The breeze in the Enferi Forest died.
One moment, Eldric was staggering backward in pure terror,The next, the creature wearing Aithur's face—no, wearing the idea of Aithur's face—tilted its head in a disturbingly smooth, boneless motion.
"Where are you going, little mouse?" the lookalike crooned, voice too thick, too echoing, like someone mimicking speech from inside a well.
Eldric stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own boots as he scrambled to his feet. His face went pale, and a squeak—not a scream, not a shout, but a squeak—escaped him as the thing that looked like Aithur stepped closer with a smile that absolutely did not belong on Aithur's face.
Luther dusted dirt off his sleeves as he stood, the demonic sword hanging comfortably in his hand like an annoyed pet. The wind whistled, bending the grass around them as though the field itself sensed something was wrong.
Eldric grabbed his satchel off the ground with trembling hands and did the worst possible thing.
