Nighttime in Wyvernwildé was a marvel on its own.

One could tell just by the myriad of animal noises that nocturnals existed more abundantly in the forest realm than their daytime counterparts.

It seemed as if nothing ever slept.

Judson laid on his back, wide awake, clutching a thick blanket to his chest. Somehow, holding the material in that manner felt a lot more comfortable than covering himself with it. Parallel to his left side, Phyllis was buried inside a grey blanket, sleeping like a newborn. He smiled at the way her eyebrows would often twitch in reaction to tiny insects that flew too close to her face. Though she seemed in deep slumber, he knew she was still conscious of her surroundings. A perquisite of being battle-bred.

He turned to the other side, where Diarmaid was equally fast asleep. Unlike Phyllis, he did not cover himself up. Instead, his blanket was folded as a pillow for his head. He slept on his right side, with both arms folded over his chest, like one deeply engaged in conversation. His untied hair fell over his shoulders, making him appear more at ease in his sleep.

Having spent enough time around Elven kind, Judson came to know that when an Elf's hair was tied back, they tended to look more serious even though it did not necessarily mean that they were.

It also led him to discover that he liked it far better when hair was let down in general; a default preference that started because of Waverly, whose hair was always falling on either sides of her face. He tried to recall if he ever saw her hair tied back. There had been one or two instances in the past, but neither was a prominent memory.

He shuffled, trying to get comfortable.

Why sleep kept eluding him was not strange. The environment was, ironically, safe. At least, it felt that way to him. Albeit being one of the most dangerous habitats in existence, the Great Jungle was too rare for him to take for granted. He could not sleep because he knew his passage through the terrain was a once in a lifetime experience.

It was bound not to happen again.

Just as he shuffled a second time, he felt a very low rumble underneath his back.

The occurrence happened too quickly to decide whether it was real or not. He replayed the sound in his mind, whilst waiting for it to repeat.

It had sounded like heavy footfall.

Choosing to inspect for threats, he rose as noiselessly as possible, rolled up his blanket, and stashed it into the baggage; then, he tiptoed away from the sleeping Elves.

When he was far from sight, his walking steps eased. The atmosphere was dark as it would be during the dead of night, making it impossible to see into a far distance, but Judson's eyesight permitted him to descry grass from shrub and tree. Looking about, he realized the rumbling noise might have come from a far distance since the night was not particularly quiet.

There was nothing nearby.

He chided himself for being so edgy. Yet he was not to blame. He could not help mistrusting the jungle after facing off an entire Nobility in one day.

In relief, he wheeled to go back.

At that moment, the earth began to rumble.

His hands dropped from his waist as he stared wide-eyed and with a gape at the trees. They groaned and creaked, teetering in odd directions as if they were on the move.

When the quivers intensified and trees began to fall with deafening snaps, Judson finally found the will to move.

"Earthquake!" He shouted, sprinting into a run.

Trees fell before and behind him, spraying heaps of briar and bramble into the air. Disorder became so great that Judson found himself trying more to stay alive than run back to his company. The earth continued to quake and gave him no chance to balance on both feet. He rolled over again and again to avoid a falling tree, ducked to miss swinging ones, and jumped over the ones that had indeed fallen.

Amidst the catastrophe, he was able to pick up on his name being shouted on repeat, but could not recognize who was calling it.

"Phyllis!" He shouted back at the top of his voice. "Diarmaid!"

Again, he tried to run forward, but the tremor kept tossing him to the ground. It was impossible to stand upright. He tried desperately to communicate with the earth, but Wyvernwildé was far too ancient to be satiated by his powers. To add to that, he took a splinter to the eye, or two, which made him lose concentration .

His blood ran cold when a scream tore through the air. Following that, the earthquakes lessened, but only to allow the ground crack open with more speed than he could comprehend. He took flight at once and sped back toward his friends.

Upon reaching their camp site, he met a confusing scenario.

On both sides of the newly formed depression, the ground had dipped a great way, inclining downward to form slopes. Diarmaid and Phyllis were on one side that used to be their camp. Both had buried their hands into the earth to prevent falling, but the strategy seemed a weak one because the earth only tipped against them even more.

Phyllis hung nearest the edge of the gap while Diarmaid was far above her. If he were to let go, he would crash into her and they would both plummet to their deaths.

"Now would be a really good time to do something." Diarmaid yelled.

Even midair, it was difficult to move. The quake only grew stronger. In addition, more trees fell higgledy-piggledy. Judson kept his eyes fixed on Phyllis as he tried to manoeuvre without getting smashed to paste.

Bit by bit, she began to slide down, her hands packing dirt with her as she went.

"Olwirien!" Diarmaid shouted even though he could not see what was happening.

"No!" She squealed, struggling to latch on again, but could only claw more undergrowth to herself.

At the last minute, Judson emerged from behind a falling mahogany and leapt after Phyllis, who had let go and was being swallowed up by darkness. As soon as his arms locked around her midsection, he shot out of the ravine, willing vines to secure Diarmaid so he would not fall too.

He held out an open hand for the Elf to grab and was almost weighed down by the people he carried.

With luck, the earthquake did not last much longer.

Silence progressively returned to the jungle.

Judson dropped Diarmaid first, then Phyllis. He closely inspected her pallid face. She looked a bit shaken. Only a bit.

"Thank you!" Her eyes held deep gratitude. "You saved my life."

"And mine." Diarmaid added, coming to touch Judson's shoulder. "If you hadn't come back, we would be buried leagues beneath the earth."

"Think nothing of it. It was my obligation."

Phyllis gave him a nod, then looked about. "Our camp is no more. We cannot stay."

"How far do you think it goes?" Diarmaid piped, inspecting the mighty gash in the earth before him.

The trio came to stand a safe distance near the edge to observe the abyss. It ran several hundreds of metres deep and many more hundreds wide.

"It's blocked our path." Phyllis frowned, daring to peep into the same gap that had nearly taken her life.

"I can take us over it." Judson offered. "It will not be the first time."

Both Elves shared a look.

"Very well then!" Diarmaid decided. "First, we must salvage whatever we can to go on with."

As he moved about doing so, Phyllis remained with Judson. He sensed from his peripheral vision that she was watching him.

"You're troubled." She muttered. "It would be no use trying to deny it. I see it on your face."

He spared her a glance. "I do not deny it."

"What troubles you?"

For a while, he stayed quiet, staring at the far side of the jungle and listening to Diarmaid's feet softly shuffle underbrush as he walked around gathering the rest of their supplies.

"When you fell," He began with slight difficulty, craning as if to banish pain from his neck. "I feared I would not catch you in time."

A soft chuckle came out of her as she placed a hand on his arm. "Yet you did. Worry little. I am glad we are all in the same company."

Sadness overcame his face, and it showed in the furrowing of his eyebrows when he turned to look at her again.

Before either could speak a word, a forceful grunt took their attention.

Diarmaid seemed to have tripped over a tree and the baggage that was once between his arms was rolling fast toward the mouth of the ravine. Like a flash of lightning, Judson went after it and grabbed the top just as it fell over the edge. Yet a good number of things tumbled into the darkness.

"Are you alright?" Phyllis asked, helping Diarmaid back to his feet.

"I can swear that damn tree wasn't there the first time." He spat in annoyance, dusting his shoulders.

Judson turned to face the two, wearily removing his gaze from the baggage. "Know what else is not there?" He lifted the bag to show them. It was noticeably lighter than before "Food."

"What?" Phyllis looked mortified.

"They're all gone?" Diarmaid asked, glaring begrudgingly at the ravine behind.

Judson gave a grim nod. "I fear so. I was not quick en—"

"Don't do that!" Phyllis ordered, marching toward him with a hand raised. "It wasn't your fault. We'll find another way. Besides, it's a jungle. Food could be anywhere."

"Do we still have our blankets to keep us warm, at least?" Diarmaid asked, looking hopeful.

Judson nodded affirmatively. "Yes."

"Wonderful!" Phyllis remarked. "Now, get us across the ravine. We still have a long way ahead of us."

Once past the ravine, Judson and his company continued their trek.

They could not find a suitable spot to rest, mostly because they felt weary about experiencing another unexpected earthquake.

So, for a long time and even until dawn came fully, they walked.

Wyvernwildé brightened to an ethereal degree as sunlight broke through the trees.

Judson sensed that his legs had grown horribly cold from being exposed throughout the night. The environment, though vast, always seemed to be closing in on all corners and gave him the nasty feeling of being trapped within very narrow walls. He glanced up and about, sensing that the trees here were greatly old yet barren - in terms of housing nature spirits.

"I thought every brink of the Great Jungle swarmed with Derews." He voiced.

They had walked into a place with weeds growing as high as their hip. The ground was dry, allowing for loud crunches underfoot. Up front, Phyllis walked vigilantly, her head turning this way and that whilst Diarmaid strolled in carefree strides behind her and plucked off whatever his sweeping hands could grab onto.

"That's almost like saying there is salt in every water." The Elf contributed. "Not all trees have the capability to house a Derew. Nature spirits possess a delicate energy that ties them through and through to their mother tree. This energy is unique to every tree and must be retained, thus guaranteeing the safety and prolonged life span of the Derew."

Judson arched an eyebrow at Diarmaid's explanation. "The trees here are incapable then."

"It would appear so. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

"Tell me," Diarmaid paused, waiting for him to catch up. When they were face to face, he asked under his breath. "Can you sense the presence of any nature spirits about?"

"No, there are none."

"Does that bother you?" His voice came up to normal again.

"I am not sure. I believe with how ancient these trees are, they should be home to many nature spirits."

"Perhaps it's because no spirit has been able to travel all this way in search of a home. Or perhaps the original inhabitants fled for reasons best known to them. We can never tell."

"Look!" Phyllis called from a great distance ahead.

"How does she walk so fast?" Diarmaid exclaimed.

When they reached her, they saw that she had a small pile of nuts resting in the crook of her arm and a big grin on her face.

"Acorns!" She revealed, bending over to pick more. They were littered at the foot of a giant oak.

"Those are bitter!" Diarmaid complained.

Judson shook his head in disagreement. "No, they are not."

As soon as he collected one, it cracked open upon his touch. Both Elves gaped for a moment, but said nothing.

"The nut inside is healthy - no holes nor mold. They fell only a day ago."

"How can you tell?" Phyllis wore a smile that showed she was still in awe.

He brought the acorn to his nose and sniffed it. "I have eaten more acorns than food in my lifetime."

Diarmaid grimaced. "How awful!"

"We make camp under the oak tree." Phyllis offered. "I'll make a fire and we can boil these for breakfast."

"I miss the peafowl, actually!"

"Well, then, go on ahead and hunt for them. I'm sure you'll find one."

"I can tell when she's being snarky." He explained to Judson, his voice below a whisper. "Peafowls don't survive this far into the jungle."

By luck, Phyllis was able to make a decent meal of nuts and handed them out. She, on the other hand, kept a stock pile for herself.

"You still have the warrior's yearn." Judson smiled, watching her eat with much gusto. "What will happen if we go without food for too long?"

"Then I'll eat Diarmaid's ears." She replied with all seriousness.

The aforementioned sat up straight at once. "You're joking?"

"I thought you could tell when I was being snarky."

"Not without my ears, but I can."

Judson made a face. "Same way she can tell when you're being quiet?"

Diarmaid rolled his eyes. "Very funny!"

"Come on!" Phyllis urged, wiping her hands. She rose to retrieve her sword belt, bow and quiver. "We must hurry. The day is still young."

"Diarmaid is not. Slow down." Judson joked and received a frustrated glare.

"How quickly you've let them corrupt you."

"I am not corrupt, I promise." He laughed.

"Sadly, I don't believe you." Then, the Elf turned to Phyllis. "How do you even know if we're going in the right direction?"

"North." She replied, readjusting the bow strap. She took her cloak and draped it on as well. "Threya said we must keep northward, until the Virgin Rivers are within sight. Then, we change course to the East."

"How long until the rivers?" Judson asked.

For a moment, she faltered. "With shorter breaks and no interruption, we should arrive mid-NeverEnd."

Diarmaid stood up. "That's not very encouraging, but alright then. Off we go!"

Like always, they walked a great distance, emerging into parts of the jungle that felt and looked different each time.

As fate would have it, the next ten days were uneventful and quiet.

However, Judson remained on edge for some reason. He found he could not sleep nor stay at ease, especially during the night - and it was not wholly because of the earthquake incident. Regardless of having denied worrying, he was ever plagued by a sense of alarm.

The earthquake incident had affected him indeed.

Oftentimes, when he unintentionally thought back on it, he got ugly flashbacks of his own loss. He remembered Waverly's fall and how he had been unable to save her.

As a result of his mental state, he zoned out of reality for three more days til they entered a sinister looking part of Wyvernwildé.

There, the air was not only defined by strange darkness, it smelled foul. Trees grew haphazardly and looked as if they were dead. Many of them - and the plants, too - were a sickly shade of green, dark and limp. The ones that managed to stand proud seemed imposing and fremd; their branches intersecting overhead to form thick canopies that even daylight could not breech.

"What is the place?" Diarmaid whispered as they cautiously roamed further in.

"I don't know." Phyllis responded in a quiet voice as well. "Threya did not mention this."

For a while, all they did was inspect the environment. Then, they stood together to make conclusions.

"I doubt anything lives here." Diarmaid said.

"Yet we cannot make camp. This part of the forest has been dead for eons. It carries an air of bad omen."

"What do you think?" Diarmaid asked, nudging Judson.

He glanced below, noticing that the ground was covered in perennials. "It is safe to camp in. We only must not stray far from wherever we choose to rest."

"Pick a spot then." Phyllis urged with a lift of the chin. "Your senses are keener than ours."

Nodding, Judson obliged and walked around, peering long at everything. Truly, the environment was sick and dead, and the stench of decay suffocated any trace of fresh air it might welcome.

"If we stay too long here, we might take ill." He warned. "This place is diseased. We should only spend the night."

"I doubt there's any kind of food for miles." Phyllis mumbled out of distaste.

Diarmaid looked on her with much concern. "I'll go search for some."

"No!" She objected. "You help him set up. I'll go. I won't stay long."

"Be on your guard."

She gave a nod of agreement before bounding off.

Judson watched her fade into the dark after taking no more than six steps. If not for the slight gleam of her sword, which she drew out, nothing about her would have been visible.

"Do you think it is safe to let her go alone?" He asked Diarmaid in a slightly worried tone. His gut was beginning to twist in discomfort.

The Elf was staring onward as he worked, unbelting and unfolding items from inside the baggage. "It's not. At the same time, Judson, she's a warrior. She'll be alright."

Choosing to believe Diarmaid, he let himself focus on making a fire. The yellow light gave some life to the bleak forest and made it less disquieting. Judson had the idea to craft multiple torches and pin them to the ground in different areas.

"What are those for?" Diarmaid wondered, wiping his bronze spear with a cloth.

"A warning." He replied, jabbing the bottom of the fat stump into dirt as it blazed yellow flames.

"You're marking unknown territory as your own?" Diarmaid asked with a scoff, sounding amused.

"Only temporarily." He shrugged, rising to inspect his work. The fires gave their camp a sacred sort of aura. "Whatever thinks otherwise has the liberty to confront me about it."

"That is some daring invitation."

"Sure is." He waited a few minutes before speaking again. "Phyllis should be back by now."

"Have no worry for her. Remember, most of these parts are dead. She may have to walk a good distance before she finds anything edible enough to digest without problems. Give it some time. She'll return."

Minutes clogged and became hours even though in the silence, it was impossible to tell time accurately.

Judson found himself tapping nervously against his knee, awaiting Phyllis's return. The anxious part of it all was that nothing made him stir; there was no sound of a snapping twig in the distance, a ruffling leaf, or a flutter of wings. A single disturbance did not come at all.

"We have to go look for her." He said, unable to contain himself any longer. "It has been dead silent for ages. Something is wrong."

The manner with which he swiftly unleashed his spear told Judson that Diarmaid had been thinking the same thing.

They rose in unison, took up individual torches, and marched in the same direction.

The air only grew thicker with the same foul smell, causing the pair to shield their noses. These parts of the jungle were denser, impossible to navigate, and wet, leading to a squelch in every step. Here and there, hundreds of limp climbing plants dangled like curtains in obstruction.

When they reached a point where the jungle spread out in different directions, they stopped.

"Which way do you think she went?"

"North." Judson gave a response almost immediately.

Diarmaid pocketed his spear and gave a nod in agreement.

Judging from how she always merged orders with a sense of judiciousness, it was no surprise that Phyllis had gone North. Nothing under the sun could make her change course unless the Twin Rivers.

The jungle branched even more in its northward direction yet a cloistered feel was ever present. Turbidity became more abundant, and Judson confirmed a serious anomaly when his and Diarmaid's torches went out with a whoosh.

Then, they brandished their weapons and stood close together.

"Olwirien!" Diarmaid called at the top of his voice.

"I think it be best to keep silent." Judson cautioned.

"What if something's happened to her?"

As he spoke, the atmosphere began to darken bit by bit, until nothing else was visible to the eyes. All Judson could sense was the feel of Diarmaid's back against his own and vice versa. Even Calaire's blue glow died off.

Then, the strangest thing occured.

Lights flickered on in dots across the environment.

Judson blinked over and over, thankful for the reignition of sight. The darkness had pained his eyes very much.

First, there were just two lights, floating about, then they began to multiply.

"Bugs?" Diarmaid muttered, watching them swarm in slow progression.

"No." Judson dismissed. "Butterflies."

Though the insects appeared harmless and did not touch either one of them, he was alert still.

As the swarm drew even closer, he noticed how bright they were; so much that he could see the make of their innards. They were transparent butterflies and awfully beautiful to behold.

"What do you call these?" He questioned, reaching out the tip of his index to poke the insect. An undulating wave rippled through its whole body upon contact.

"I-I don't think. . . I think, perhaps it is. . . that they are. . . butterflies, I guess." Diarmaid sounded sleepy.

"There are too many of them." He, too, was feeling dull in his mind and weak in his bones.

The lights seemed to dance in the back of his head, dampening his consciousness. Memory grew narrower and heavy sleep cloaked him. He let go of Calaire and his head drooped.

For a while, he felt nothing. Then came muffled rumbles. His weakened senses could not fully translate what was happening, but he was able to tell that something was walking up to him in slow strides.

It moved with groans, like a tired bull.

All of a sudden, a spark went off inside his brain that jolted him awake. Whatever trancelike state he was falling into wore off totally.

He looked around and realized that the yellow light of each butterfly was going out one by one.

Soon, it would be dark again.

Quickly, he picked Calaire and his fallen torch. The giant thing advanced still with heaving grunts and pounding footfall.

He took out a matchstick, struck it and flames roared to life on his brand. Under the light, he saw Diarmaid fast asleep on the ground and realized they had both been hypnotized.

Before realization settled to the fullest, the insects suddenly morphed into things that sembled dragonflies. Only, their size was greater and they looked more dangerous.

The next second, mayhem ensued.

The creatures engaged in violent attacks, hitting and scratching Judson from all sides without giving him as much as a breathing space. He intercepted many with his wings and crushed those that he caught in his hands. While he was being occupied by killer bugs, he vaguely recalled that something bigger was around.

He also realized that the thing was yet to attack.

At that thought, he managed to turn around and discovered that the unknown creature was pulling Diarmaid by his legs. It was a hunchbacked beast with powerful arms and legs and great fur. When it growled, rows of crocodile teeth inside wide jaws became visible. But it was also a sluggish thing.

Judson guessed what it was. A Roc.

Driven by anger, he soared and did a powerful spin midair. His wings slapped and knocked out nearly all of the insects. The Roc staggered back with a moan, seemingly affected by the strong wind he stirred. Many weak plants either bent over or fell in reaction to being blown so hard.

In that moment, Judson caught sight of a figure curled up inside a shaggy nest hanging twelve feet off the ground. The odd structure was supported by clusters of vegetation in a way that could escape notice.

Right then, he knew the figure was Phyllis.

"Drop him!" He growled at the Roc as Calaire melted into a bow.

Diarmaid was hanging upside down from its grip. The creature responded with an aggressive cry that shook the environment. Regardless, it dropped Diarmaid.

Immediately, Judson let his arrow fly.

The Roc's arm exploded to dust, but the rest of it stayed intact. Its roar thundered from being disarmed and sent it into an outrage and a forceful charge. Judson dove to the side in time to avoid being crushed and came up standing just as quickly to unleash another pair of arrows. It hit both of the creature's legs, forcing it to balance on just one hand. Anger shook it from head to middle, preventing it from acting.

A last aim went right through its chest and destroyed it to nothing.

First, Judson ran to study Diarmaid. The Elf was breathing laboriously, but he seemed fine. Then, he proceeded to free Phyllis. She, too, was fast asleep. Her eyebrows were drawn together as if she was in pain.

He threw her one arm around his shoulder and did the same for Diarmaid. Although he had carried them before, this felt different because both were unconscious.

Still and all, he managed to drag them back to camp.

The fires were still burning and everything looked in place. He made certain they were comfortable, then proceeded to study them. Both had a tiny red lump on their right index.

At the sight of that, Judson checked his own finger.

There was no lump.

It meant he had not not stung by the insects.

He did a quick rummage of their surrounding, gathered wood and made a weak fire. Then, he cooked up a healing mixture and administered it in drops, hoping that recovery would be full by morning.

On the contrary, Phyllis broke into a fever first.

In the middle of the night, blisters and sweat broke out on parts of her cheek and forehead. Yet she shivered like one trapped inside an iceberg. He opted to using his healing powers on her, but it could only banish the fever for a stretch of hours before it returned again.

While her condition grew even worse, Diarmaid fell sick, too.

Four days passed and neither one even stirred as much as a lash. They slept like stone, oblivious to everything.

Judson monitored them as closely as he could, trying not to panic. From what he knew, the insects that had attacked them were Gneats; magical bugs that could hypnotize by changing their forms into light emitting butterflies. Following hypnosis, they sting their prey to immobilize them.

While he was lucky to have broken out of the trance before any fatalities, Diarmaid got stung; Phyllis before him.

The baffling thing about the whole affair was that those killer insects were seemingly catching prey for the Roc. After it feasted, they would, in turn, feast on its blood for survival.

Despite it being a parasitic relationship, Judson could not help being slightly impressed.

Gneats were some of the rarest creatures alive and could only be seen in deep, dark, and very isolated places. He thought they had to be incredibly brilliant to have successfully subjected such a giant Roc to a particular feeding pattern in order to survive throughout the ages.

That aside, he was very angry that his friends had fallen prey. He, himself, would have fallen too.

But something had woken him. A kind of deep-seated resistance possibly stemming from his connection to the earth. Many times before, the same faculty saved his life. He tried to feel thankful for it and could not.

Instead, he focused on reviving his friends. They needed to recover before guilt swallowed him whole. Every single moment, he found himself regretting his decision to let them come. Howbeit he was lucky they did. He would never have managed on his own.

Threya's instruction had been to reach the Cleft before the year ran out. Although she had failed to specify the reason for her deadline, he sensed it was vital to being able to actually reach the Chay. It was not his first time-sensitive quest.

All that he prayed was for his Elven friends to get better for the sake of it and their journey.

Over and over, he administered medicine and used his powers; ditched sleep to keep watch, and grew very little herbage and berries from the stems Maraeti had wisely packed for him.

On the morning of the fifth day, all of the stems died from being contaminated by the soil.

It sent Judson's morale into a new level of low. There was no way he could regrow nor restock in such an environment, and without his supplies, his friends would never recover.

He inched close to Phyllis and felt for a pulse. It came weak yet constant. Diarmaid's was even fainter. Both were ever pale and unmoving.

With the decision to find an alternative, he opted to encase his friends in as much aura as he could provide. A ball of white light covered the perimeter around them, then faded altogether. Though invisible, it would keep them safe until his return.

Taking up a torch - the very last one - he ventured away from camp.

How long he spent searching for a single plant with life in it went unnoticed. However, when his head lifted at last, alarm filled him entirely. The new environment was unrecognizable albeit marked by the same dense and eerie vegetation. There, silence dominated the jungle in an unnerving way. Every tree, bush, plant, and leaf looked the same, growing in such clusters that there hardly was any room to take a step without getting entangled.

As it were, he got caught in a web of vines.

Trying to will them into releasing his limbs proved fruitless. Wyvernwildé had long proved a master to no one, yet he tried over and over. Instead, more climbers encroached him. His insides rattled in disgust as they crawled over his front, down his legs and back, caging his arms in a position that complicated escape even further.

In an attempt to release Calaire, it fell into a cesspool below. Till then, he had failed to even realize he was above ground. The plants struggled against him as he did them, until he was partly dangling upside down in a very uncomfortable position.

Frustration ate away at him in large bits.

He flexed to reach Calaire, which was a few inches away from his forehead. The wristband was slowly sinking into mud, and if he did not reach it fast, it would.

His wriggling and infrequent grunts, the only sounds in the whole environment, began to unsettle him. He tried to stay calm and work his way free of the trap.

Drawing in a deep breath, he twitched his left hand. The vine loosened by an inch. It crossed his mind to move like liquid, as it seemed the plants were opposed to friction. One hand came free, then the other.

As soon as his legs followed, he fell headfirst to the ground with a painful thud.

A huge sigh came out of him as he retrieved Calaire in spite of how much dirt covered it. While he worked to rid himself of filth, a low purr reached his ears.

First, his thoughts strayed to a cat as its possible source. However, the vibrations behind the sound were far too strong to have come from a kitten.

He stilled, watching with keen eyes.

Then, a bloodcurdling sight made him freeze.

The predator was indeed a cat – a huge female, and one he recognized much to his great displeasure.

He quietly rose to his feet, wondering if she had spotted him at all. From the way her head lolled, he gathered she had and was pretending otherwise. Her entire posture oozed mockery, and he could somehow sense so.

Just when he least expected, her evil eyes locked onto his; her mouth upturned as if creating a smile, and a grating voice he thought would never torture his ears again ripped through the silence.

"We meet again, old master!"