Anwen didn't think. She just ran.
Her shoes slapped against the damp earth, slipping on roots and moss, while her heart hammered so loudly it drowned out her own gasps. Arrows zipped past her—whizz, thud, whizz—embedding into trees, slicing the mist.
"W-why are you trying to kill me?!" she cried, her voice cracking like a little child caught doing something bad. "I didn't do anything! Please stop!"
No reply. Not even a sound of footsteps. That was the worst part. Whoever was chasing her moved like a ghost, silent and invisible. Yet the arrows told her they were right there, just out of reach.
"Did Roarke send you?!" she shouted again, tripping over her own words as much as her own feet. "H-he did, didn't he?! Tell him I don't want to go back!"
For the first time, the shadow hesitated. She felt it—a flicker—and then pain seared through her neck. An arrow grazed her, so close it left a stinging, bloody line.
"Ahh!" she cried, stumbling as her vision blurred with tears. She tumbled forward, knees hitting sharp rocks, and with a splash, landed right into a shallow creek. Cold water soaked her dress up to her knees, clinging heavy against her legs.
She sat there, trembling, clutching the side of her neck. Blood stained her fingers and tears streamed down her face, mixing with the creek's ripples. "I…I don't want to die," she whispered, choking back sobs.
Then, at last, a figure stepped out of the mist. A boy, not much older than Aimes, tugging his hood down to reveal messy raven hair with a purple hue and glowing hyacinth eyes that looked guilty.
He raised both hands like he was surrendering. "Wait! Don't cry. I—I didn't mean to hit you. I was just trying to scare you."
Anwen's tears stopped in an instant. Just stopped. Like someone had switched her off. She gawked at him for half a second…and exploded.
"JUST TO SCARE ME?!" Her little voice cracked so hard it echoed through the trees. She shot up to her feet in the creek, water splashing everywhere, and pointed at him with her wet, bleeding hand. "You almost chopped my head off! I thought I was going to die! You're crazy!"
The boy flinched at her volume, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Look, I said I didn't mean to! I thought you were a ghost."
Her jaw dropped. "A ghost?!" she squeaked, stomping so hard that water splashed up at him. "Why does everyone think I'm a ghost?! First Elijah, now you! I'm not a ghost—I'm real!"
The boy raised a brow, unimpressed by her outrage. "You look like one. With the mist and the dress and…" He gestured vaguely at her pale face and damp hair sticking to her cheeks. "I panicked."
Anwen gasped so dramatically it hurt her lungs. "PANICKED?! You shot arrows at me because you panicked?! Who does that?! You could've at least…at least said hello!"
The boy muttered under his breath, "Yeah, next time I'll greet the scary ghost before it eats me."
"I heard that!" Anwen snapped, cheeks puffed out as she sloshed out of the creek, grumbling under her breath.
Her dress clung heavy to her legs, and her hair—ugh—was dripping everywhere. She tried to wring it out with both hands, twisting and pulling, but it was too long and the strands just stuck back against her face.
She puffed out her cheeks in frustration. "Stupid hair," she muttered, shaking her head like a wet cat. Water sprayed everywhere.
The boy didn't say anything at first. He just sat down on a nearby rock, his bow resting against his knees, and…watched her. Not like a hunter anymore, but like she was some strange creature he couldn't figure out. His eyes followed every move she made, wide with something between curiosity and wonder.
It made her fidget. "W-what?" she snapped, glaring at him. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
He blinked, as if he'd been caught. Then, instead of answering, he tilted his head slightly and asked, "What's your name?"
Anwen froze, narrowing her eyes. "Why? I thought you didn't talk to ghosts."
The words shot out sharper than she meant them to, but instead of being offended, the boy's lips curved into a grin. His sharp, wolfish smile lit up his whole face in a way that made Anwen's stomach flutter uncomfortably.
Before she could snap at him again, he stood and walked toward her. Anwen instinctively took a tiny step back, but he ignored her, pulling something from his pocket—a soft purple scarf. Without asking, he leaned close and gently tied it around the shallow cut on her neck.
His hands were steady and careful, the fabric snug but not too tight. "There," he murmured, his grin softening into something warmer. "That should stop the bleeding. I…shouldn't have called you a ghost. I'm sorry."
He smiled again, and for a moment Anwen forgot to breathe. Her heart skipped, just a little, like it tripped over itself.
But then—panic. He was too close. His face was right there, his eyes staring straight into hers.
Anwen shoved at his chest with both hands. "I—I don't need an apology from you!" she blurted, her voice cracking. Her cheeks burned hot even though the forest air was cool.
The boy stumbled back a step, caught off guard, but instead of looking annoyed, he just chuckled under his breath.
Anwen huffed, arms crossed, trying very hard not to notice the scarf on her neck or how neatly he'd tied it. She turned her face away. "Hmph. You're awfully bold for someone who shoots arrows at girls."
He raised his brows, grin still tugging at his lips. "You're awfully bold for a girl who yells at strangers in the forest."
Her cheeks puffed again. "That's because strangers shouldn't be scary!"
That made him laugh. Actually laugh. It was low and warm, and for some reason it only made her more annoyed.
"You're strange," she muttered.
"And you," he said easily, "don't belong here."
Anwen blinked, caught off guard. "H-how do you know?"
The boy tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle. "Because I've walked this forest my whole life. No one just…shows up here." His eyes narrowed slightly, though there was no malice in them—just curiosity. "So…who are you, really?"
Anwen tightened her grip on the book she'd dragged down the hole with her. She wanted to shout her name proudly, but…something stopped her. Instead, she lifted her chin stubbornly. "I'm Anwen. And I'm not a ghost."
The boy's grin widened again, like he liked the sound of her name. "Anwen…" he repeated, slow and thoughtful. Then, almost as if he couldn't resist, he added, "I'm Theon."
Her eyes widened slightly. The name tickled something at the back of her memory. She'd heard it before…whispered in the halls of the estate? Or maybe…from Aimes?
But before she could ask, the forest around them stirred. A faint crunch of multiple footsteps echoed through the mist.
Theon's grin vanished, replaced by sharp focus as he reached for his bow. "We're not alone."
Anwen's heart jumped into her throat. "W-what do you mean not alone—?"