His body traced a wide arc through the air.
The sudden weightlessness yanked at Lucas’s chest.
Then he slammed into the thick canopy of the oak, smashing through layers of branches.
Rough twigs ripped his clothes and left stinging cuts across his skin.
He felt like a rag doll tossed into an old washing machine—tumbling, bouncing, colliding with branch after branch.
There was no time to think or feel the pain.
Pure instinct took over.
At the last second he wrapped his arms around a thick trunk and stopped the fall.
“You okay?” Ellie asked from inside the cloak, voice tight with worry.
“Still in one piece,” Lucas panted.
He wedged them both between a couple of sturdy branches.
Blood trickled down his arms.
Only now did the burning pain hit him.
He had no idea how many cuts he’d picked up, but at least no branch had gone straight through him.
“Let me out.
I can climb down myself,” Ellie said, poking her head out.
“No way,” Lucas replied.
“If you fall, we lose everything we just survived.”
He caught his breath, then started the careful descent.
By the time his boots finally hit the soft, leaf-covered ground, the sun was sinking low.
Lucas dropped to the dirt, exhausted and aching all over.
Ellie wriggled out of the cloak, steadying herself against the rough trunk.
She stared at the bloodied mess of his torn shirt and the cuts underneath, biting her lip hard.
The forest wasn’t quiet.
Strange, long calls echoed in the distance.
Yellow eyes flashed once or twice deep between the trees, watching them with clear hunger.
The air was damp and cold, thick with the smell of wet earth, rotting leaves, and wild animals.
A small stream gurgled nearby, the sound crisp in the growing dark.
This place was alive—and dangerous as hell.
They sat catching their breath for a while.
Ellie finally felt some strength return.
The sky had gone dim, the last glow of sunset fading.
She turned and saw Lucas already crouched, gathering dry sticks and dead leaves.
“That castle is still pretty far,” he said without looking up.
“Walking through the woods in the dark is a bad idea.
Looks like we’re camping here tonight.”
Ellie took a step and felt the cold ground on her bare foot.
She’d forgotten—her boots had been ripped off in mid-air.
She needed something on her feet.
“Don’t look!” she snapped, then yanked her linen shirt off in one quick motion.
“…Look at what?” Lucas glanced up just in time to catch a flash of smooth honey-toned skin in the dying light.
He immediately looked away.
Ellie bit down on the shirt, tore it into wide strips with her left hand, then dropped the rags on the ground and wrapped the dragon-hide cloak tightly around herself.
“You saw, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t see anything!” Lucas said fast.
“It’s almost dark.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t see a thing.”
“You wanted to see!”
“No, I didn’t.”
Ellie glared, then gave in.
“Fine.
Wrap these around my feet.
I only have one good hand.”
Lucas relaxed and knelt.
He took the strips and wound them carefully around her soles and ankles.
When his fingers brushed the top of her foot, her calf tensed, showing the soft curve of muscle.
“Hurry up,” Ellie said, voice a little strange.
“How long are you going to hold my foot?”
Lucas smirked.
“You act like it’s precious.
You know these feet have been stuck in boots all day.
I’ve been holding my breath the whole time, so yeah, I’m taking my time—”
She kicked at him.
The sudden move made her wobble and fall on her butt with a yelp.
Lucas sighed, helped her up, and said, “Give me your arm.
You need to let that dislocated shoulder out so I can bind it.
Otherwise you won’t stay balanced.”
He reached for the cloak, but Ellie jumped back, cheeks flaming.
“I’ll do it myself!
Turn around.
No peeking!”
Lucas turned and busied himself piling kindling.
Behind him he heard fabric rustling and Ellie’s muffled grunts of pain as she fixed her own arm.
The last sliver of daylight disappeared.
“Great,” Ellie muttered, wiping cold sweat from her forehead.
Her right arm was now strapped tight to her side.
“No wand, only one hand, and I can’t start a fire by rubbing sticks.
Looks like we’re sleeping in the trees tonight.”
Right then a crisp metallic click sounded.
A steady orange flame bloomed in Lucas’s hand, pushing back the darkness.
Ellie’s eyes went wide like she’d seen magic for the first time.
“What is that?”
Lucas stared at her, equally shocked.
“You wizards don’t know lighters?
Jesus.
No wand and you just eat raw meat?”
He held up the brass windproof lighter, its surface covered in tiny scratches.
“Of course we know fire!” Ellie said, leaning in close, fascinated by the dancing flame.
“On the islands we use matches.
If those fail, flint and steel.”
Lucas remembered Professor Sprout saying the MacFustys lived in total isolation on the Hebrides.
No wonder.
Under her curious stare he lit the dry moss at the base of the kindling.
The flame caught the small twigs with soft pops and crackles.
In seconds a warm campfire burned between them.
He handed her the lighter.
“Flip the top open, spin the wheel hard.
The flint sparks and lights the lighter fluid.”
Ellie took the little metal gadget, copied him exactly—click of the lid, quick spin of the wheel—snick—and a flame sprang up.
She let out a delighted “Whoa!” then snapped it shut, opened it again, lit it again.
Click—snick… Click—snick…
The sounds rang softly through the quiet woods.
The flame danced in her hands again and again while her bright violet eyes sparkled like stars in the firelight.
“Now, beautiful lady,” Lucas said, sitting by the fire and grinning at her, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to get out of these rags and clean up these cuts.”