She could feel her grip slipping as Leo fumbled for his sword. She clawed for control like digging for purchase in sand, hissing in urgent worry and seething anger.
Yidhra saw the blade glint from the dull light of the distant fire. In the span of a moment, she thought to let go and flee her captive. But she had no way of knowing what would happen if she released it. Leo might be successful, or the beast could topple on top of him before the blade had a chance to find its mark.
So as the blade plunged into the beast’s chest, she held on, screaming in triumph and pain as it wailed in rage and agony. She could feel the cold steel spear through her form, bright in the rare way fear can be honed into courage.
Grimacing from the taste of blood and the sharp tang of bravery, she wrenched the beast to the side, to be sure it did not fall on Leo in a final effort of victory.
Dust exploded where the boar fell. Blood dripped from its snout as it grunted its final breaths. Yidhra pulled herself away from the slipping creation. The stench of its musk and blood clinged to her in a revolting film as she rolled away.
She was covered in black bristles, and her teeth had become tusks, but slowly those peeled or dropped away to reveal a woman in torn boar hide clothing.
The ratty state of her clothes was due to long wear, but also the gaping wound in her left side. Leo’s sword had missed her heart, but it was not a light injury.
As her face began to shorten back into something more human, she called out, “Sir Leo?”
She needed to warn him. She needed to let him know that she could not join him in the next area, not immediately.
♞—⊱The cry that pierced through the forest would not only wake the dead; it would send their bodies screaming to Hades’ embrace. Leo could not help but think it sounded horribly human, somewhere under that guttural squeal. For a moment he thought it was to fall on him and dig into the thigh where pain flowed like waves slamming against slabs of rock.
It took him a moment to gain his bearings, to huff in relief as it collapsed at his side and tried to ride out the waves of pain. His hand pressed against the wound to staunch the flow. When he heard that weak voice, something clicked in his mind.
Dream.
His body was suddenly taller now. He was no longer wearing a patched tunic but the armor she had donned him in. With the awareness of his reality, he braced himself for the healing of the wound, as if it were just a mirage…but it did not come. When he looked down at it, his eyes flew open. The iron plate covering his thigh was punctured, and blood was welling up. He needed to get up. Something was wrong. He scooted to the dream witch, dragging his foot along with him, face falling into naught but concern. “Yidhra…” His eyes hovered over the wound and instant dread rolled through him and he placed his hand over her side. “Guardians…I didn’t–how could I know? M'so sorry."
