They rode in silence up the old roadway that led to the back side of campus, past the barrow where they’d buried the dead, then up the hill toward the battered, snow-shrouded Shakespeare Garden. Seamus reined up his mount just shy of the battered hedge around that garden, staring bleakly at the ruin from his saddle.
“Déithe agus arrachtaigh,” he breathed, gaze drifting across the remains of the garden’s former glory. “What tore this apart?”
“The camazotzi,” Thom said wearily, shifting slightly in his saddle. “It was a while ago now. It’s why the fairies stick near us now. They used to live here until all of this.”
Seamus closed his eyes, looking pained. “I didn’t realize.”
“There’s no reason you should have,” J.T. said, his voice tight. “Cameron and I are going to ride ahead.”
“No, don’t,” Seamus said, tearing his gaze away from the garden. “I’m coming. Forgive me.”
“It’s all right,” Cameron said. “A few minutes isn’t going to make a difference one way or another.” He glanced toward Thom for confirmation.
Thom shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so, anyway.”
“I do,” J.T. grumbled. “Come on.”
Thom snorted humorlessly and nudged his horse back into motion in stride with J.T. and Cameron’s, leaving Seamus to bring up the rear a few strides behind. It felt quiet, too quiet, like the calm before a storm.
He didn’t like it.
I hope everything’s okay. Everything’s okay, right? It has to be.
The bridge came into view, silent and empty. A chill crept down his spine. He could just barely feel his wife’s wardings beyond it, still standing, still strong. It was a comfort, a relief, to feel them at this distance, as their horses began to cross the bridge.
But it still felt too quiet, and that worried him more than anything had in any of the moments before.
“It’s quiet… …too quiet….”
I just can’t keep that quote out of my head in moments like these.