’
    ‘Ah. There are more than one pair of shoes in your hut.’ He flicked his hand at the shoes and they disappeared. ‘Ok, how about we try it this way...?’ He positioned his hands over Anya’s feet and moved them in a much more controlled manner.
    This time her trusty red Converse trainers appeared, the laces tied in precise bows.
    ‘I’m impressed,’ she said, smiling and checking out her shoes.
    Harrion stood and offered her his hand. ‘So, does the Marked One have a name?’
    His frosty demeanour seemed to have thawed, and she detected a nicer side of the Prince.
    ‘Anya.’
    ‘Well, Anya. I’m Harrion.’
    They walked through the forest, talking about life in Virtfirth compared to her home in Little Wolf Green. She chose not to talk about the book shop after hearing of Harrion’s life. Her troubles just didn’t seem as significant when compared to the plight of the Darkness.
    ‘What happened to all the animals? I haven’t seen one since we got here.’ Anya asked, spotting a small bird’s skull.
    ‘Well, that one there is dead,’ he said, pointing back at the bony fledgling. ‘The Darkness has turned them all to bone. The only way to kill them now is to cut off their skulls.’
    ‘Oh yeah, your dad said something about that before. That’s awful,’ she said, feeling sorry for the dead bird.
    ‘Even the tame turned on us. We used to be one with the animals but now, it’s like they’re completely detached from all life. They’ll even attack their own kind if they cross each other’s path.’
    ‘Let’s hope we don’t bump into any whilst – ’
    ‘Ssh!’ He met her eye and his stony expression told her something was wrong. He drew his sword and, with both hands gripping the hilt, closed his eyes as the weapon began to glow, and the light they needed to search for their imminent attacker appeared. Eyes open, he slowly circled around Anya, his back to her and his sword to the trees.
    Now, with nothing to do but wait for danger to strike, she started to hear them; small, distant voices seeping from the shadows. They were so quiet, she couldn’t make out a single word, but that didn’t stop her heart from jumping into her mouth.
    A snap sounded at their left and