The wolf slipped between the trees, its paws barely brushing the moss. A sound rose to its left; its muscles tensed and its breathing stilled. A deer moved through the ferns, each breath releasing a curl of vapor from its nostrils. The wolf flattened itself against the ground, then hurled forward. Its jaws closed around the animal’s throat. The beast reared, its hooves cutting the air. A sticky liquid seeped between the wolf’s fangs, ran along its tongue, and soaked its throat with a metallic taste. It pulled, tore free a chunk, crushed it between its teeth, then swallowed it. Around it, a crimson pool spread.

  The wind shook the branches, and a shiver ran along its spine. A thick, bitter scent hung in the air, mingling the smells of grease and scorched flesh.

  *****

  Rouis woke with a start. Sweat stains spread in rings across the sheets. A drop slid from his temple, rolled along his jaw, then vanished into the hollow of his neck. The fabric clung to his skin. Torn shreds hung from his torso, his arms, his legs. His sweater was nothing more than a frayed rag. Around him, scattered pieces littered the floor. Reddish streaks marbled his forearm. He brushed them with the tips of his nails before pushing himself upright.

  A wave of pain pulsed through his muscles. He moved toward the exit, reached the doorway, and leaned against it, short of breath, before stepping into the corridor. When he reached the stairs, he gripped the banister.

  “You really should stop worrying so much,” Luc said.

  “I’m not worrying, I’m observing. You’ll see when”

  The floor creaked, and Ambre lifted her head.

  “Another torn shirt!” she hissed.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” Rouis replied.

  “This isn’t the first time! You could at least show a little respect for Luc’s things.”

  “That’s enough! It’s a shirt, not a tragedy. Let’s eat,” Luc said. His plate was heaped with meat in sauce and roasted vegetables, a loaf set beside it. The soup gave off a sharp smell. He tore off a piece of bread, served himself, and devoured the meat. A second helping followed, then a third.

  “That’s good, kid. You’ll get your strength back,” Luc said.

  “So we’re eating the leftovers, is that it?” Ambre snapped.

  Rouis rolled his eyes before grabbing a piece of meat.

  *****

  Rouis’s fingers slid along his jaw, tracing the line of his chin before stopping short. He rubbed his index finger, and the caked-on dirt crumbled away, falling as fine dust.

  A recollection crossed his mind: a night without edges, spongy ground giving way beneath his steps. The shadow of immense trees, their trunks so vast they seemed to bear the sky. Before him, a beast.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  He pushed back the blanket and set one foot on the floor. Mud clung to his feet, seeping between his toes. Parallel gouges scored the wood, long and uneven. The coverlet lay on the floor, smeared with damp stains. Farther on, in front of the half-open door, a footprint vanished into the corridor.

  *****

  The pale afternoon light struggled to filter through the curtains. Ambre entered the room, a bowl of soup in her hands. Lying on the bed, Rouis stared at an invisible point beyond the ceiling. Exhaustion hollowed his cheeks, and fatigue hunched his shoulders.

  “You have to eat.”

  He reached out, but the bowl slipped and shattered on the floor. The liquid spread among the fragments.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why?” he murmured.

  “Because you’re not yourself anymore. Look at you. You’re losing weight day by day and spending all your time shut in here. It’s like you’re letting yourself fade away.”

  “I’m just… tired.”

  “Tired? You’re always tired! You can’t go on like this.”

  She sighed and left the room.

  *****

  The clammy air burned his throat as his soaked sheets clung to his skin. Ambre was leaning over Rouis. Beneath her green eyes, shadows darkened her skin. A few rebellious strands slipped from her bun, curling around her cheeks.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Rouis asked.

  “We don’t know. The doctors… they haven’t found any explanation,” she said.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  *****

  She pressed a piece of blue bark to Rouis’s lips.

  “Eat it, it will help you,” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth, and the fragment slid between his teeth.

  Every awakening was a fall into a body too weak, too exhausted to truly belong to him anymore. The weight of his eyelids crushed him as a vibration echoed inside his skull. He tried to bend his fingers, to tighten his grip on the sheet, but the effort sent a shiver through him. Three times a day, Ambre helped him swallow the herb.

  After weeks of immobility, he tried to stand. A shudder ran along his spine the moment his foot brushed the floor. Then, gathering his strength, he forced his other leg to follow.

  “You’re standing!” Ambre exclaimed.

  She rushed toward him and wrapped her arms around him.

  “I knew you’d manage it,” she murmured.

  A smile slipped from her as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

  “You can stand, but you’ll have to do better than that,” she joked.

  He wavered, but before he could collapse, Ambre grabbed his arm.

  “All right, all right. We’ll start slowly,” she whispered.

  Each evening, Luc would sit beside him. He spoke of his sons, those young men with eyes full of promise, who had left with the carelessness of those who believe they will return, and of whom only names carved in stone now remained. Sometimes he also mentioned his dog, an old companion gone for many years, whose footsteps he claimed he could still hear at the threshold.

  One morning, the need to go farther than the edge of the bed took hold of him. He sat up, his hands clenched in the mattress. One foot touched the floor, his muscles trembling; then a second, a third and his legs gave way. The next instant, the void swallowed him. His skull struck the floor, a wave of pain radiating through his back. The door flew open and slammed against the wall.

  “Luc!” Ambre cried.

  The floor shook under a pounding of footsteps. Luc slipped an arm beneath his shoulders and lifted him.

  “Easy, lean on me,” he murmured.

  He helped him back onto the bed. The faces leaning over him danced like shadows, while the outlines of the room wavered. A warm breath brushed his skin, and suddenly Ambre’s scent wrapped around him. A wave of nausea overwhelmed him, twisting his stomach.

  “…too weak…”

  “…must… still…”

  The voices of Ambre and Luc rose around him. He recognized their tones, but the words slipped away, too distant, too muffled to carry meaning. Darkness closed in as a sensation brushed his arm, a hand, perhaps.