They were running faster than the wind.

No—it was more than that. The edges of Barclay’s fingers were wisps, and Root’s black fur had the look and feel of smoke from a forest fire. They spun in spirals and curls. The sky and the ground seemed to infinitely change places.

This was Root’s power. His full power.

They had become the wind.

Barclay let out a second howl, this one of delight. And the entire world seemed to answer. The wilds recognized one of their own.

Within moments, it came to a stop. Barclay and Root collapsed at the edge of Sycomore, a crowd of people around them. Everyone gasped when the pair of them appeared, tumbling and leaving bloody streaks against white snow. Barclay was still clutching Root’s neck when strong arms hoisted him up.

“My boy!” Erhart rasped, his hands hot as he patted Barclay’s cheeks. “We all thought you were dead!”

Root stood up and crouched over Barclay protectively, and the onlookers stepped back to give him space. Even Erhart paled to be so close to him.

Barclay looked around, bewildered, at the other faces. Viola came charging through the crowd, and she threw her arms around him. Her face was streaked with tears.

“The exam’s been over for almost an hour! I wanted to go look for you, but—”

“It’s fine,” he assured her. “We’re both fine.”

“You’re not fine! Look at you!” She examined the blood on his shoulder. But as much as she fussed, the cut from Soren’s scalpel didn’t look deep.

More faces appeared in the crowd. Abel and Ethel stared at him, wide-eyed.

“B-Barclay!” Ethel choked, her face flushed. “How did you make it out?”

“We didn’t know we’d lost you!” Abel said.

But of them, no face looked more stricken than Tadg.

“We all bet you were dead,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse. His gaze fell on Barclay’s shoulder. “Who did this to you?” Barclay noted he asked “who,” and not “what.”

“Don’t you already know?” Barclay asked him coolly, and Tadg stiffened. “Soren attacked me and tried to carve off my Mark.”

Nervous titters swept across the crowd. Barclay was shocked that many other Masters, like the woman who had once pointed him in the direction of the Bog’s Inn, looked far more disgruntled than aghast. Clearly, Soren’s wealth had bought him many friends.

At the mention of Soren’s name, Erhart’s face grew even paler. “How unfortunate!”

“How unfortunate?” Viola echoed furiously. “He’s here as a Master! He attacked a student!”

“Y-yes, well, you see, how can I be expected to believe—”

“Enough!” Runa said, stepping forward. “Of course you can believe it. And given Soren’s reputation, this is really no surprise.”

“That’s conjecture,” Erhart shot back. “And ironic, I might add—coming from you, whose reputation is by no means clean. It’s only this boy’s word against Soren’s. Really now, Soren isn’t even here to defend himself.”

“That’s because I ran away from him!” said Barclay. “He’s still in the Woods!”