Page 22 of Homeward for a Spell

Even the other wolves look stunned as they peer upward at the now gigantic member of their pack. For his part, the enlarged wolf doesn’t quite have a handle on his oversized limbs. He stumbles around the camp, striding through the tents, tearing apart the party’s bags, and sending Nura and Tea skittering from one side of the camp to the other, so they’re now beside Phi and the campfire. The beast closest to Araphi backs away from her as it avoids the giant wolf’s steps.

“Do something, Tea!” Sage bellows. “Fix this!”

“Right, right! I can fix this! I can fix all of this!” Tea drops a pile of her books to the ground, near the fire, and flips through more pages in the book she’s holding. “I’ve got it. Let me just get closer!”

Haltingly, she walks over to the huge wolf, who steps forward in kind. Tea stumbles backward in alarm, crying out in pain as she falls to the ground. Disastrous. In one stride and utterly unbothered by the flames, the enormous wolf moves through the fire, scattering both the books and party members. Araphi hauls Tea to her feet, pulling her out of the way of the beast.

Still clutching the spellbook in her arms, Tea shouts another incantation.

There’s a flash of blue light, and then the giant wolf shrinks at a truly alarming speed, almost like a lump of sugar that’s been doused with hot water. His limbs shorten and in moments his body is the size of a squirrel’s.

“Ah yes, brilliant!” Tea declares, clearly proud of herself for getting it right this time. She steps forward, but her ankle gives out on her.

Twisted in the fall, Araphi suspects. She slips an arm under Tea’s shoulder and drags her toward the edge of the clearing.

The squirrel-sized wolf turns in a circle, looking at its pack mates. One of the other wolves snaps its jaws at the diminished pack member, who takes off for the woods with a yelp. The other wolf gives chase.

Araphi does a quick count. There were six wolves to start. One is dead by Sage’s blades. Another is missing in the woods. These two have run off, which just leaves the last two—the gray fire-singed wolf and another one—circling the fire.

“I’ll take this one,” Nura yells, squaring her shoulders and hefting her staff. She whirls toward the wolf closest to her, striking out and whacking it. She’s so fast, Araphi can barely keep up with her movements.

As Nura fights the wolf, Araphi turns her attention to the final creature, the gray one, who’s now stalking toward her.

“I’ve got this one!” Sage shouts, leaping through the scattered embers of the fire. She moves toward the wolf, daggers in hand.

“Not by yourself, Ranger.” Araphi is still holding her flaming stick.

Sage starts to say something, but at that moment, the wolf lunges at Araphi. She brandishes her stick toward its face, hoping to jam it into the creature’s mouth, but the wolf snaps it like a toothpick.

Pain lances through Araphi’s right forearm as the wolf turns, one of its shoulder barbs digging into her skin.

The wolf growls and darts back toward her again, but before she can do anything sensible like run for her life, there’s a blur of motion to her right. Steel glints in the firelight, and then Sage lands on top of Araphi, shoving her to the ground. As she does so, she slices an arc along the wolf’s flank.

Araphi is pinned between Sage’s legs, and the ranger’s leather-and-steel smell nearly overwhelms her. The wolf lets out a tremendous roar of pain, and from her position on the ground, Araphi watches Bramble and Remy charge in for an attack. The wolf falls to the ground, and Nura—somehow already done with the other wolf—delivers a killing blow.

As soon as it’s dead, Sage collapses on top of Araphi’s chest, breathing hard. It’s not the worst position to be in, and Araphi fights the urge to pull Sage’s face to hers.

“What were you thinking, Bard?” Sage asks, sitting up once she’s caught her breath. She’s straddling Araphi, and that’s making it nearly impossible for her to think about anything other than the undeniable heat of their bodies together and the bead of sweat that runs down the open V of Sage’s shirt.

Wrenching her gaze away from that V, Araphi looks instead at the cut on her own arm. Blood soaks her sleeve, and pain chases the adrenaline pounding through her veins. She meets Sage’s gaze and says, with some effort, “I’m thinking I really must learn how to fight.”

Then, she promptly passes out.

When Araphi comes around a few minutes later, the camp is in chaos. Sage sits beside her, eyebrows drawn, assessing the damage. Her horse, Reaper, stands a few paces away. There’s a bandage on Araphi’s arm and Bramble looms over her.

“The poultice under there will help with the poison in the wound,” they say. “It’s going to ache like the five hells for a few days, but you’ll live.”

“Thank you,” Araphi says. The wound is on her playing arm, and pain already throbs along it, but she isn’t dead by poison. A win, to be sure.

Rubbing at the bandage, she looks around the camp.

Tents and supplies have been trampled by the wolves. Clothing, food, gear, weapons, papers, maps, blankets, and everything else they packed is scattered around the fire. Someone has placed Araphi’s lute beside her. Mercifully, or perhaps magically, it hasn’t been broken. She hugs the insrument to her chest.

“My books!” Tea cries out a few paces away. She reaches toward the fire to pluck at a tome that’s mostly ash. Several others are torn or still burning in the flames.

“Don’t do that,” Nura snaps, hauling her back. “You’ll burn your hands off.”

Tea clutches a ruined book in her arms, and her face falls. She’s the picture of devastation. “But those were library books. I have to bring them back! Do you know what the librarians at Trouferry do if you don’t return a book? Oh gods, I’m never going to pass my degree.” She limps a few feet and collapses on a log.