Moray came to a sliding halt.
Torin melted through him like mist.
As he slowed, coming to a halt on the grass with a huff, he knew he should have been neither surprised nor disappointed, because he knew better by now. He couldn’t touch mortal beings. Torin gritted his teeth as he turned to see what had caused Moray to stop so abruptly.
Moray was crouched low, in the stance of an animal who felt cornered. His eyes searched the rocks through the descending fog, and he listened to the howl of the wind.
“Who’s there?” he asked tersely.
Torin took a step to the side. Moray, sensing Torin’s movements, turned his face.
“Who are you?” Moray barked, squinting. “What do you want?”
Torin was tempted to answer him, but he bit his tongue. It was better for Moray to remain uncertain about who was haunting him. Torin took another step to his left. Moray certainly noticed, but it reassured Torin that while Moray could catch glimpses of Torin’s movements, he couldn’t fully discern him.
Torin backed away, until Moray’s suspicions abated. Then he crept closer, amazed, when he saw that Moray was getting on his knees and easing himself over the edge of the cliff. Moray’s blond head soon vanished from sight. Torin walked to the edge and stared at the sheer rocky drop.
Moray was scaling down the cliff face, using all the power of the Orenna to shift from one tiny fingerhold to another. An impressive feat, and one that would summon certain death for anyone trying to do it with their own strength.
Torin arched a brow, wondering where Moray was descending to. He thought it safest to wait above on flat, dependable ground until Moray returned. But then he changed his mind, his curiosity far too strong to allow him to simply stand around. Carefully, Torin eased himself over the edge, knowing he was going to hate every moment of this. He studied the cliff’s long, slick face, which revealed golden pockets in the rock, a trail of cracks his fingers and toes could use to find purchase on the long, arduous descent.
Moray was already far away, just a blur as he ventured closer and closer to the mist that was rising from the waves.
Torin sighed and began to follow him.
About halfway down the cliff face, he finally saw what Moray was after. A vine grew up the rock, seeming to rise from the foam of the tides. It was covered in small white flowers, and Moray was plucking them one by one, as many as he could gather without losing his balance. He tucked the flowers into his pockets as if the blooms were worth more than gold.
Frowning, Torin finally reached a portion of the vine and could take a closer look at the glistening flowers. When he touched one, he was surprised by how cold it was. The petals were coated in ice in the middle of summer. He had never seen anything like this, and he wondered what the flower was. And why did Moray want it?
“May I take a few of your blooms?” Torin whispered to the vine. At first, nothing happened. Over the roar of the waves and the keen sting of the wind, Torin waited for the vine’s reply. It remained silent, but because he was watching it attentively, he saw the ice crack and fall away from three blossoms.
Quicky, he pulled the trio free from the vine, just as Moray reached him.
He passed through Torin again, arms, chest, legs. Moray was nearly as cold as the flowers in Torin’s hand, as though frost had spread over his skin.
“Still following me, I see?” Moray drawled. “Let’s see if you can keep up then.” He began to ascend the rock with alarming speed, and Torin struggled to maintain his reckless pace, nearly slipping from one of the shallow footholds.
He was relieved to make it back to solid ground and would have been happy to lie there for a moment in the grass, catching his breath and calming his heart, but a group of ferlies hissed at him, urging him forward.
“You promised vengeance,” they prodded impatiently. “Are mortal words nothing but lies then?”
Torin flushed with anger. How could he punish Moray if he couldn’t grab hold of him? If he couldn’t tear out his throat to avenge Orenna? That had always been Torin’s method in the past, hadn’t it? Slicing necks and piercing hearts with swords. It had been easy for him to fall back into his old ways, and now he had to take a moment to untangle his emotions. His desire to spill blood and his yearning to be different from the way he had been. To be someone who healed rather than severed.
He squinted, searching for Moray in the distance. Torin glimpsed him turning southward, deeper into the gloam of the Breccans’ territory.
Torin decided to continue his pursuit. His legs devoured one kilometer after another, and after swiftly catching up to Moray, he trailed him at a safe distance. But Torin’s anxiety swelled when he realized where Moray was going.