Luke wakes almost exactly two hours later, according to my watch. He doesn't so much as yawn as he sits up and surveys the area, ensuring that nothing has changed and no danger has presented itself. Quickly, we indulge in breakfast and are on our way.

The next two days are a blur of green trees and increasing elevation. Up the hills we ascend, the forest giving dominance to sprawling coniferous trees. The scent of pines and firs permeate the air, giving a crispness to our long days.

So far, the journey has been mostly smooth-sailing, not counting that one night without shelter. The other nights we spent in houses much like the first. It's not until Luke stops in his tracks one afternoon that we hit our first real snag.

"There is a storm coming down from the mountains," he informs me. The muscles in his neck stand out, obvious tension coiled in the powerful tendons. His hair is sticking up from the wind blowing it in every direction, and it adds to his obvious displacement. His fingers fidget with the collar of his threadbare shirt, as if pulling it away from his chest can relieve the apprehension curled inside of him.

I search the blue sky, only a few fluffy white clouds can be seen. "How can you tell?"

Luke takes a step toward me and brushes back a chunk of hair that keeps slapping itself across my forehead. "That's how."

I look up at him confused, and he chuckles, the grim line of his mouth turning upward for just a second. "The wind is strong. It usually is followed by storm-bearing clouds."

"What's so bad about a bit of rain?" I ask, watching as he rolls his shoulders, bothered. I wish there was a way I could just whisk all the pressure away from him.

"During drought season, a heavy rain can make the hillside over-saturated. Unstable. Chances of a cataclysmic event increase exponentially," he says. Reaching down, he brushes aside a bed of dried red pine needles to reveal the cracked ground. Digging in, he scoops up a handful of dirt.

"See how dry the soil is?" It is practically dust as it falls through his fingers, gray and fine, barely leaving residue on his hands. "That tells me it has not rained in a very long time. If this storm brings enough moisture, especially on the slope, there is a chance there could be a landslide."

Wolves, Skinwalkers, Landslides... there are a thousand ways to die in the Outlands. Being immersed in this volatile, dangerous land has shown me that there are risks at every turn. Do we risk going forward toward the storm, and being washed away with a landslide? What other option do we have?

"What should we do, Luke?" Over the last few days, I've overcome my reluctance to ask Luke for help. It is clear that he knows what he is doing, and he doesn't seem to be bothered by my reliance on him. If I didn't know any better, I would say that he's even enjoying it.

He ponders for a minute, gauging the wind. "We will not be able to reach the next safe house by tonight if we choose to wait out the storm. But if we continue on as we are, the path will be impassable in the rain. I would not risk slipping in the mud and plunging down the mountain side." He shifts, eyes softening and offers me a friendly nudge. "It is your decision."

I would hate to delay our arrival in Perseca. Every minute that we spend debating is one more minute Markee is the Summus' prisoner.

"Let's just go as far as we can. We can stop when the rain starts." A glance up at Luke shows me his approval. We will walk until we can walk no more.

As we do, the wind picks up even more, the gusts hitting us head on with the force of a battering ram. With it, the woody aromas blast our noses and muffle our ears with its rushing fronts. After a while, my face starts to sting from my hair whipping around me, and I long for a pony-tail holder from home. I gather up a handful of the locks and try to stuff it under my collar, but after a minute or so, it snakes it way out and begins its thrashing all over again.

I let out a frustrated grunt and go back to shoving the strands out of my eyes when Luke extends something toward me.

"Elastic is hard to come by, but this should do," he says. He is holding a long strip of fabric, twisted into a kind of string. He shifts behind me and takes my hair into his hands. Goosebumps immediately rise across my flesh when his warm palm caresses my ear. His lithe fingers comb gently along my scalp, smoothing the hairs into uniformity before tying the fabric off.

"That should hold. If the knot comes loose, just let me know and I will re-tie it." He grins at his handiwork and my hand lifts to discover that he has not only secured any fly-aways, but he has tied it off in a bow.

If anyone in Herald had asked me to list the things a savage Outlander could do, tying a girl's hair in a bow was not one of them.

But Luke is full of surprises.

"Thank you," I tell him. And I mean it. "You're always helping me with the littlest of things. Bandaging me up, letting me sleep, giving me a say in how we proceed with this journey, tying my hair back for me. All of it... I appreciate it, Luke. More than you know. More than words can express."

Luke seems shocked at my words as much as I am. It's true, I am exceedingly thankful for his presence, but this feels different. It is as though there is more than understanding between us. There is friendship. Someone to have your back. I have not felt alone since we began this journey, and it is all thanks to Luke.

"You are most welcome, Sophie," Luke murmurs. His low tone is almost lost on the wind, but I still felt the warmth of his voice wrap around me, stirring butterflies in my stomach.

Atingle, I nod toward the up-slope, eager to get moving again, and scared as to what prolonging that moment would bring.

The climb is much easier now that I can see. After a while, I can see the gray clouds ahead between the treetops. We hike up the side of the mountain for another half hour before I feel a fat raindrop land right on my head. I open my mouth to tell Luke that we should begin to search for shelter when the boom of thunder peals above our heads. I yelp, unable to help it.

Ahead of me, Luke snorts.

"Don't you dare laugh," I say. I don't have to see Luke's face to know he's smiling at my outburst. He turns, and sure enough, he is barely holding back laughter at my expense. I kick up the leaves, flinging dirt in his direction. It does little in terms of retaliation, but it makes me feel better.

The act makes Luke burst out into full-blown laughter. Okay, so maybe I was being immature. It's not long before I begin giggling along. It feels good to laugh—freeing, even. Too long had passed since I last felt my belly ache with laughter, my cheeks sore, stretched with a broad smile.

Just in those few seconds of distraction, the rain had begun to fall exponentially faster. I watch as Luke's hair darkens and presses flat against his forehead, heavy with moisture. My gaze focuses on the droplets sticking to his cheeks and making rivers down his nose. His eyes are yet bright against the darkening sky, and he blinks lazily, as if in slow motion.

My heart hurts. It feels as though the devil himself set my chest ablaze. The laughter has faded, but something else has taken its place; something as tangible as the hungry look he pierces me with. It makes my stomach feel as though it may float away without me.

The only sound on the mountainside is the patter of rain hitting the ground as he reaches toward me and brushes his knuckles across my cheekbone.

"Pink," he murmurs. "Your cheeks are pink." Are they? I don't know how they could possibly be, the temperature had dropped significantly with the rainstorm, but I do know that I can hardly breathe.

"They feel cold," I whisper. Especially next to his warm hand. Thunder rumbles again overhead.

Luke blinks, the water making his long eyelashes clump together. He strokes the redness with the pad of his thumb. "You probably have a windburn." I can't stop myself from admiring the way his lips form the words.

The sky chooses that moment to unleash hell upon us. Lighting strikes nearby, lighting up the stormy sky, and the thunder cracks loud enough for me to jump. Luke pulls back, his hand falling by his side. The spell is broken. Reality settles in his features, and he looks behind him to the path rapidly growing muddy.

"We have to get moving and find shelter. Climbing uphill now is dangerous and will do us no good," he says logically. Am I the only one who is speechless after what just happened?

"Uh, yeah—okay," I manage. Shaking the fog from my brain, I wipe the rain from my eyes. Where do we begin?

Luke starts walking downhill, in the direction we came. "We traveled past an overgrown hunter's pass earlier. It's not too far. If we're lucky, it will lead to a hunting cabin," he explains.

I try my best to keep up with him, but just as he said, the mud is making it hard for my shoes to find traction. The smaller, more stable steps I have to take puts a sizeable gap between us.

Just as we turn onto the old pass, the downpour increases in strength. The wind blows the rain sideways, creating a white sheet of falling water between us. There is water sloshing in my shoes, and making my clothes soggy and heavy. My leather pack is the only item spared, the wax coating causing the moisture to bead and roll off its surface.

The wind whips debris around me; leaves, pine needles, and tree bark fly across the path. With the thunder loud in my ears, it spurs me on to close the distance between Luke and I. In my haste, I hop over a fallen log. Realizing my mistake too late, I slip, shrieking as I slide a few meters down the slope.

Luke turns at the sound of my scream, and I see the concern illustrated on his face. When he starts back up toward me, I try to wave him off. He stops, not at my gestures, but at the lightning strike and its ensuing crackle.

Above the booming thunder, a deafening crack resonates through the forest.

Time crawls. What feel like minutes are mere seconds stretched to in an infinite existence. I sit in the mud, my nerves lost in the limbo between my brain and limbs. Luke's eyes grow to the size of saucers. The sound of timber crashing through the treetops blocks out the sound of Luke's footsteps running toward me. It's odd, to see something happening but not being able to hear it.

Even more odd is the feeling of being lifted off the ground by a force other than my own two legs.

"On your feet, Soph. Quickly," Luke commands in a tight voice.

Luke takes my hand and drags me after him, running at a pace where each footfall slips out from under me. Fortunately, Luke has enough balance to keep both of us on our feet as we dash away just in time for the tree to fall, crashing to a stop across the trail we just passed. The sound of branches breaking and bark crunching is one I will likely never forget.

With it, comes the smell of charred wood. I glance behind us, horrified at the thought of being crushed beneath the timber, and gasp at the trees ablaze with flame.

Drought, Luke had said. Fire was one danger they did not even think of considering.

In seconds, the fire spreads throughout the underbrush, catching quickly as tinder. I cough as the smoke wafts its way to us.

"We have to keep going," Luke rasps. I don't need much convincing. He sounds just as frightened as I am.

We continue moving quickly down the path, hoping that the wind pushes the blaze away from us. I can't bring myself to look back.

I also can't help but think about how bad a wildfire could be for the people of Natio. Not only is the forest their home, but it is also the home for the animals they rely so heavily on for food. If game was already hard to come by, it does not help that an entire ecosystem can be destroyed by a single lightning bolt.

Never does the rain let up as we wind down the hunter's trail. The smell of smoke has long faded. Or maybe my olfactory sense has become accustomed to it. I may never find out.

"I knew it!" Luke cries triumphantly. I look up just as a small wooden structure comes into view.

Motioning for me to halt, Luke creeps closer, the sound of his steps masked by the deluge. In addition, the leaves are wet and pliable, aiding in a silent approach. The probability that the place is occupied by another human is slim, but these past few days with him has shown his preference to check for animals that may have taken residence in the cabin.

Easing open the door, he takes a quick look inside, then motions for me to enter.

As I get closer, I realize that only half of it is made of wood. The other half is made of rock. The cabin is set into the mountainside.

Once inside, I marvel at how much bigger the structure is than what it seemed. Only a small part of the shelter is seen from the outside, mostly containing the kitchen area. Through a small door, the majority of its interior is deep inside a cave.

Leaving Luke wringing out his shirt in the sink, I drop my soggy things and venture past the threshold and deeper into the cave area.

In Herald, I read about caves and caverns, and they have always fascinated me. The idea that there could be an entire network of underground tunnels beneath our feet has catapulted me into many daydreams of exploring and mapping them, just like the Old World did. I never thought I would ever actually be inside one.

I don't expect it to be so cold inside. I had been accustomed to being rained on for so long, when I feel the dry air hit my face, I shiver. Toward the back of the cave room, I hear a noise.

There is not much light this far into the cave, so the darkness makes it hard to see clearly. I don't think I would be able to light a torch with everything so damp, but I tip-toe forward, trying to allow my eyes to adjust. Training my ears on the silence in front of me, I hear the noise again.

It is soft clicking sound, almost like a purr, similar to the noise a cat would make, but just one. The rolling of a tongue only a few seconds long, then silence.

A blanket of ominous feeling is draped over me. My imagination is poised, ready to take off with my composure. Was it a mountain lion? Luke must have not have realized the cave when so far back. There could be any animal in there.

Just as I am about to back up and sprint to Luke, I hear shuffling. The purr sounds again, then it is followed by a soft, wet smack, akin to a bare foot slapping the rocky ground.

I freeze, holding my breath, and yet another smack is heard, but closer. I don't think it's a mountain lion.

My eyes finally adjust, and out of the darkness emerges a pale face with dark beady eyes set too close together. There is no hair atop its skull. Just tight skin, seemingly pulled back too tightly over its oblong forehead. My heart practically jumps out of my chest when its eyes land on me. The pupils contract in awareness, and it opens its maw to show a double row of razor-sharp teeth.

I scream.