Emberwood Chapter 4

 

Chapter 4: Courage in the Grass and Shadows of the Forest

Noah crouched low in the tall grass, his heart pounding as though it were trying to escape his chest. The meadow, usually a haven of beauty and peace, felt suffocating and silent. Then he heard it—a sound so loud and sudden it seemed to split the world in two. A crack, like the splintering of a mighty oak, echoed across Glittering Meadows. Noah’s instincts took over, and his head shot up from the grass.

In the distance, he spotted her. Ariel, with Zed on her back, running for the safety of Ember Hollows. She looked so small, so vulnerable against the backdrop of the towering trees. “Ariel!” he shouted, his voice breaking with desperation. But the distance, coupled with the angry hisses and roars of the wyvern, swallowed his cry.

The wyvern emerged from the grass, shaking its massive head and working its jaw, as if ensuring everything was still in place after colliding with Zed's magical barrier. It snorted, and smoke curled from its nostrils in irritation. Noah’s hand instinctively went to the star sling at his side. He knew this was no time to run. If that beast followed Ariel and Zed into Ember Hollows, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

With a deep breath, Noah stood. The wyvern’s golden eyes locked onto him immediately, narrowing in surprise and then hunger. It hesitated for a moment, seemingly debating whether this smaller prey was worth its time. But when Noah raised his star sling, the wyvern’s instinctive aggression took over. It dropped low into the grass, moving with a sinuous, snake-like slither that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

Noah pulled back the sling, his star fragment glowing faintly against the tension of the leather band. The fragments, collected from the sky on full moon nights, had a stunning effect when charged with unicorn magic—enough to incapacitate most predators in the meadow. But this was no thornpaw or emberfang. This was a wyvern.

He loosed the fragment, the glowing projectile arcing through the air before slamming into the ground just inches from the wyvern. It wasn’t a miss. It was simply too fast. The wyvern hissed, its slither quickening as it closed the distance.

“Great,” Noah muttered, pulling another fragment from his pouch. The wyvern rose up on its hind legs, spreading its massive, smoke-dark wings. The sunlight caught its scales, which shimmered like molten obsidian. It roared, releasing a gout of flame and smoke that sent the grass around Noah into a panicked ripple.

Noah let the second fragment fly. This time, it struck true, hitting the wyvern square in the neck. The beast stumbled back, its head twitching violently from the impact. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, Noah thought he had won. But the wyvern shook off the stunning effect with terrifying ease. A thornpaw would have been unconscious for an hour. The wyvern? Barely a minute.

Realizing his best weapon had failed, Noah turned and ran. He stayed low, zigzagging through the grass in the hope of buying himself time. His goal was clear: reach the ranch. The traps set around its perimeter were the only chance of survival now.

But the wyvern wasn’t done. It slithered through the grass like a shadow, closing the gap between them in seconds. Noah felt its hot breath on his back as its jaws snapped, grazing his shoulder and sending him sprawling. He hit the ground hard, his foot catching in the thick grass.

Rolling onto his back, Noah looked up to see the wyvern towering over him. Its maw opened wide, revealing rows of jagged teeth, and for the first time, Noah felt true fear. He closed his eyes, arms instinctively raised in a futile attempt to protect himself.

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Shadows of Ember Hollows

Meanwhile, Ariel and Zed had plunged into the eerie embrace of Ember Hollows. The forest was a stark contrast to the meadow’s warmth and brilliance. Here, everything felt darker, quieter, and heavier. The towering Emberwood trees loomed above like ancient guardians, their thick, fire-colored trunks stretching so high that their tops seemed to disappear into the heavens. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in fractured beams, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor.

“Wish we could be back there,” Ariel muttered, shifting Zed’s weight on her back. The young unicorn let out a feeble snort, protesting the movement. His usual brightness seemed dimmed, his wings limp at his sides. Ariel felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest.

“We’ll get back,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. But how? The only bridge across the Crystal River was deep in the meadow, and she didn’t dare return there with the wyvern loose. Then it hit her: there was a second bridge—an old, weathered one near the top of the waterfall that fed the river. It wasn’t used often, but it could get them safely to the other side.

Determined, Ariel began the arduous climb toward the falls. The path was steep and treacherous, lined with craggy rocks and tangled vines. The air grew cooler as they ascended, the sound of rushing water growing louder with each step. Zed’s weight slowed her progress, his body heavy against her aching shoulders.

After what felt like hours, Ariel finally reached a clearing at the edge of the cliff, just shy of the bridge. She found an old log and collapsed against it, pulling Zed into her lap. The young unicorn gave a weak nuzzle, his luminous eyes dim but filled with trust.

“I’m so sorry,” Ariel whispered, her voice breaking. “I should never have taken you out of the barn. I should’ve listened.”

Zed let out a soft, forgiving whinny, nuzzling her again. Tears pricked at Ariel’s eyes. She looked down at him, his small, fragile form, and felt the weight of her choices pressing down like the forest’s shadows.

As exhaustion claimed her, Ariel leaned back against the log, Zed cradled in her arms. Her eyelids grew heavy, and before she could protest, sleep pulled her under.