Arcane Fang

## 3. On the run ### 3.1. Awakening in the Mire The muffled sounds of the swamp slowly filtered through Calwyn's senses-the distant croak of frogs, the soft drip of water off mossy vines, and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures moving through the mire. His body felt heavy, his limbs sluggish as he opened his eyes to the dim light seeping through the boarded-up window. He blinked, the details of the small room coming into focus. The warped wooden floor beneath him was littered with debris, and the damp, musty air clung to his skin. Memories from the night before surged back: the pursuit, the crumbling staircase, and the searing heat of the Aetheric energy burning through his veins as he pushed its volatile power beyond his limits. Vera's voice broke the silence. "You're awake." Calwyn turned his head, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. She was crouched near the window, her ears swiveling as she listened for any signs of danger outside. Her silver-gray fur caught the faint light, and her golden eyes flicked toward him, sharp and calculating. "How long was I out?" he asked, his voice rasping. "A few hours," she replied, standing and stretching. "You were out cold. Thought I'd have to drag you out if they came back." Calwyn tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain flared in his chest, forcing him to pause. His legs ached from the relentless pursuit the night before, and his core felt hollowed out from the overuse of Aetheric energy. The memory of the raw, untamed power surging through him burned vivid in his mind-a trace of the night's desperate exertion. He clenched his hand experimentally, willing a flicker of light to bloom in his palm. For a moment, the faint blue glow sputtered, but it steadied quickly. His heart quickened as he noticed something different-it wasn't tugging at his reserves as fiercely as before. The strain he had felt the previous night was diminished. A realization struck him: his body, his connection to the energy, was adapting. Vera's voice cut through his thoughts, her sharp gaze fixed on him. "You were moving a lot in your sleep," she remarked, her tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. Her ears flicked as though gauging his response. "Like you were fighting something." Calwyn forced a weak smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "What can I say? Must've been dreaming of winning a tavern brawl." "The soldiers?" he asked, shifting the focus. "Gone," she said. "For now. But they'll be back. Probably with more." She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "We need to move," Vera said, her voice cutting through his thoughts. "This place isn't safe. There's another outpost farther into the swamp-abandoned, like this one. We can rest there." For a fleeting moment, an almost imperceptible shadow crossed her expression, a hint of guilt she quickly masked. Calwyn, too preoccupied with his aching limbs, didn't notice. Calwyn nodded, though every muscle in his body protested as he forced himself to stand. His legs felt unsteady, but he managed to keep his balance. Vera watched him closely, her expression unreadable. ### 3.2. Through the swamp As they stepped out into the swamp, the chill of the early morning air hit Calwyn's skin, sharp and invigorating. The mist hung low, curling around their ankles as they moved through the dense undergrowth. Vera led the way, her movements silent and deliberate. To her surprise, Calwyn matched her pace with ease, his steps light and sure. She cast a sidelong glance at him, noting how quietly he moved for a human. The faintest flicker of something crossed her features-surprise, perhaps, or curiosity-but she quickly turned her focus back to the path ahead. The swamp's oppressive atmosphere weighed on them as they pressed forward. The damp air clung to their skin, and the faint rustle of unseen creatures skittering through the undergrowth served as a constant reminder that they were never truly alone. Vera's sharp eyes and ears darted between the shadows, scanning for threats. Meanwhile, Calwyn's movements were almost unnaturally quiet, his instincts guiding him to avoid snapping twigs or stepping into water. They reached a narrow stream cutting through the swamp. Vera crouched by the water's edge, dipping her claws in and sniffing the air. Calwyn took the opportunity to rest, leaning against a nearby tree. His thoughts churned with questions about Vera, the soldiers, but he kept them to himself. Vera's voice broke the silence. "We'll follow the stream for a while. It'll cover our tracks." Calwyn nodded, pushing off the tree and falling in step behind her. The stream's gentle flow masked the sound of their footsteps, and the dense foliage provided ample cover. But even as they moved further from the abandoned building, Calwyn couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Finally, as the sun began to rise, casting weak rays of light through the mist, Vera stopped. She pointed to a cluster of trees ahead, their roots intertwined to form a natural archway. Beyond it was another ruined structure, smaller and more overgrown than the last. ### 3.3. Another refuge The ruined structure loomed before them, its crumbling walls thick with moss and ivy. The wooden door hung crooked on its hinges, and the faint scent of rot lingered in the air. Vera pushed the door open, stepping inside cautiously. Calwyn followed, his gaze darting around the dim interior. "Looks stable enough," Vera muttered, her sharp eyes scanning the room. "It's not our destination, we still have a couple of days of travel," she said. Calwyn dropped his pack near the corner, sighing as he leaned against the wall. "What is this place?" "Old outpost, maybe," Vera said. "There were plenty of these built in the swamp, back when people thought they could tame it. Most of them are abandoned now." She crouched low, running her clawed fingers along the dirt-covered floor, checking for any signs of recent use. Satisfied that no one else had been here for some time, she stood and dusted off her knees. "We need to think about arming ourselves," Vera said, her tone practical. "If those soldiers catch up, we'll need more than luck." Calwyn nodded, kneeling beside his pack. "Let's see what we've got." ### 3.4. Surviving the swamp Calwy opened the weathered bag and began pulling out its contents: a small knife, some dried meat, a flintstone, and a rolled-up length of twine. Vera pulled her leather satchel from her side and did the same, revealing a slightly larger knife, a waterskin, a compact wetstone, and a flintstone. "Not much," Calwyn admitted, his gaze flicking over the scattered piles of gear. A faint grimace crossed his face as he added, "Most of my stuff's back at the Inn. Luckily, it was nothing of value. Still, I guess it's as good as gone." "We have, enough to get by," Vera replied. Her golden eyes lingered on her own knife for a moment before picking up a sturdy branch leaning against the wall. "This'll work." "For what?" said Calwyn. "Making a spear," she said simply, crouching down. She began stripping the bark and smoothing the branch with quick, practiced movements. The rhythmic scrape of the blade filled the room. Calwyn watched her work for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You've done this before," he said. "Survived long enough to know it helps to be prepared," Vera replied without looking up. As Vera worked on her spear, her tone softened slightly. "You learn fast when survival's all that matters. My mother... she could make something out of nothing, no matter how bad it got. She was as tough as they come." Calwyn raised an eyebrow, sensing a rare note of pride and sadness in her voice, but chose not to press further. "Sounds like someone worth learning from," he said instead. "She is," Vera replied curtly, the moment of vulnerability passing as quickly as it had come. Vera focused on shaping the spear, her knife moving with practiced precision as she stripped the bark and smoothed the wood. Once satisfied with the shape, she used a length of sturdy twine to fashion a simple strap near the base. In the meantime, Calwyn turned his attention to his own pack. Quietly, he picked up his knife and the roll of twine. Rising to his feet, he scanned the edges of the ruin and stepped outside briefly, returning with a slender, flexible branch from a nearby tree some times later. He worked in silence, stripping the bark and testing its tension. From a pile of debris, he selected several straight sticks that could serve as arrows. It wasn't until he tightened the twine onto the bow, the sound cutting softly through the quiet, that Vera finally looked up. Her ears twitched, and her golden eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?" "Making a bow," Calwyn said simply, securing the string. "A spear's fine, but it's always better to have options." Vera stood, crossing her arms as she approached to watch him work. "Not bad," she muttered, tilting her head slightly. Her tone carried a mix of curiosity and faint approval. "Where'd you learn to do that?" Calwyn didn't look up, his hands steady as he smoothed the arrow shaft with careful strokes. "Here and there," he replied. "When you travel enough, you figure out what keeps you fed-and what keeps you alive. A bow's easy to carry, and when it's quiet, it doesn't draw too much attention." "Traveling doesn't make you a bowyer," Vera said, her tone not unkind. Calwyn chuckled softly, testing the tension of the string with his fingers. "Fair point. Most of what I've learned came from fixing things after they've gone wrong. The first bow I made snapped before I could fire a single shot." Vera's gaze lingered, sharp and searching, as though trying to peel back the layers of his response. There was something in the way his hands moved-quick, practiced, precise-that spoke of more than just casual hunts or clumsy improvisation. His grip on the knife was steady, and the ease with which he secured the bowstring in place hinted at someone who had done this many times before. He didn't elaborate, and Vera didn't press him. She studied him for a moment longer, her gaze flicking between the nearly finished bow and the small pile of arrow shafts he'd started carving. The precision in his work caught her attention, a quiet efficiency that didn't match the modest story he'd just told. Whatever truths lay beneath his words, he had no intention of sharing them-not yet. Her golden eyes lingered, but she said nothing, turning back to her spear with a faint, thoughtful frown. As the morning light filtered through the cracks in the walls, the two worked in a steady rhythm. Calwyn tested the bow's tension, adjusting it carefully, while Vera finished shaping her spear. The silence between them was comfortable, the quiet efficiency of two survivors preparing for whatever dangers the swamp might bring next. The fire crackled softly, its orange glow pushing back the swamp's chill. Calwyn crouched beside it, carefully feeding dry kindling into the flames. It had taken longer than he'd hoped to get the fire started; the damp air and moss-covered wood were hardly ideal, but he'd managed. The warmth was a welcome relief after the hours spent trudging through the muck. Vera sat nearby, her newly shaped spear resting against her knee. "You think that's safe?" she asked, her voice low but edged with concern. "Smoke could give us away." Calwyn shook his head. "Not much smoke from a fire this size. Besides, it won't burn long." He adjusted a thin branch over the flames, balancing the bow stave above the heat. "We need this. A strong weapon's no good if it breaks the first time you use it." Vera watched him work, her golden eyes flicking between the bow and the spear. "You're treating them both?" Calwyn nodded. "The spear's solid enough, but the heat will harden it-make the point tougher." He glanced at her briefly, a faint flicker of something unreadable in his amber eyes. "Figured it couldn't hurt." She huffed quietly, leaning back against the crumbling wall of the outpost. "You're full of surprises, you know that?" "Just trying to stay useful," he said simply, turning the stave slowly over the fire. The bow's surface darkened slightly, the heat drawing out its moisture. He moved with precision, careful not to let any part linger too long near the flames. The rhythmic motion felt grounding, a task that kept his hands busy while his mind turned over the events of the past day. Vera reached for her spear, holding the sharpened tip close to the fire's edge. The wood smoked faintly, the outer layer hardening under the heat. The quiet between them wasn't awkward, but purposeful. The swamp outside remained still for now, the distant croak of frogs and hum of insects blending with the soft crackle of the fire. As the weapons took shape under their care, the outpost felt less like a crumbling ruin and more like a brief refuge-a moment to prepare for whatever lay ahead. ### 3.5. Rest and reflection As the fire crackled steadily, Calwyn glanced over at Vera. Her silver-gray fur was caked with mud and grime from their escape, streaks of dirt marking her face and arms. She leaned against the wall, her golden eyes flicking toward the fire but unfocused. "You should go wash up," he said, breaking the silence. Vera's ears flicked toward him, but she didn't move. "What?" "The stream we passed earlier," Calwyn explained, nodding toward the doorway. "It's close. Wash off the mud. You'll feel better." She frowned, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm fine." Calwyn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You're covered in swamp muck, and we've got time while the fire's going. No one's tracking us right now. Just... go. I'll keep watch." Vera's gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a faint huff, she stood, grabbing the spear and her waterskin. "Fine. But don't think I'm doing this because you told me to." She paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. "And no peeking," she added, her tone sharp but carrying a faint edge of humor. Calwyn raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression calm. "Wouldn't dream of it." Vera huffed and disappeared into the mist, her footsteps fading as she made her way toward the stream. He adjusted the fire, feeding it carefully to keep the flames steady. The soft glow flickered against the walls of the ruin as he worked, his mind turning over the events of the past day. Every muscle in his body ached, but he pushed the discomfort aside. They had more pressing concerns than his fatigue. When Vera returned, the transformation was striking. Without the layer of mud and grime, her ash-gray hair, streaked with darker tones, glinted faintly in the firelight, and the white streaks near her ears stood out starkly. Her angular face, framed by the short, uneven strands, was sharp and commanding, her golden eyes catching the flicker of the flames with a predatory gleam. Yet, what drew Calwyn's attention wasn't her striking features but the marks etched into her skin. Bruises lightly marked the fair patches of skin. A few scratches traced her arms, subtle against the weathered texture of her skin. She moved with practiced control, her posture steady despite the hints of wear from the day's trials. Her leather jerkin, though battered and patched, clung snugly to her athletic frame, accentuating the lean strength that had been honed through countless struggles. Calwyn said nothing, his gaze lingering as she adjusted the strap of her satchel. Vera glanced up, her golden eyes narrowing as she caught his stare. "What?" she asked sharply, her tone more defensive than curious. "Nothing," Calwyn replied, averting his eyes. "You clean up well." Vera huffed, a faint flick of her tail betraying her irritation. "I'd rather have the mud back," she muttered, sitting by the fire. But as she leaned forward, the flicker of flames danced across her bruises, and for a brief moment, her hardened expression softened, her exhaustion more apparent than she likely intended.  His amber eyes narrowed. "They did this to you," he said quietly, a statement rather than a question. Vera paused, glancing down at herself before giving a slight shrug. "It's nothing." "It's not nothing," Calwyn said, his tone firm but measured. "You should rest." She huffed, settling down near the fire. "We don't have time to rest." Calwyn opened his pack, pulling out the dried meat and offering a piece to her. "We do, at least for a bit. I'll take care of the next step." Vera hesitated before taking the food, her golden eyes watching him carefully. "And what's the next step?" "Hunting," he said, standing and slinging his pack over one shoulder. He picked up the bow and tested the tension one last time. "We need more than scraps to keep going." Her gaze flicked to the bow, then back to him. "You sure you can handle it?" Calwyn gave a faint smile, his expression calm. "I'll manage. You focus on recovering." She said nothing, but her ears twitched as he stepped toward the doorway, the firelight casting long shadows behind him. For a moment, the outpost was quiet save for the crackle of flames and the faint rustle of the swamp beyond. ### 3.6. Sustenance and resolve The sun had risen higher by the time Calwyn returned to the outpost, his pack heavier and his steps deliberate. Slung over one shoulder was a swamp rabbit, its fur slick from the damp terrain. In his other hand, he carried a fat bird with dark feathers, its long neck limp. Vera glanced up as he entered, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. "You were gone long enough," she muttered, though her ears twitched at the sight of his haul. "You actually caught something." Calwyn set the rabbit and bird down near the fire, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. "Swamp's not short on game if you know where to look," he replied, crouching to pull his knife from his pack. "Just takes patience." She leaned back against the wall, watching as he worked. "And luck," she added, her tone sharp but tinged with curiosity. "Luck helps," Calwyn admitted, his hands moving deftly as he began skinning the rabbit. The blade slid cleanly through the fur, his movements precise and practiced. "But knowing how to set a snare or make a clean shot helps more." Vera's gaze lingered on him as he worked, her ears flicking forward. "You're full of surprises," she said, her voice quieter now. "For someone who says they're not a fighter." "Hunting's not the same as fighting," Calwyn said simply, plucking the bird next. "This is just staying alive." As he worked, he set the feathers aside, arranging them neatly on a flat stone. Vera's ears twitched as she noticed the care he took with them. "What's that for?" she asked, her tone neutral but curious. "Arrows," Calwyn replied, not looking up. "Fletching makes them fly straighter. These feathers aren't perfect, but they'll do." Vera huffed quietly, leaning back against the wall. "Prepared for everything, aren't you?" "Trying to be," Calwyn said, his voice calm but focused on the task. "This swamp isn't forgiving." The fire crackled as he placed the cleaned meat on a makeshift spit, constructed from sturdy sticks and twine. He adjusted the placement over the flames, ensuring the heat would cook it evenly. The aroma of roasting meat soon filled the outpost, mingling with the earthy scent of the swamp. Vera sniffed the air, her stomach growling audibly. She shot Calwyn a glare as if daring him to comment, but he just smirked faintly and turned the spit. "Shouldn't take long," he said, his tone light. "It's not a feast, but it's better than nothing." Vera huffed, crossing her arms as she settled more comfortably against the wall. "I've had worse." Calwyn glanced at her briefly, his expression softening. The bruises beneath her fur were still visible, and despite her sharp demeanor, there was an exhaustion in her posture that she couldn't quite hide. "Eat first, then rest," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "We'll need all the strength we can get if we're going to keep moving." Vera didn't reply immediately, her golden eyes fixed on the meat roasting on the fire. Finally, she nodded, a faint flicker of gratitude crossing her features. After ensuring the fire was steady, Calwyn stood, stretching his tired muscles. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, grabbing his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. "Where are you going?" Vera asked, her ears twitching slightly. "Stream's not far," he replied. "I've been in this swamp as long as you have. Could use a rinse." She huffed but didn't argue, leaning back against the crumbling wall. "Don't take too long. We're not exactly safe here." "Wasn't planning on it," Calwyn said with a faint smirk, stepping out into the misty swamp. The stream was just as he remembered from earlier that morning, its clear water winding lazily through the dense undergrowth. Calwyn knelt at its edge, washing the dirt and grime from his hands and face before stripping off his shirt. The cool water stung against his bruises but felt refreshing as he submerged himself. He lingered only a moment, long enough to scrub away the worst of the muck and let the chill clear his thoughts. When he returned to the outpost, his damp hair clung to his face, and his freshly cleaned shirt hung loosely over his frame. Vera glanced up from the fire, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, her nostrils flared, and she stiffened almost imperceptibly. Something about him seemed... different. The faint, elusive scent that had caught her attention before was stronger now, sharper and more distinct. It stirred an odd mix of curiosity and unease deep in her chest, though she said nothing. Calwyn dropped his pack by the wall and crouched by the fire, turning the spit once more. "Meat should be ready soon," he said, his tone casual. Vera nodded, her expression neutral, though her gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat longer before she turned back to the fire. The outpost fell into a companionable silence, broken only by the crackle of the flames and the distant hum of the swamp. Calwyn focused on the meal, his hands steady and sure, his thoughts already drifting to the challenges that lay ahead.