The time he had spent inside had been long enough for the weather to settle, the air filled with the scent of drying rain. The field’s soil had been loosened, and once off of the porch step, Will slipped to his knees in the mud. He caught himself by the base of his palms, pain striking through his tired body, but he clenched his fingers in the mud and pulled himself up, finding his way back onto the trail.
He looked back again just in case, and saw nobody. He took long, quick strides, worrying about the stories of Watchmen patrolling the roads of the freelands for those sly enough to slip past the sensors. If he was caught, he would not be the only one to suffer. ‘It’s their fault anyway,’ he thought to himself. ‘They came looking for me, just to lie and humiliate me.’ Whilst he burnt with anger, he couldn’t shake what Percival had said, just as he hadn’t been able to forget the words of the letter, promising answers about the childhood he couldn’t remember and the identity he’d never been sure was his. Had it all been inveiglement?
Suddenly, as he continued to walk, a strange feeling crossed him, similar to the sensors, as if he was walking through something thicker than air. Once through it, he turned again and immediately wished he hadn’t.
Anala stood there, her arms crossed and her curls shadowing a look of displeasure. He could see with her spread-legged stance that whilst she had disguised herself for the most part, her expensive glittering boots peeked out from her skirt. Around her neck, her emerald pendant’s glow was fading. Will ambled for a moment, the innocent and curious part of himself wanting to ask wide-eyed what magick she had used, and how, but his dislike for her was strong enough that he turned around and continued walking.
Soon enough, he heard the click of pursuing footsteps.