A flutter stirred in her belly. The silence of the cavern suspended, as though the worms, with bated breath, understood she'd discovered their secret. Her mouth parted as her eyes raced along the wall.

Hundreds of runes glared back at her from the weeping rock. Her brow clashed up into her hairline as she pressed her fingers onto the rough stone, tracing the swirling furrows.

The pulse of worm light and shimmering shadows lent the symbols an otherworldly life of their own. She stumbled backward, her head sweeping left and right to take in the vast rock canvas. How old were these etchings?

She gasped. Someone had been here before! There was a way in and a way out! There had to be! Her hands quivering with excitement, she raced back to the pool as fast as she could go barefoot.

But the wargrex was done bathing.

Rath glanced up from where he was kneeling beside a towering mushroom-like stalagmite, tall as a tree, in a puddle of dripping water. "I found something," he said, motioning her over.

She halted beside him, bracing her hands on her knees as she sucked in gulps of air. "Me too!" As she met his eyes, she was taken aback—as though for the hundredth time—by the eerie candescence of his eyes. What was more, the steam from the spring swirled around his face, rushing up like smoke off his shoulders. It was as though a blaze roared behind his eyes.

Those mesmerizing eyes dropped to her parted lips and her belly clenched in reaction. The soft low hum in her pulse crescendoed, her heart matching the strange electric rhythm he always seemed to stir in her blood.

It took her a moment to clear her poor wits and glance down at what he held in his hand. "What...is that?"

"A feather," he said with a wolf smirk.

She rolled her eyes, taking the strange feather from him as she stood upright. The touch of her fingertips grazing his sent a jolt through her skin.

Far more jolting, however, was his adverse reaction to the unexpected contact.

Rath wrenched his hand back, his smirk guttering out with the force of a cold gust.

A blow to the gut might've hurt less, so powerful was the sting of his rejection.

He didn't like touching her, she realized. She hadn't forgotten the unpleasant scene after the attack by the river. But he'd since saved her on the bridge—he'd had no qualms about touching her then. He'd hefted her along the cliff, too, and after that, carried her through the dark tunnel into this cavern. The gallant behavior had momentarily blotted out the memory of his first rejection.

Salix dropped her eyes to the feather, heat burning behind her eyes. She forced a smile, knowing that if she could convince her body to smile, her emotions would perk up to some degree. Despite his coldness.

Sucking in a bolstering breath, she examined the feather.

It was large and heavy, as long as Rath's arm, and peculiar enough to give her pause. Having lost her spectacles, though, she had to lift its heft to her nose to inspect it carefully.

A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips, intrigued by the many shimmering hues—golds, oranges, and vivid reds. The hollow shaft of the quill was gold-flecked obsidian. At the base of the feather, downy strands of gold curls fluttered in the strange ghostly breath of the cavern.

"I've never seen anything like this?"

"Nor I." Rath stood to his full, immense height but kept a discreet distance between them.

Her eyes darted up to meet his. "You don't know what bird this is?"

"If it's even a bird..." he countered enigmatically.

She let her fingers trail up the silky gold and orange vanes, following the soft grain to the scarlet tip.

"You said you'd found something, too," Rath prompted her.

In an instant, her eyes brightened, her head bobbing wildly. "This way!" Endeavoring not to touch him, she passed off the heavy feather and spun on her heel.

Rath joined her at the wall and she stepped aside, giving him space.

He glanced down at her as he stepped forward, his brow furrowing.

A cold tension now inhabited the almost easy banter they'd shared in the water.

"What is it?" he asked, glancing back at the wall of glimmering runes.

"Runes," she replied, repaying the sarcasm of earlier.

He gave a snort, acknowledging her temerity.

One of the glow worms dragged its sluggish body over a particularly large rune, coating it in slime. Most of the runes were embossed in luminous slime—a golden, gilding glow that covered the vast obsidian wall.

A heady warmth built in her chest. "I've never seen anything like this."

Rath stepped closer, plucking the worm delicately off the wall, ignoring its silent writhing as its little light sputtered out. He set it safely away and pointed to the large rune he'd uncovered. "I know this one."

She did, too.

"Fire," he said.

"Not just fire." She kept her gaze fixed on the rune as his eyes shifted to her. "It's Fyris." The Fire God.

Salix could hear the noiseless twinkling susurration of the busy lathered worms, so taut was the silence that descended.

"Yes, but how do you know that?" The press of his eyes brought a flush to her cheeks.

"I was taught to read ancient Wargish by His Grace, High Lord Kaspian Vargus." And he, in turn, had been taught during the fostering years in Esk by an eminent herb wife.

The lengthy pause was filled with the sound of Rath's claws raking his chin thoughtfully. "I see." He lifted a claw, pointing to another. "And this one, what does it mean?" His expression told her that he knew. But did she?

His claw had landed on another large rune. Runic symbols representing any wild god of the Pantheon were always writ large and bold.

Her brows clashing, she turned to him. "Is this a test?"

"Yes," he replied shamelessly, his animal lips unfolding from long, glinting canines.

"That's Vatyra, the goddess of water." Locked in his gaze, the flush in her cheeks spread to her ears.

He gave a brisk nod. "Very good, Salix." The sound of her name rolling off his lips quickened her heart.

"I wasn't lying." The tips of her ears turned hot. "I can read Wargish fluently." She understood runes better than she could speak the language, in fact.

"All humans lie," he shot back in a low, forceful growl.

Her mouth parted, her frown carving deeper. She searched the quiet glare of the twin flames staring back at her. There was pain there—the shadow of it lurked behind the simmering anger. Swallowing, she shrugged and turned back to the wall. "Well, I don't lie."

With a dubious grunt, he, too, faced the wall. "Tell me what it means?" he said, gesturing wide to the tapestry of glowing runes.

She hugged herself and shook her head. "Read it yourself, I'm done being tested."

"I can't," he muttered. A cleft of disgruntlement formed between his brows.

It piqued her curiosity. "Why not?"

"I can read some of them, but most warriors never learn at all." Something in her expression must've made him defensive, for he threw up his hands. "We have herb wives and elders to read the runes and keep the stories. My aunt is the keeper of our past."

She considered him from the tail of her eye. "But you're a wargrex." It was her understanding that all wargrexes knew how to read. "His Grace informed me your father is as proficient as your great aunt." The great aunt who was also the herb wife that'd taught a human heir to read Wargish runes seventy years ago.

"No one is as proficient as Resha." Bristling, Rath shot her a narrow look. "And my father is over seven centuries old, he's had time enough..."

She blinked. "How old are you?"

He opened his mouth to argue, then quickly snapped it shut with a refractory glare.

"Ninety?" she guessed. Then she shrugged, moving in for a blow. "I'm one-and-twenty and I can read two languages." She was being petty, she knew, but he'd smitten her feelings earlier and she was in the mood to draw blood.

"Wargrexes," he seethed, "are warriors first, then rulers, then scholars...when time permits. There's an order to things, girl." His fists balled at his side. "How many battles have you fought in your oh-so-illustrious lifetime?"

She shrugged her mouth, thinking of the near-constant politics at court, her ever-bickering parents, the pressure of submitting to her aunt's expectations, and her near-always absent father. "Some battles are in-dwelling, Rath. The hardest ones are fought in silence."

The snarl faded from his mouth as he straightened, a fierce dark cloud banking the hot ire that'd flashed in his eyes moments before.

"You have time," she finally said—offering the olive leaf. With a deep breath, she forced herself to recall that she was here as a diplomat. Even barefoot and hungry, trapped in a cave, she was a Highwater.

"I know the important ones," he said, gesturing to the runes.

She nodded, lifting her gaze to the top of the glowing rock tapestry. Wargish runes read left to right, top to bottom, like Wraisian. "It speaks of...the rise of..." It was another capitalized rune. One she didn't recognize. She reached up to stretch a finger to the unknown rune. "I don't know who that is?"

"Eskaldi," he said smugly. "She is the mother mountain that birthed our city. Her waters are the fountainhead of life in Esk."

Yes, he'd said something about Eskaldi's Well. She continued reading, her brows creasing as she picked over every rune. "I...I believe...It's a" —her eyes darted to him, her face heating as she swallowed— "a love story."

With a gaze impassive as stone, he said, "You'd better keep reading, if this is what I think it is."

She pored over each rune, parsing the eerie glyphs with a steady eye. Without her spectacles, however, it proved a slow endeavor. What was more, Rath's watchful, lingering looks sent shivers of awareness that raced up her neck, tugging her fine hairs erect.

Her mouth parted, the furrow in her brow deepening.

By every creature is it known,

The truth of love etched deep in stone,

That all who fall in love hunt woe,

And wreck their hearts on rocks below.

"What's the matter, Salix?" The soft rumble of his voice filled the cave, the press of his eyes knowing. "Not what you thought?"

She swallowed, her tone flat. "No." It wasn't a love story at all. She turned to blink up at him, to rest her eyes a moment. Only to mark the granite stillness of his harsh demeanor.

"Two different beings," he said, "falling in love—it is chaos. And catastrophy."

Her heart tripped, dropping into her stomach. It was obvious he was talking about...so much more than what the runes bespoke.

The burn of Rath's eyes brightened with fulminating potency. "Will you read it aloud?"

She nodded once, swallowing the sudden dryness plaguing her mouth.

"Clad in Fire, mane of smoke,

Ancient god of wolven folk.

Great destroyer of the earth,

Empyrean Sire of rebirth!

Tresses flowing, embrace of waves,

Keeper of the sunken graves.

Devouring goddess of the earth,

Mere-Mother of both death and birth.

In olden times when gods durst mate,

No fell love didst more ablate—

No espousal more so ill of fate—

As Fire and Water in full spate.

By every creature is it known,

The truth of love etched deep in stone,

That all who fall in love hunt woe,

And wreck their hearts on rocks below.

Still, worse be those who drink the mead

Of heedless and hedonic greed.

Hungerings that rush, unsated—

Thus were Water and Fire mated.

In chaos didst they make their bed.

The land, it boiled; gold it bled.

Steam erupting, melting skin,

Great of lust, waves slaked on kin.

Nightertale didst burn and flash.

Thier lust besmottered all in ash.

Fell and low, the selfish love—

Violent hearts make graves thereof.

As fire rained and rivers boiled,

New land burst up, the sea recoiled.

The wolven folk to water fleed,

All but she who for true love didst bleed.

To him, she offered up her life;

She, his mate, his loyal wife.

Long didst he live, the scars his price.

The cost of true love—sacrifice.

Eskaldi, born of sea and fires

Her Mountain roots in ancient pyres.

Touched by true love's noble heart,

On noble bones new life didst start.

And thither, out of barrow mound,

Grew a tree to mourn that ground.

At water's edge, shalt she weep for years—

Eternal is her well of tears.

Mere-mountain keeps one eye on thee,

Noble weeping willow tree."

Salix paused, unable to continue. She'd never spoken so much Wargish all at once. It had just flowed out of her like an ancient stream. A hollow poignancy slipped into her chest, making it hard to breathe.

There was still one more verse.

Rath had stood by, silent and grave all the while she'd read aloud. When he spoke, it was in Wargish with raw and guttural tones. "And this, of all nightertale histories, I should have heeded most." But he spoke so low that she strained her ear, doubting that she heard aright. Then he blinked, his glare flicking down to her, his face darkening as though just realizing she'd understood him.

She glanced up at the runes, wondering which verse cut him deepest. Long didst he live, the scars his price. The cost of true love—sacrifice.

"Salix," he said, his gaze unfocused. He grunted as though something had just occurred to him. "You know what your name means in Wargish, don't you?"

"Yes."

But he answered as though she hadn't spoken. "Willow. Noble, weeping willow tree."

Her eyes darted to the last line she'd read. Her hand lifted to the pendant resting on her chest, hidden beneath her clothes. Her mouth rounded. Strange that she, Salix, should be wearing a wargish symbol representing a willow, reading a Wargish myth about a fated love-lorn girl who gave her life up for another only to be immortalized as a sacred willow. Eternal is her well of tears. Not just any willow—the one guarding Eskalid's Well, it seemed.

Her fingers climbed higher, over her chin to settle on her lips, deep in thought. What did it all mean?

"We have to get out of here," he said, stepping back, his claws balling.

"The scribe who carved these runes," she said, her eyes flying over the runes, "must've found a way here. That means there's a way out!"

But Rath snorted, the sound savoring of bitter ire. "Or whoever wrote this was trapped here, too, and succumbed to lunacy and hunger."

She paled, wondering if the wargrex would eat her to stave off impending ravenings. Hugging herself, she read the last verse. As she did so, her hands knit into a ball and her mouth grew slack, her eyes rounding. "Rath..."

"What?" he barked, turning away.

"I think...I think I know the way out!"

Okay, let's try for hump day updates :) I will do my level best to stay consistent and keep to a Wednesday update schedule. Thank you for bearing with me.