Page 62 of Solivagant

The creek washed my body, though it did little to soothe my mind.

Wherever Tusks was, he seemed content to remain in the shadows as I made my way back to the river stones where my pants, socks, and boots were waiting.

If I were going to be here for much longer, I’d have to wash them soon. For now, I decided I didn’t like being naked in front of him, only because it made my stomach flutter with something infuriatingly close to excitement, and I eventually managed to pull the denim up my wet legs.

He still didn’t show himself.

That was fine.

I could probably force him, if I went for the wall, though maybe my time would be better spent exploring the ruins of this place instead.

While that stone altar made my skin crawl, there were other areas where some form of civilization had once been.

There were chunks of stone and brick where another wall seemed to once have stood. I followed them. The forest had reclaimed a lot of the area, though I suspected someone else had taken the bulk of the brick and rock away at some point.

There were decayed remains of what would once have been houses, maybe a town hall. Though very little in the debris could tell me just what this place had been, or what had happened to it.

How had only one house remained?

I avoided the altar as I doubled back, following a pull almost like a memory. A path I almost recognized. The breeze pushed at my back in guidance, the sunlight blocked by the trees’ canopy. Shadows seemed to shiver in excitement.

The path opened up, and another set of stones were stacked intentionally, with engravings much like the bigger one I’d been avoiding, only this one didn’t fill me with fear. My wrists slashed with phantom pain.

This was the altar from my dream.

It was real.

And if it was real, then I suspected the rest was too.

I dropped to my knees, because that felt like the right thing to do.

My fingers traced over the engravings in the stone. Runes in a language I didn’t recognize yet somehow knew.

I’d been here before. Many times. I was sure of it. Yet I couldn’t have been.

The beast inside me lashed, longing to be set free.

I still didn’t understand. I just wanted to understand.

My head hurt.

My heart hurt.

“My Jem,” echoed in the mist of memories.

“I’m waiting,” spoke the beast. “I’m still waiting.”

31

KHORLI

Jem was at the altar. Our altar.

He’d found it. Did he remember it?

Did he remember me?

He was different. I could see that now. In more ways than physical.