Page 32 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” Cypress responded while casting her gaze back and forth across the road, sweeping for combatants.

“And still you want me to tell you, don’t you?”

“Naturally,” Cypress drawled. All of her muscles were tensed, ready for something to leap out of the dark at her at any moment.

Torren sighed and explained after a moment's hesitation. “The language of Faerie is as old as the old ones,” he offered, straightening his shoulders.

Cypress traded her gaze from the forest in favor of Torren’s face. She’d learned in their travels that the line of his jaw and the crease between his brow would often betray his emotions. “And that’s how all of Faerie communicates?”

Torren met her gaze, his feet stalling on the road. “All of Faerie understands the language, though many communicate in other ways. The forest is always listening, but sometimes she speaks, too.”

“This isn’t the Wylds, Torren.”

“Not yet, no, but we are on the very edges.”

“Are you trying to tell me that the Wylds aren’t merely a border on a map, but a…a…creature?”

“What if it is?”

“That’s absurd. How could an entire forest be a single creature?”

“The Wylds are a living, breathing thing, Lass. They’re ever changing, shifting, and churning in time with Lae lines beneath the soil. Magic churns within those woods, and it soars in the veins of the Fair Folk.”

Cypress didn’t have the opportunity to counter Torren’s claims. Out of the corner of her eye, a small greyish creature emerged from the shadows, pointed teeth bared as it charged toward her.

Immediately, Cypress drew her blade, stepping away from Torren and the horses in order to have space to move. The creature charged, wide, dark, unsettling eyes locked on its target. The thing had fur, though it looked infected with mange, with as many bloody scabs covering its body as there were mottled greyish hairs.

Torren drew his blade beside her, the ringing sound of steel against steel thrumming in her blood.

Just before the creature was upon them, it disappeared with a pop, black smoke rising where it had been.

“I assume this is the Durdiddle?” Cypress asked, blade held at the ready before her.

“You’d be correct, Lass.”

“Why now?”

“We weren’t paying attention to it,” Torren said.

She kept her gaze on the edges of the trees, sweeping back and forth for any sight of the Durdiddle.

“Whatthe fuck are you doing?”Cypress hissed, noticing Torren’s closed eyes.

“Stop looking, it’ll attack once more,” Torren said by way of explanation.

Cypress glared at his face for a heartbeat, wondering if the male had lost all of his senses.

“Trust me, Lass,” Torren implored without opening his eyes.

With a growl, Cypress followed his example, sword held loosely at her side.

There wasn’t a single peep coming from the birds in the forest, not a flap of wings or even the sound of the wind between the leaves. Dead silence rang around Cypress and Torren. Until,thereon the edge of her subconscious, Cypress heard the barest snap of a twig, a haunting, child-like giggle immediately after.

The air shifted around her, and Cypressmoved.She swung her sword up just in time to block a hand with sharp talons hidden under tufted fingertips from gouging out her closed eyes.

Torren’s sword came down next to hers, and then the Durdiddle disappeared once more into a puff of black smoke.

“Fuck,” Cypress swore, her frustration getting the better of her for a moment.