Mor leaves just after breakfast. I watch her walk out to where the no-winnowing shield ended, until her shrinking figure disappeared completely. I glance back to her rudimentary stick-figure paintings, and chuckle. I go back to my room and sit with a sigh on the large bed, thinking over what she'd said. I make my decision. I would not desert Rhys again. I glance to the corner of the room, where a paint bucket is waiting.
I kick my legs, and then my eyes catch on a previously unnoticed door. I stand back up and walk toward it. I make to turn the handle, but it swings open on it's own. Inside is a rack of bows, a large chest, and barrel of lethal-looking arrows. My eyes widen in shock, and then I grin. Maybe it's time for the painter to return to the huntress.
Slinging a bow over my shoulder, I open the chest to reveal six quivers. I grasp two dozen arrows from the barrel (carefully avoiding their razor-sharp points) and fill a quiver. I shoot out of the house and take a deep breath. Realizing that there would be no game this close to the house, I wander off about thirty meters. I spot deer tracks, and making sure I was downwind, I follow them.
I spot the deer not three minutes later. A young buck, he is drinking from a small stream. I raise my bow and nocked an arrow, welcoming the feeling I had not had in so long. I realize I had not hunted, not truly hunted, since I shot Tamlin's lackey in the woods back before… back before this mess. I will the familiar feeling to overcome me, and I release myself too it. I step forward, aiming at the buck's neck. His horns are still covered in fuzz, and he looks so pure, so peaceful, that I can't bring myself to shoot. My mind flashes back to the two fae I murdered, and I shudder, lowering my bow. The buck looks up, curious, and seeing me it bolts away. I exhale heavily, and lean against a tree. I stalk off deeper into the woods, determined not to go back to the cabin empty-handed.
Some ten minutes later, I find tiny tracks in the snow that resemble a hare. I start after them, as they looked to be no older than half an hour. I will myself to sink back into the peaceful hunting lull. I finally spot the hare just as it escapes into a den underneath loose tree roots. I sigh and start to turn, when I hear a twig crack. I draw in a breath, realizing I had wandered out of the no-winnowing shield.
I whip around, only to see red hair. I stumble backward.
"Feyre," Lucien breathes. My back up against a tree, I remember my role. My face hardens.
"I thought I told you I wasn't going back," I growl at him. He is once again with Bron, Hart, and two other cronies from the Spring Court. Lucien bites his lip.
"I thought, maybe once we got you alone, his influence on your mind -"
"Stop. I told you I'm not going back," I repeat, and the forest erupts into flames. I form a wall of fire between us, and turn, trying to run. But Lucien just winnows over. Before I can move, he has his hand on my wrist and we're slipping into the pocket between worlds. RHYS! I shout down my bond, calling for help. RHYS! HELP ME! A confused jumble of though is sent back down, and I remember he is sick. We stop in a dark cave, and I struggle, but he just grasps me even tighter and we winnow again.
This pattern repeats seven times, until we stop and he lets go of my wrist. I yank away from him. Looking around, I realize that we are in the Tamlin's study in the manor. I stare daggers at Lucien. Bron, Hart, and the other two are no longer with him. He just looks at the floor. His eyes keep flicking back up to meet mine, and flicking back down.
"Take. Me. Back," I snarl angrily. The door slams open, and I whirl around. I have the urge to gag as I realize who it is.
"Feyre?" whispers Tamlin.