Nimulot Encounters: Fire and Water
CH4: Bitter Harvest
He had felt it. He was immune to the smoke that sent his red brothers mad, but he'd faltered when he felt something clinging to her, draining her. Through whatever cursed bond they'd established between them, he felt something cold and dark, something distinctly unlike her. She was dangerous—she was the Wolf-Blood Witch and she was powerful—but he knew her spirit, her energy as if they had been acquainted since infancy. This dark energy had been absent when he met her... the sword. She had been unarmed when they met. If what he was feeling came from the sword, the Church could avoid a lot of bloodshed if they simply waited... The sword was evil. The sword was corruption, deception, and death. Even as the Weeping Monk stood by helplessly, watching his brothers cut each other down, his rage was dampened by concern for her... Nimue... She was not wielding the sword; somehow sentient, it was wielding her, and it was only a matter of time before it claimed her.
"Fey Queen! Fey Queen!" Kaze and Gawain both suggested it; they said her people had finally come to appreciate her power, that they needed her to give them hope. She would be their shield. She would be their sword. She was the daughter of a traitor and the mate of a traitor, and the sword was starting to scare her. A full day after killing the paladins at the mill, she still felt weak and dizzy if she stood too long. She hadn't touched the sword since she'd returned and held it aloft to those chants of, "Fey Queen! Fey Queen!"
"Now they've burned the mill, only one farm remains within a days ride." Nimue, Gawain, Kaze, Morgana, and Arthur stood outside, bent over maps of the area, trying and failing to find a safe route through which they could bring in food. If they cut existing rations in half for adults, they would only last a few more days before their stores were depleted entirely.
"Wagons are too slow with the enemy so close. We need to evacuate now," Morgana insisted. She'd already introduced another smuggler friend of hers to the group; the woman offered the use of incoming ships that could ferry them to the desert lands, but the ships weren't due for ten days.
"Where will we hide for ten days?" Gawain argued. "How will we keep everyone fed for ten days? if we attack the paladin camp to the west, we can reach the farms beyond them, at least until—"
"What?" Nimue asked him. "Until more paladins come? Until they burn those farms too?"
"We've all seen what you can do with that sword," Gawain spoke to her gently, not like a knight to a queen, but like an elder brother to his sister. "The Weeping Monk was spotted by our scouts just this morning, so the paladins have likely been warned against starting fires recklessly—"
"But he survived," Arthur interjected. Nimue flinched. "The second we hit any of the surrounding camps, he'll be riding in with reinforcements, all of them targeting Nimue. If we lose her, then what? What will everyone inside think if their queen falls when they need her most?"
"I have more to offer them than paladin blood." Nimue blinked when everyone fell silent around her, realizing she'd spoken aloud. Hearing Gawain and Arthur talk about the Weeping Monk had been unsettling, but it had also brought forth thoughts of the boy she'd imagined... Lancelot. The apple tree. "Before those Pendragon soldiers arrived, Merlin taught me new magic... I didn't even know I was capable of such things, but I can grow food. I brought an apple tree back to life and grew apples." For a long moment, her friends all stared. As they stared, their eyes brightened—like rays of sunlight through branches overhead, hope broke through shadows of doubt.
"I saw that tree," Morgana murmured, "but I didn't see... I had no idea. That tree was dead when we arrived?" Nimue nodded.
"It wasn't easy," Nimue admitted. "My magic responds more readily to anger and fear, responding violently... it takes more focus, more control, and I absolutely cannot touch the sword if I'm going to pull it off, but growing food didn't drain me. I don't need all my strength to do it. I just need..." Nimue shook her head. "I need to stop thinking of paladins and burning farms for a moment."
Without another word, Nimue stepped away from the crude table and made her way back inside, back into the vast mountain hollow that was the entrance of Numos. The space was crowded, but the energy tangibly different. Love. Her people looked upon her with awe and with love, and in that moment she needed them as much as they needed her. Squirrel ran over and started to speak, but Nimue shook her head. Kneeling before him, she took his hands in hers. "Be still a moment," she asked him. "I'm trying something, but I need your help." Squirrel smiled brightly and nodded, always ready to help her. Nimue could feel all the eyes on her, but her eyes were on the braided branches of the bridge overhead. That bridge had served as a perch the day before, a pedestal upon which she'd offered bloodshed, but her father had shown her she had more to offer. She could take life, and she could give life.
"Nimue?" Squirrel prompted, confused.
"What's your favorite memory we've shared?" Nimue asked her little friend. "Before the paladins came. Something sweet or silly?" Squirrel took the question very seriously, his face scrunched up in thought. After a moment, he shrugged.
"I was trying to think of other things," he said, "but it's got to be our races."
"Fast like the fox," Nimue smiled. Good memories, but not enough. She could hear the whispers of the Hidden, and she felt the fine green vines spreading across her skin as her magic stirred, but the source wasn't strong enough. She didn't want to think of... him... There had to be another way.
"This may surprise you," Gawain offered, walking up beside her and kneeling down as well. Turning for a moment, Nimue saw Kaze, Arthur, and Morgana standing close behind her. "I know you don't like your scars," Gawain continued. "I know you don't like to think of the bear. I know the others gave you such grief over it, but I was in awe of you, I swear it. It's because of you that I chose this path. If a little girl from my clan could face down a demon, I could do great things too. I'd been training for years before you were hurt, but I ventured beyond Dewdenn because of you, becoming the Green Knight instead of just another Sky Folk soldier. We lost everyone else when Dewdenn fell," Gawain sighed, ruffling Squirrel's hair and easily wrapping their joined hands in one if his, "but the three of us made it this far, thank the Hidden." There! Almost! Nimue felt the branch within her extending, and everyone looked up at bridge when it sprouted a few leaves, but it wasn't quite enough. So close...
"Misfits make it through," Squirrel said proudly, but when Nimue looked at his face, she saw the bright blue eyes of little Lancelot. Nimue wondered how different things would be if Lancelot had been saved from the Red Paladins and her heart was flooded with warmth even as her eyes filled with tears. Giving life instead of taking it...
"You've done it!" Gawain cheered, clapping Nimue on the shoulder as every wooden thing turned green. Dark green leaves blanketed not only the large bridge, but every bridge, railing, and stray branch in the space. Dozens of shining apples swelled and hung heavily overhead. Another bridge to the right grew apples even as small shrubs grew in corners and produced plump, perfectly ripe berries. Onlookers crouched low and climbed the walls to inspect other plants growing in small clusters. Nimue hadn't expected more than apples, but standing to admire her work, she dared to hope she could grow healing herbs at will with more practice.
"Fey Queen!" Someone cried. "Fey Queen!" The chanting began again. Gawain lifted Nimue off the ground in an exuberant hug, swinging her around in a circle, ecstatic.
"You've done it again," he whispered in her ear. "You saved us."
Guilt quickly extinguished the flare of hope Nimue felt within, and she clutched her old friend closer, whispering back, "There's something I have to tell you. Alone."
It took some searching, but Nimue and Gawain found an isolated, private space near the hot springs. The springs were occupied, but the labyrinthine tunnels came to many dead ends near the upper exit, one of them spiraling inward in a way that prevented their voices from echoing through the hollow. "Merlin is my father," Nimue blurted before she lost her nerve. "We met for the first time yesterday, but I suspected as much for a while, and he confirmed it. He also confirmed I have a trace on me. I had never heard of such a thing, but Merlin told me only Sky Folk rely so heavily on verbal, contractual betrothals."
"I can confirm as much," Gawain sighed, taking Nimue's revelations in stride up to that point. "The traveling I've done... well, it's been humbling to say the least. I can neither sense nor smell the trace on you, so you need not worry if you wish to keep that to yourself for now."
"Do you know which clans can smell it? I know Yeva suspects something—she said I don't smell like Sky Folk, but perhaps it's because I'm Merlin's daughter?"
"Moon Wings can smell traces," Gawain said, shaking his head. "If she can't pinpoint it, it's because we're surrounded by so many fey clans. Snake Clan can smell it as well." Nimue froze.
"But they found me right after..." She meant to tell Gawain the truth anyway, but she was horrified by the thought that rumor might have already spread. "The clans capable of smelling it, can they identify individuals, or do trace scents only vary by clan? Merlin couldn't smell it, but he could sense the clan...?" The little Snake Clan girl from the lake had encountered the Monk personally. If the Snake Clan couple that led her back through the tunnels could identify the scent of Ash Folk... Had they made the connection?
"It varies within clans. Sky Folk are quick and agile, but you and I are natural climbers while Squirrel is an unmatched runner. If it makes you feel better, as you're clearly uncomfortable, only those who have met your mate will be able to identify them specifically by the trace they left on you, and that's only if... well, it depends on exactly how close you and your mate have become." Gawain's cheeks turned faintly pink as he spoke, and he avoided Nimue's eyes, but he still smirked and added, "You've turned as red as your apples, so I don't think you have anything to worry about." Nimue slapped his arm with an indignant huff. "There are very few Snake Clan survivors here. They found you shortly after?" Nimue nodded.
"We only..." She took a deep breath and tried to fight her blush. "Again, I had no idea we'd leave a trace. We were in the hot springs, and we ended up kissing. It just happened... but yesterday, Kaze, Morgana, and I found you at the mill because I somehow saw through his eyes..." Gawain had become very still, his eyes suddenly boring into the side of her head, no longer avoiding her. Nimue reluctantly turned to meet his gaze. She opened her mouth to explain, but Gawain had already put all the pieces together.
"He's Ash Folk. Of course. I should have recognized the markings, those eyes..." Gawain shook his head and took a step closer to Nimue, taking one of her trembling hands in his. "You knew he'd survive, didn't you? Merlin—your father—told you he was Ash Folk, so you knew he'd be immune to the smoke." It wasn't really a question, but Nimue nodded, avoiding her friend's gaze even though his voice was gentle. "And you met him in the hot springs, so he's been here?"
"He doesn't know the way through the tunnels. I didn't know the way through; that's why I had to wait for the Snake Clan couple to find me."
"How did you find the springs?"
"Arthur found them and led me to them. He—the Monk—told me he'd been watching Arthur. He was going to attack him, but when Arthur came back with me, he changed his mind. Arthur and I quarreled and I accidentally conjured a wall of water. Arthur was frightened and I was still upset, so he left."
"We should all be grateful then, that the Weeping Monk was so attracted to you," Gawain said grimly. "He could have easily killed you. Were you even armed?"
"No. I think that's what really saved me. He wasn't afraid of my magic, and he easily disarmed me when I got a hold of his dagger. He had his sword at my throat, but I was only cut because I tried to disarm him. If I had my sword, if I'd really attacked him, things might have gone differently." Gawain blinked at Nimue, and then he laughed outright.
"He wasn't afraid of your magic, and you clearly weren't afraid of him," he laughed.
"I was."
"And yet you left a trace on each other."
"We heard children coming. We were in the water and—"
"Please, no more details," Gawain laughed. He composed himself quickly. "The Fey Queen and the Weeping Monk; your concern is understandable, but perhaps in time your association will help our lost brother find his way home."
"He would only speak briefly of his time before the Red Paladins took him. He only said he was just a little boy, a boy he claims is long dead."
"I shudder to think what they've done to him. To deny and hide his own origins, his own nature, to slaughter his own kind without pause..."
"I can't tell anyone else about him. Not yet. But what of my father? Most regard him as a traitor and little more."
"Morgana and Kaze tell me he tried to give you and the sword to Uther Pendragon."
"I thought the same at first, but I'm uncertain." Nimue paused, deep in thought. "He shared things with me. Personal things. Beautiful things. Terrible things. Mother had the sword because she stole it from him. At first, she did it to heal him, but when he demanded it back... Mother hid so much from me. Perhaps she thought she was protecting me, but Merlin was honest. Brutally honest."
"You trust his words?"
"Few words were exchanged," Nimue laughed darkly. "He let me enter his mind. He showed me his memories. He... he showed me what the sword did to him, what it will eventually do to me. He didn't want to give it to Uther; he risked the wrath of Leper King Rugen, stealing fey fire so he can destroy it. He wants the sword destroyed, and he showed me how to use non-violent, nurturing magic. We aren't going to forge some loving father-daughter bond overnight, but I don't believe he'd betray me."
"You don't think the Weeping Monk will hurt you either?"
Nimue ripped her hand from Gawain's and turned away. "I sound foolish."
"You sound like your own person," Gawain countered. "You don't sound like Lenore's cursed daughter. You don't sound like Merlin's powerful daughter. You sound like Nimue of the Sky Folk, our Fey Queen. You're young and you're going to make mistakes, but at least you have an open mind. You needn't worry about the Snake Clan outing you if they did smell Ash Folk on you, because the various clans in there rarely speak. All fey are brothers, but in times of unrest we tend to act like wild animals with little trust in others. Your village is gone, you're bloodied, and you're still willing to give the lost ones a chance. You inspired me years ago, and you inspire me still." Gawain gently gripped Nimue's shoulders, pulling her around to face him. "You are exactly what our people need right now, whether they would admit as much or not, given these revelations."
"You'll tell no one?"
"Without your permission, not a soul," Gawain vowed. "Have you told no one else? Is there no one else you trust with this burden?"
"I considered Arthur and Morgana, but some instinct stops me, and it's not because they're human. Of course I trust Squirrel, but he's stubborn and willful as I am, with a temper to match. I worry he might slip if angered."
"A fair assessment," Gawain said, smiling in fond exasperation as he considered Squirrel. "Kaze perhaps? I don't mean to pressure you, but I think you need someone else you can talk to, a fey female even better. If it helps, I believe you can trust Kaze with anything." After a moment of consideration, Nimue nodded.
"Will you send Kaze up here? I'd like to return to the springs for a moment. If I can clear the area, maybe I can practice wielding water again."
"You're our queen," Gawain reminded her, "and you just provided us with food when we were days from starving. Ask and you shall receive."
"Ask Kaze to bring a couple apples then," Nimue said, smiling. "I could grow more outside, but let's see if you're right."
When Kaze found Nimue, she carried two apples and she found Nimue alone, the previous occupants of the springs gone. "My queen asked to speak with me?" Kaze asked. She chuckled when Nimue glared at her. "Embrace it," she advised. "As if what you did at the lake and at the mill weren't enough, now you're a walking, talking farm when all other farms are burning. The children here will tell their children of the legendary young queen chosen by the Hidden."
Nimue took a deep breath and told Kaze everything she told Gawain. Like Gawain, Kaze took everything in stride. Unlike Gawain, she got a mischievous glint in her eye and moved closer to Nimue, leaning even closer and openly sniffing her. "I didn't recognize the scent of Ash Folk for what it was, but you do smell like him." Nimue blushed and stepped back, nearly falling into the water before Kaze grabbed her arm and pulled her back, dropping the apples. "So, how did you end up kissing our Ash Folk brother?" Kaze pressed as if nothing had happened.
"When we heard children coming, I panicked," Nimue admitted. "Yes, there was—I felt something between us—but I didn't want him to have to do anything rash to get away."
"How romantic," Kaze chuckled. "Not what I meant. This is the Weeping Monk we're talking about. He caught you here alone and unarmed—wait, were you even clothed?"
"I'm not sure what he saw before he revealed himself, but I was clothed when we spoke."
"You said you were only cut when you tried to disarm him, and you did get hold of his dagger. Whether he's aware of the trace and other fey mating instincts or not, he is Ash Folk, and they're known for their unparalleled senses, so on some level he probably knew he could let you get close to him, but disarming him? In enemy territory?"
"I was cut when I tried to take his sword and toss him into the water," Nimue explained. "I got the dagger when he threw it at me."
"What?! You said he didn't try to hurt you."
"Not really. I used my magic, not really trying to hurt him, and he threw it to break my concentration. Technically the dagger cut me too, I forgot to mention that, but he saw the wall of water I created to keep Arthur back and I'm sure he expected me to call the water up again. He didn't move from where he stood. The water hit the dagger so it barely touched me, and I went underwater to get it."
"Until he jumped in to take it back?"
"I was taunting him. I'm not sure why I thought that was a good idea, but he was calling us all demons and I told him I had killed a real demon."
"The demon bear Gawain mentioned?"
Nimue nodded and turned, pulling her sleeve down a little so Kaze could see the scars. As the Monk had, Kaze moved very close and lightly touched the scars. Nimue felt nothing more than Kaze's rough fingertips on her shoulder. "I showed them to him as well, and he touched them too, but I felt something strange. He felt it too, I know he did, and he whispered..." Nimue hesitated. Ash Folk. Of course he was fascinated by the 'embers' in her skin. It was a small thing, but that moment suddenly felt too private to share. Nimue readjusted her sleeve. "Never mind."
"As much as I would like to see what you can do with water, I'm sure you'd like more time to rest," Kaze said. "Do you know how you saw through his eyes? Can he see through yours?" Nimue shook her head.
"Whatever bond he and I may share now, I'll let you know if I think he's using my eyes to help the Red Paladins." Kaze nodded and left without argument, trusting her queen completely.
As she stood watching the steam rising from the springs, Nimue did wonder if the Weeping Monk might be watching for her, perhaps not at that very moment, but in general. Had he returned to this spot since they met? Would he? She didn't know how she saw through his eyes, nor did she know what it would feel like if he looked through hers, but knowing what little she did know of him... Nimue turned and saw the two bruised apples on the ground. Picking them up, she walked over to the trees through which he'd passed. When she stood exactly where he stood when he told her his name, she picked up a sharp rock and carved the words, 'He's my father,' into one apple. The Monk would know exactly what she meant. He had asked her a question, and this was her answer. Hoping he'd leave a return message, she placed the second apple beside the first, both of them hidden from view by trees and brush. Her scent would be all over them.
The next morning, Nimue wanted to rush right back to the springs, but a few dozen apples and a handful of berries weren't enough for her people. The possibility of finding a message from the Monk excited her more than she cared to admit, but pleasant thoughts of him brought her nourishing power forward easily, and her people applauded as fresh produce grew again. There were fewer apples and berries, but scavengers quickly found more edible greens, and a very small patch of grain was spotted in a nook favored by faun children. Reluctant to waste much needed food, Nimue only took one apple with her as she slipped away, taking a few bites of it so she was at least feeding herself. Luck was with her as she found the hot springs empty. There was no sign of the Monk's presence, but both apples were gone. Had someone else found the apples, eating the food despite the message? No... No. The Monk wanted something more. 'Smoke immune Ash.' She let him know she knew he'd survive.
'Why?' When Nimue returned with the following dawn, she found that one word carved into an old, bruised apple, the one he'd taken before. Since there was only one small word carved into the apple, clearly the work of a sharp knife, Nimue drew the knife she'd tucked into her boot and carved her answer into the same apple: 'Trace. Mate bond.'
Tucking her knife back into her boot, Nimue rose and turned to walk away, but she paused when she felt a strange tingling behind her eyes. It was subtle, but noticeable. She blinked as the tingling faded, but her eyes still felt strange... they felt dry and tired, excessively so. She turned back to the trees, but she saw nothing. Nimue knelt down and read her reply. Was that what he was looking for? No. She heard no voice in her head, she felt no strange sensations in her body, but simple logic told her what he wanted. Rising again, Nimue walked quickly to the tunnels. She wouldn't go far. She wouldn't show him how to navigate through them to the heart of Numos, but she walked far enough in each direction to let him see the tunnels were empty. She was truly alone, though she was armed this time. A rustling in the trees told her the Monk didn't mind; he certainly wasn't approaching her unarmed. Stepping into view, the Weeping Monk picked up the bruised and rotting apple.
"I remember hearing of the trace as a child," he said, his soft and gravelly voice making Nimue's heart race, "but I remember very little."
"I knew nothing about it until that morning," Nimue admitted, only daring to move a few steps closer, "hours before you attacked the mill. I had gone to meet with Merlin, having only realized the night before that he's my true father. He told me about the trace. He told me fey from a few clans can smell it while some can otherwise sense it; one of the latter, he told me I bore the trace of one from an Ash Folk clan. When we met... what I did when we heard those children coming... I had no idea it would..." Nimue trailed off, suddenly feeling like a child herself, too naïve and innocent to be called Fey Queen at any rate.
"By then, I believe it was already done," the Monk said, glancing at the sword on her back before moving closer, stopping a little more than an arm's length away. "I recall feeling a shift of sorts when I touched your scars."
"I lowered my sleeve so you could better see them."
"You were correct in your assumption: I looked away when your body was fully exposed, but I looked when you were in the water. I told myself it was sinful and treacherous to lust after you, but I was weak in the face of temptation."
"And facing you unarmed, I took advantage."
"We are both inexperienced when it comes to the pleasures of the flesh. That much was clear. When your power did not deter me, you used the only weapon left at your disposal."
"You are more forgiving than I believed you would be."
"I can forgive what happened here because we were both overcome by our baser instincts, but at the mill—" The Weeping Monk's gentle rasp had become harsh.
"You and those paladins were targeting an innocent family!" Nimue hissed. "And you were burning one of the few farms we had left!"
"We were baiting the Green Knight," the Monk bit out. "My brothers want you to burn, but Father Carden wants him alive."
"He's as good as my brother in blood! All fey are brothers! You are one of us, not one of them!" The Monk's eyes flashed, alight with anger, and he started to argue, but Nimue cut him off. "Do they know what you are?" She challenged. "I'm sure Carden knows—he's abusing your senses to hunt us down—but the other paladins? If you're one of them, why must you hide where you come from? Why not tell them how you were born?"
"You told your human companion you were abominated by your own kind!" The Monk's voice whipped louder and more clearly than Nimue thought possible. "They called you witch and demon as my brothers do! Merlin may be the head of the snake, but he's an outcast among the fey as well. Do not try to tell me you've confessed your father's identity to all those inside. You said it yourself—you were so reviled by your own kind that when a demon sought to claim your life, only your mother made an effort to save you."
In the time it took Nimue to grip the pommel of her sword, the Weeping Monk had already drawn both his sword and dagger. "Don't," he warned, and Nimue remembered that was the first word he ever said to her. "You aren't yourself with that blade in your hand."
"You just called me an abomination," Nimue spoke in a pained whisper, unmoving. Just touching the sword, she could hear it whispering to her again. It wanted to hear the answering clash of steel. It wanted to avenge the slight against her.
"As I call myself an abomination every day," the Monk spoke calmly, his own anger giving way to concern. "We are what we are, but we need not give in to our nature, and that sword... that sword is truly evil. Through this bond we clumsily formed, I could feel what it did to you at the mill. The very weapon you've used to kill dozens of my brothers is trying to kill you, make no mistake. It is urging you to take life and demonstrate your power even as it robs you of it."
Nimue's fingers lingered on the blade still in its sheath, but her voice cracked and trembled, "I know." She confessed. "Merlin wielded it before, and he warned me, he showed me what happened... but it will do the same to anyone who wields it, and only fey fire can destroy it."
"You would see it destroyed?" The Monk was shocked. Lowering his weapons slightly, he took another measured step toward Nimue.
"Better destroyed than in the wrong hands, but that means it must be kept from the Church as well. Whatever you believe, if you truly felt it as you claim you did, you have to know what would happen if you took the sword to them. Admit it."
The Weeping Monk stood stoically. He would not malign the Church, but she was right. He would never fully trust anyone wielding that sword. Slowly, he sheathed his dagger. When Nimue didn't move, he returned his sword to its sheath as well. Slowly, he moved forward. When at last he was close enough, he gently gripped Nimue's raised arm, silently urging her to let go of the cursed blade on her back. She resisted for a moment; the sword begged for freedom. "I can grow food without it," she blurted. "Merlin taught me non-violent magic." The Monk nodded.
"He knows his daughter and he knows the sword," the Monk said softly, his voice seductively rough and compelling again. "Do you have access to fey fire? Does he?" Nimue nodded.
"He does, and I agree it should be destroyed, but I have to save my people first. They named me their queen. I have to save them."
Nimue's big blue eyes were brimming with tears, an image of the sea she wanted her people to cross in peace. She finally let the weeping warrior drag her hand away from her weapon, gasping when he suddenly tugged her body flush against his, his lips greeting hers like old friends, one of his hands burrowing into her thick hair while the other splayed across her low back, lifting slightly so she could balance on her toes. The vivid blue of the Monk's—Lancelot's—own eyes flowed into hers and her eyes closed as she was overwhelmed. Their last kiss had been alarmingly comfortable, but this kiss was expectant, demanding. Passion was expected, and so it flared to inferno, engulfing them both. Lancelot's wide, rough lips were unyielding. One of Nimue's hands slipped inside his hood, sliding home around the back of his neck as her lips moved over his in an inept but eager, undulating dance. When Nimue's other hand moved up his back, he flinched away, but he didn't step back entirely, guiding her hand to his chest while he bent down to kiss her neck. When Nimue gasped loudly, he recoiled, looking sheepish, but seeing the wash of pink filling the space between the dark markings on his cheeks, Nimue smiled up at him in encouragement. It wasn't encouragement enough. Regaining his composure, Lancelot pressed his chapped lips to hers for just a moment more, firmly, urgently. "Then run," he whispered, his breath hot and ragged against her bruised lips. "We found the trail to the main entrance. Reinforcements are coming. This time tomorrow, Numos will burn."