5. Cricket

Fox fur.

That was the only thing Cricket could focus on, and it was driving her insane.

Fox fur and a pale blue morning sky.

She’d been hobbling around the woods for an hour, trying to clear her head and figure out which trail would take her back to the camp. She should be focusing on disturbances in the brush, listening for the blare of a horn or the laughter of human and inhuman voices, but all she could think about was fox fur, a pale blue sky captured in wide eyes, and soft curves.

“Gods dammit.” She smacked her crutch against a tree, dropping her head back with a groan. Not like the camper … counselor? She was teaching those kids, albeit poorly, so she had to be one of the counselors. She certainly didn’t look like a teenager, and Gods knew she didn’t feel like one.

“Not helpful, brain,” Cricket muttered.

Still, it wasn’t like she was helping matters any, standing there staring after Cricket with a look of … longing. That’s the only way Cricket could translate that expression—soft lips parted, eyes wistful, her shoulders dropped in defeat. She’d expected anger, maybe even disgust, when she’d looked back, and the stricken, wanting expression she’d gotten instead had scrambled something in Cricket’s head. All she could think about was red hair, blue eyes, and how easy it would have been to sink into the girl’s body and just … stay there.

“Think about other things,” she told herself. “Like this trail. This trail could clearly use some work. Why did they even put it here?” She gestured to a matted, you’d-miss-it-if-you-weren’t-looking-for-it path jutting into the woods as if someone else were present to hear her diatribe. “That deer trail offers way more cover. It’s like these humans don’t even know how to find trails, much less know how stupid it is to hold a class in the middle of one. At least it’s not raining, that would suck. Then I’d be hobbling in the mud on a trail without cover, which is just dumb.”

A twig snapped. Cricket froze, ears jolting upright. She scanned the trees for any movement or shadow out of place. Dust motes and tiny gnats hovered in sunbeams. A slight breeze rustled the leaves, and a quiet shuffle told her a rabbit was nearby, but otherwise, all was as it should be. She relaxed, easing into her hobble and keeping her thoughts to herself.

The roads had to re-open soon. Once they did, her cousin would be back, and they could head to Green Bank and begin Cricket’s petition for the family to relocate before they were forced out.She’d already lost a day to her stupid ankle; how much longer before the sale was finalized and the trees were cut down?

A flicker of shadow had her stopping again, staring intently into the wood. Her ears twitched, swiveling to catch any sound. Nothing. Not a whisper of wind or the shuffle of critters in the undergrowth. Even the marching band on the field had gone quiet, leaving the woods still and calm.

Too calm.

Cricket hitched her shoulders, the down on her neck prickling at the sudden feel of eyes on her back.

“Oak and ivy, you’re being ridiculous,” she whispered to herself. “It’s probably that human girl. Woman. Whatever.”

A twig snapped as if in reply, a shadow twitched, and every prey instinct took over. She bolted, discarding her crutch in favor of running full out. At the first step, white-hot pain shot up her leg. Stars burst in her eyes, but the panic was all-consuming. Branches groaned, and leaves rustled furiously at her back. There was something in the wood. Something that had her scent, and Cricket had no idea where to go. Was the camp to the left? Did she take a turn on the trail?

Oh, Gods.

She couldn’t remember which way she’d come; she didn’t know these woods like she knew the woods around Green Bank. She was lost and being chased, and she couldn’t even run.

Every step was a nightmare, her speed hindered by the sprained ankle and split hoof. Still, she darted through the trees, leaping over tiny runnels in the forest floor and skidding under branches, gritting her teeth against the pain as tears streamed from her eyes. She stumbled over a loose stone, grasping for anything to keep her upright.

Thorns bit into her palm, and Cricket could have wept for relief. Thorns sucked, but their bushes were thick, sturdy, and predators hated getting caught in them. Dropping low, she scuttled into the thicket, biting her lower lip to keep from crying out as sharp pinpricks tore her borrowed shirt and drew blood.

Heart pounding in her ears and ankle, Cricket curled into a tight ball, blinking away tears to keep an eye on the wood. The rustling rose, and a stream of rabbits and rodents darted past the hiding place seconds before a massive, furred paw slammed into the ground. Heat and musk filled the air. Musk and a fresh wintergreen scent at odds with what she was seeing. Unable to scooch forward, she squinted through the thick branches, catching glimpses of a broad, muscular back covered in dark fur—humanoid in build, an inhuman for sure.

It let out a low, rumbling growl that Cricket felt in her bones. Claws dug into the dirt as the creature’s paw twisted, scoring the ground.

A wolven?

She craned her neck, trying to see more clearly through the thick, thorny patch. It was too tall, too broad to be any wolven she’d ever seen. A bear shifter, maybe? Did they fall through with the rest of the creatures from her home world?

She had no way of knowing. How would she, when she’d been secluded in Green Bank her entire life on this insane earth?

The distant blare of an electronic bell drew the creature’s attention. It spun around, the movement revealing the pale orb of the moon hovering in the morning sky, and sent a rush of musk and wintergreen into Cricket’s face. She slammed a hand over her nose and mouth, eyes burning and nose tickling. A sneeze built, her nose twitching furiously under her filthy palm, and right when she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it back any longer—

The creature darted into the wood, back the way it had come.

Cricket sneezed in shock, blinking rapidly and ready to scurry deeper into the thorns when a new sound caught her attention.

“Hello?”

Her ears shot forward, catching in thorns, and she whimpered, smoothing them back before pressing a hand into the dirt and leaning forward.

“You dropped your crutch!”

Gods dammit.

It was the human girl. Woman. Whatever. What in the hells was she doing here? The creature couldn’t have gotten far, and Gods knew the idiot counselor was easy prey.

“Hello?”

“Get out of here,” Cricket yelled in a whisper.

“Is that you?” Two tennis shoes stepped into view, scuffed with dirt and grass stains that matched the hem of her skirt. “Are you … are you in the bush?”

“Seriously, you need to leave.”

“What are you doing in there?” She crouched low, blue eyes searching the thorns and shadows for Cricket.

“I like it,” she deadpanned. “What do you think I’m doing in here?”

She blinked, and a flicker of surprised amusement raised her eyebrows. “You like … the bush?”

“This one.”

“You are so difficult.” She dropped onto her knees, placed her hands on the ground, and peered into the thornbush, eyes going directly to where she had heard Cricket’s voice. “If I asked if you were stuck, would you tell me the truth?”

Cricket scowled and wriggled forward, careful of her ankle, and stopped almost immediately. Thorns scraped her arms, her scalp pinched from her curls tangling in the branches, and even without putting weight on her leg, the pain had her seeing stars. Begrudgingly, she sighed and met the girl’s totally-not-judgmental gaze. “Maybe.”

“‘Maybe’ you’re stuck, or ‘maybe’ you’ll tell me the truth?”

Cricket shrank into herself, biting her lower lip before muttering, “Both.”

“What was that?”

“I said both,” she raised her voice, and something about that made the girl smile. It struck Cricket momentarily dumb, that smile. Every time she had seen the girl, she seemed so somber. So sad and uncertain. Like she thought she’d made a mistake or wanted to be anywhere but in this incredible camp. But that smile … it rounded the apples of her cheeks, spreading lovely pink lips to put a mouth full of pearly white teeth on display. Even worse, it made her blue eyes sparkle, and that Cricket could not deal with.

“Are you going to help me out of here or not?”

The smile fled, and with it, all sorts of super confusing flutters in Cricket’s belly. “Right.”

She hopped to her feet and walked away. Cricket’s ears perked, catching the sound of her footsteps just out of sight, the rustle of something being picked up, and then she was back with two pieces of crutch in her hands. “You dropped this.” Cricket stared at her. “It broke.”

“I can see that.”

The girl huffed and shoved the crutch pad into the thorns, grunting as she used it to pull branches aside. “Can you get through?”

Clenching her jaw, Cricket struggled forward, wincing again as more thorns scraped across her arms and back, tearing her leggings. The flannel caught on the thicker thorns closest to the trunk of the thicket, and she paused. “Hold on a sec.”

“I need to let this go.”

“Alright, just—” Cricket glanced at the crutch and the bush. “Um, carefully, okay?”

“Okay.” She eased the branches back, sighing with relief when she set the crutch down. Cricket took note of that, tugging the knot in the flannel undone and balling it as tightly as she could. Finding a fist-sized gap in the thorns, she pushed it through. “Can you grab that?” The flannel was whisked away, and the crutch again worked through the branches.

“On three?”

“Sure.” She closed her eyes, willing herself to ignore how the throb in her ankle had risen to a constant scream of pain. The girl must have heard it in her voice because she held for a moment, giving Cricket more time before starting her count.

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“One.” Cricket clenched her teeth. “Two.” Told herself this was going to hurt, but only for a moment, and then it would be over. “Three.” And shoved forward. At the same time, the other half of the crutch was shoved through the gap in the bush. “Grab on,” the girl demanded, her voice dropping and becoming surprisingly authoritative.

Cricket did as she was bid, grabbing the rubber knob and bleating in surprise when she was hauled forward by deceptive strength. In one tug, she was halfway out of the bush. The girl grunted, sweat beading on her brow, and then tugged again until Cricket cried out with pain.

“Sorry!” She dropped the crutch and grabbed onto the other half, pulling the thorn bush further aside with both hands. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ve got it,” Cricket gasped, army crawling forward on her forearms and one leg. “I think.”

“What the heck happened?”

“Something chased me,” she said, clearing the bush and rolling onto her back, panting as she spoke in short sentences. “Was walking. Stalked me. Chased me here.”

“That explains the crutch.” She gathered the two pieces, tucking them under her arm and extending a hand for Cricket. “Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.”

She stared at her hand. “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you.”

“I don’t need your help,” she argued.

“Right, so that whole thing with the bush just now was part of your plan?” At Cricket’s silence, the girl snorted. “Thought not, come on.” She waggled her fingers—slender with neatly manicured nails— and Cricket took her hand. “Up we go.” With a tug, again displaying a deceptive strength she never would have expected from the soft-looking girl, she hauled Cricket from the ground. Just as easily, her arm was slung across the girl’s shoulders, and she slid her arm around the middle of Cricket’s back. The difference in their heights—the girl was at least four inches shorter—made it oddly comfortable. Still, she grunted, staggering under Cricket’s weight before starting them into a slow, hobbling walk. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“So glad we ran into each other. Really, this is a delight,” Cricket muttered.

“No! It’s just that you’re so lean.” As if to demonstrate, the girl curved the flat of her palm around Cricket’s ribcage. The press of her fingers did something funny to Cricket’s chest, and she bit her tongue, pinning her eyes on the trail ahead. “I didn’t expect—”

“Me to be a real, live, breathing inhuman?” She glared at the girl, and her ears, flattened against the side of her head, twitched in anger. “Guess I shouldn’t expect anything more from a human.”

“Avery,” the girl said in a low voice. Her fingers twitched, and Cricket was suddenly hyper-aware of everywhere their bodies touched: how the softness of Avery’s upper arm cradled her back, the cushion of her rounded shoulder, and the smooth, supple feel of her skin. “If you’re going to insult me when I’m trying to help you, you can at least use my name.”

Cricket’s ears pressed harder against her head, and she pinched her lips together, her nose uncomfortably dry. They shuffled in silence, save for intermittent grunts whenever her hoof was jostled and the ragged sawing of their breaths. When the camp buildings came into view, she said, “Crick.”

“Not for a few more feet, but there’s a bridge,” Avery answered.

Cricket glanced at her, beyond confused, and held her tongue until, sure enough, they came across a small, arcing bridge over a gully and narrow creek. “Oh,” she said dumbly. “No, I mean, my name—Crick. Cricket.”

Avery glanced at her, the hard expression she’d worn since leaving the wood softening. The crease between her eyebrows eased, and if Cricket didn’t know any better, she’d say the edge of her mouth curled up.

She readied herself for a barb or a joke, but instead, that ghost of a smile broke into a full grin.

“It’s nice to meet you, Cricket.”