“What is this haze?”

I don’t know. It feels like a spell.

Croi brings up an arm to wipe away her tears and freezes. There’s a black patch on her skin too. She scratches it, and her fingers come away with black slime on them. Irritated, she rubs at it with the edges of her dress. It smears instead of wiping off. How vexing. She scrubs harder and her skin reddens.

Another tear spills, and an insistent gloominess blankets her. Croi’s fingertips heat again. Determined not to succumb to the misery, she rubs her arm against the white bars of the cage, hard enough that it scrapes and blood beads on her skin. When the blood comes into contact with the black slime, it dissolves with a hissing sound. A few minutes later, the black patch is gone, and Croi no longer wants to be death’s bride. Relieved, she sits back, exhausted by the sadness.

The scenery outside the cage remains unchanging no matter how much time passes. Has time abandoned them, or does the cage train exist outside of it? The taste in the air—like burnt magick—scares her for reasons she does not care to examine too closely.

After a while, Croi gets up and makes a space for herself beside Caolan. He’s warm, and even though it is because of his pigheadedness that they’re in this situation, she is still comforted by his presence. The conveyance travels at a steady speed. Just when Croi has grown accustomed to its motion, the cage goes over a rut in the road and she’s almost buried under an avalanche of kin. She pushes her way out and wrinkles her nose. They smell as ripe as she does and are probably younger than she is. How long have these kin been unconscious? From their faces, they seem to be male, but Croi cannot be sure. She wonders how they’re fed and given water. They were kidnapped for some purpose, so they are probably fed.

There is no sign of their captors except for the taste of the burnt magick in the air.

“What do Redcaps look like?” Croi asks her other self.

I don’t know, but I can tell you they’re probably not beautiful.

Croi swallows and reaches out to pinch Caolan hard on the arm, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. His lack of response is eerie, and she’s tempted to pinch him harder, but she resists. Barely. It is his fault they’re in this cage, on their way to either become dinner or something just as dire. If he had listened to her and run, they might have escaped.

He’s not entirely to blame for our predicament. I told you to run, but you didn’t listen.

“He is our friend! How could I leave him?”

Are you sure he thinks of you as warmly as you do him? Look around.

Croi looks at the bars of the cage and admits it. She was wrong. She should have run away as fast and as far as possible.