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through the mountain.
    “Pick a bloody direction. I don’t want to be caught in here when our friend has had his fill of Reapers.”
    They shuffled forward, stooping beneath the low ceiling, and, in Oenghus’ case, crouching. Slowly, the sounds of carnage fell behind. Only the hollow echo of shifting armor and weary footsteps filled Isiilde’s ears.
    “Why did the Reapers wait so long to attack?” Rivan’s hushed voice bounced in the tunnel. Isiilde glanced back, startled, but Marsais was there, stooped and attentive, followed by the rest of the party. He reached out to her through their bond, soothing and strong, like a blazing sun on a winter’s day. His wounds had been healed, but the ache of bruises lingered. She did not mind. The nymph gladly shared his pain.
    “Didn’t you see the scars on the bear?” Oenghus rumbled.
    “It was covered in them.”
    “Aye, Reapers can’t tolerate sunlight; they need shelter during the day. This cave is a perfect spot. I’d wager it’s a nightly battle.”
    “Which means dawn is approaching.” Acacia paused, directing her shield down a smaller side passage. She smelled the air and frowned, then continued, following fresher air.
    Rivan gazed into a narrow diversion that smelled of rot. “The Reapers must get past him at some point. More could be down here, couldn’t they?”
    “Unless there is something worse down here.”
    “Worse than Reapers,” Rivan swallowed, “like Fomorri?”
    Oenghus looked at the pale young man. “Remind me to tell you some stories, lad. As the Scarecrow is fond of saying, there’s terrors in these realms that would make a god weep with fear.”
    Sharp rock dug into Isiilde’s bare feet, but she did not react. She was numb, shivering beneath her guardian’s voluminous shirt—too frightened to feel pain’s sting. She glanced back at Marsais to reassure herself. His robe hung loosely, sleeves undone, as if he had hastily donned the garment.
    “Eyes ahead, my dear,” he reminded, softly. But his voice came from far away, and she stared, as if trying to make sense of a simple command. He urged her forward with a gentle nudge. “One foot in front of the other. That’s all it ever takes.”
    Isiilde closed her mouth and swallowed. She nodded slightly, and focused on her feet, wading through shadow and shifting light.
    One foot in front of the other. That was a simple task. Far better to dwell on the present than what was ahead, or worse, what she had left behind. Isiilde drifted, and time hovered, somewhere distant and forgotten.

    ❧

    Water trickled over the rock. The ground was slick and the air cold. A steady howl droned in Isiilde’s ears. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Air stung her nostrils, sharp and fresh. It gave her hope that there was an end to the darkness.
    Acacia followed the streaming water, searching for the source. The uneven tunnel turned, and the paladin stepped into a swift stream. Isiilde followed her into the icy water, taking care not to slip on the rock. In another life, she might have flinched from the cold. Presently, she was simply thankful, because the water soothed her aching feet.
    The ground climbed and the passage narrowed. Acacia shuffled sideways between two jutting boulders and a tangle of roots. Isiilde walked through, and looked up. A narrow waterfall came down and   pooled around her ankles.
    Marsais slipped through the passage, gazing at the slice of grey. Acacia looked at the lanky seer. “Can Oenghus fit through that?”
    He shrugged. “He’ll find a way, but it’s always best if no one else is present when he does.”
    Acacia nodded in understanding, and turned to Isiilde, handing over her helm and shield. “Hold this, Nymph.”
    Isiilde nearly dropped the heavy armor. The paladin braced one foot on either side of the rock. Fighting a stream of water, she climbed, using roots to pull herself upwards. When she reached the top, Acacia crawled through the opening. Her legs disappeared,