Inked

before Roche caught up to me. I had one thing in my favor: when I ran with the Hunt, I was used to being out on the astral and I could run like the wind here. I sped up, leaving him in a wash of roiling mist.
    As I slipped into the shadow of the trees, my mind was racing. How the hell was I supposed to get out of here? I couldn’t shift on my own unless the Hunt was summoning me or dropping me off. Come to think of it, where the hell had Roche learned to shift realms?
    I softly darted among the ancient beings, watching their gnarled knots and burls form into faces. With a little luck they’d be friendly. With bad luck, they wouldn’t and I’d be facing a whole new set of problems.
    There was no clearly marked path through the thicket—at least not that I could see through the mists—but the trees were parted to either side like they were flanking a trail so I headed down the center, searching for a fork leading off to the side. Maybe I’d get lucky and see a big sign flashing hiding place—you’ll be safe here.
    Damn it, I hadn’t counted on Roche being able to jump realms. This was a definite kink in my plans. Maybe a deadly one.
    A noise in the distance caught my attention. I tried to pinpoint the origin and decided it was probably Roche, nearing the woods. He was swearing, or at least that’s what I thought I heard.
    Time to get out of sight. I glanced around at the thick undergrowth that surrounded the trees. The shrubs were just as menacing as the trees, but beggars can’t be choosers. It was either hide, or wait for Roche to knock me off. I plunged into the undergrowth, pushing through the waist-high bushes, trying to avoid leaving a trail.
    The bushes grew taller as I continued off-path, and I finally found myself in front of a stand of brambles that had grown like a dome over a rock. A narrow crawl space allowed me to slip beneath the tendrils and slide behind the boulder. Once I was in my hidey-hole, I arranged the t horn-studded suckers to cover the access.
    Of course, what I’d do after he left was another thing. Probably just wander around, hoping to find somebody who could send me home.
    I waited, wondering what Trillian was doing. If he was like a hundred men I’d met, he’d take off, chalking it up to fate. A little part of me dared to hope that he’d come after me, but I knew better than to count on it. The Svartans weren’t exactly the most loyal group of races around, and even if he defied the odds, very few from Svartalfheim had easy access to the etheric realms.
    The sound of footsteps caught my attention and I held my breath. The thorns poked at me. I tried to adjust my position, but realized that it wasn’t me bumping into them . Apparently the bush had decided to test out just what kind of creature I was, and one of the fronds was prodding me in the arm with its thorny tip. I grimaced and tried to gently wave it away. No such luck.
    As it tapped me again, I glanced around, ready to pull out my dagger and chop the damned thing off, when I saw eyes gleaming at me from the base of the tree. The face stared at me impassively, then slowly blinked. The bramble that had been poking at me moved to point toward a low tunnel through the thorn bushes. That hadn’t been there before.
    I glanced back at the tree and then sucked in a deep breath and dove for the tunnel. As I crawled through the mist, I heard a sound and darted a look over my shoulder. The brambles had closed again, cocooning me in a cave of thorns and leaves. I could barely see through the tangle of protection. As I settled myself, an odd little creature crossed through the place I’d just been crouching. A foul stench filled the air as it lifted its tail. A lycon —a friendly little mammal with a very strong defense. Mother had called them skunks.
    Gagging, I forced myself to remain silent as the lycon rambled on through the undergrowth. Thank the gods I’d been out of the line of fire. Just then, a noise caught my attention as someone entered the area. Roche. Damn it—he’d probably followed my scent. I peered through a tiny gap in the brambles and could just make him out. He turned this way, then that, as if he were looking for something. I heard him curse.
    Bingo! The tree and bush were helping me. They’d called in the lycon, whose spray had masked my scent. It would be impossible for Roche to find me now. And if I was guessing right, the brambles would put up one hell of a fight if he tried to tear through