The trees were barely visible, just black enough to stand out against the paler darkness of the ground as it rose and fell around them. Lucas ran, bounding down the hills and over the creeks that ran in the little valleys between, lapping up the distance. There was a space in a run somewhere after the initial exhaustion where it was possible to go forever. He was there now, but he did not remember how he had begun. These woods were his own. He knew every bramble and hollow for several miles south of Greydawn, but the landmarks he moved by were closer tonight. Soon he had passed them by altogether.
There was a taste in the air—wet and full, like a freshly plucked leaf crushed between the fingers. The bugs were loud. It was not yet cold enough to silence them. Each one thrummed to its own rhythm, but somehow the sound came out in melody instead of cacophony. Underneath, the crickets chirped the way they did when he was safe in bed, telling him it was time to sleep. Lucas knew better than to believe them.
He panted as he ran, mouth hung open. He could not stop. There was something he was chasing, someone he could not let get away. At every turn he thought he almost caught sight of the necklace's glow, or of the semi-transparent figure who had stolen Sage away.
Something batted at his ear, and Lucas shook his head to get it off. There, darting in front of his vision, was a small flying creature. He thought first of the imp—but this was too small—a bird or a bat. He lost sight of it at once, and did not turn back to find it.
The ground shifted up steeply. Lucas had to veer back and forth to make it up, like the jagged lines in an orbed web. The dirt shifted under his feet, barely held together by the roots that wove through it. Then it leveled out, softened.
The hill was crested with moss, and the down slope on its other side held no trees to block his view. Looking out from above, Lucas could see over the forest, black and formless. All that was visible were the tree trunks, running straight and pale like arrow shafts. Against that, the sky was bright—grey and covered with pinpricks of light. The stars were barely visible—the moon was too low and ripe. It was day in the sky and night under the trees.
"It's the hunter’s moon," a voice chirped, "Twilight lasts till dawn today."
Lucas turned towards the voice. It was the small creature from before, hovering a few feet above his head. "Leave me alone," he growled, unnerved by the interruption. This was only a false movement of the grass, a tremor of the wind. He had real game to chase.
The bird landed on a rock, tilted its head to consider him. "Does your mother know you are here?"
“Chizzy isn’t my mother,” Lucas said, darting forward before he could be caught in further conversation. The edge of the hill met him then, and he jumped out over the gap. Some part of him knew that it would have been better to walk slowly down the slope, holding the young branches of nearby trees in case he slipped. That part of him was sleeping, and when his feet met rock, skidded, and pushed off, he found that he had not been thrown off balance.
Behind him came a rustling, a flutter not quite as loud as the cicadas, as the bird came chirping after him. “I know—I know that! Lucas! Lucas, listen to me!”