Echoes Of The Heather Wind

shroud. Eryn MacLean sat by the hearth, the fire's warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping through the inn's thick stone walls. The clock on the mantel read 6:23 AM,

s spiraling knot glinting faintly, a silent re

-earthy, with a hint of spice-as she set it down. "Last season's harvest," she said, her voice brisk. "Dried and ground, just like Granny used to do. Sh

our best shot." He traced the knot on the tome's cover, his fingers lingering as if it burned. Eryn watched him, noting the tension in his shou

f they're watching. We'll need a distraction." Her mind churned, recalling the terrain-rolling hills, a crumbling mill, and a stream that c

riled up and moving. Should draw their eyes. But you two-" she pointed at Eryn and Callum-"better move fast.

ere, the Order's closing in." The name carried weight, and Eryn felt a shiver. This

d to the danger ahead. Callum followed, the tome tucked under his arm, his presence a steady anchor amidst her racing thou

ground with ease, while Callum kept pace, his gaze scanning the horizon. The mill loomed ahead, its broken wheel a sk

my blood-they can sense it if they get close." The admission hung heavy, and Eryn felt a pang

is dark hair slick with rain, a scar slashing his left cheek. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his cloak billowing

y. The feedback about indistinct characters fueled her resolve-she'd make Eryn bold, memorable. Lachlan lunged, and she

, but the current slowed him, and the villagers' distant shouts-Mairi's distraction-drew his attention. Th

ening the ash box. "Now what?" she ask

ash with water, draw the knot symbol, and I cut my palm. You hold the intent-t

tirring it into a gritty paste. Callum handed her the tome, his hand linge

. "I do," she whispered, drawing the knot on a flat rock. Callum sliced his palm, blood mixing with the ash, and place

nd Eryn felt a surge-like a cord snapping. The light faded, and he slumped, breathing heavi

ic. But the grove grew silent, too silent. A rustle sounded, and Lachlan emer

ers with pitchforks. Lachlan hesitated, then retreated into the mist. The villagers dispersed, and

o move. The ritual bought time, but they'll adapt." He tur

e're not done." Mairi handed her a flask of water, and they planned thei

rustled underfoot, and Eryn