Free Sora's Quest by T. L. Shreffler

light mist hung above their camp, clinging to the lower branches like a fragile curtain.
    She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and grimaced at the retreating figure of Crash. What a rude awakening! She didn't mind glaring at him—as long as his back was turned. She pulled her cloak about her shoulders and rubbed down her legs, trying to stave off the chill. It had been a cold, moist night, and although she had curled up close to the fire, she was too uncomfortable to sleep. Finally she drifted off close to dawn, but only for a few hours of true rest.
    She brushed the leaves from her clothing, then paused, staring down at her hands. They were no longer tied. Her heart leapt—but quickly plummeted. Perhaps she wasn't tied up, but she was still a captive. Obviously they didn't think she could escape. She posed no threat at all.
    But she would escape! She promised herself that.
    Sora got awkwardly to her feet and lifted her satchel. Her stomach rumbled, but she didn't care to ask her captors for breakfast. I'd rather starve! She glanced around, suddenly uncertain. The camp seemed unusually quiet.
    As though reading her thoughts, Dorian's voice drifted over to her: "Women are always more beautiful in the morning, especially after a night on the cold ground!" His words were sharp and crisp on the misty air.
    Sora ignored the Wolfy as he entered the clearing. He was atop a pretty brown horse, which she assumed was stolen. She avoided making eye contact, even when he pulled up next to her. "Is our Lady ready to leave?" he said with a sneer.
    Her cheeks flushed, but she refused to answer. Perhaps she had grown up with wealth, but she had never lorded her status above others, like so many noble-born. In fact, her only friends were servants. She gave him a stiff nod, biting the inside of her cheek.
    Dorian abruptly reached down and offered her his gloved hand. She stared up at him, surprised.
    "Well, sweetness? Get on!" he said impatiently. "Or do you need a footstool? Maybe a nice cushion to sit on?"
    Sora could take no more. With a huff of anger, she shoved away his hand. "In case you're wondering," she spat out, "or in case you're deaf, my name is Sora, not sweetness, or sweetheart, or sweet-anything! And I'm not a pampered little princess! In fact, I'd rather walk than ride on your dirty horse!" She spat at his feet, though she wasn't very good at spitting.
    The expression on Dorian's face made her words worth it, and Sora braced herself for the swing of a sword, or a kick from his boot. At least I'll die happy. Then, much to her surprise, the creature threw back his head and let out a barking laugh, his pointed ears twitching with mirth.
    "So the girl has some spirit after all!" he shouted. Then he reached down, grabbed her forcefully by the arm, and dragged her onto the horse behind him—his strength made her gasp. She struggled into the saddle with little choice. "Dorian's the name, thieving is the trade, and perhaps this won't be such an agony after all."
    She stared at the back of his head, still shocked. Shouldn't he be trying to kill me now? She thought of Crash's threats from the night before and the pink scratches along her neck.
    "Uh, yes, perhaps," she said carefully.
    He was still laughing. "I think we're going to get along just fine," he said. With that, he tugged on the reins and whirled the horse around, setting off through the trees. Sora had to grab his hips for balance; it was awkward, and she tried to touch him as little as possible.
    He seemed to be in a good mood, though she couldn't imagine why. The Wolfy hummed to himself as they started through the forest, an old woodland tune known to the area. Sora had heard the yard workers sing it during long afternoons, while they were trimming the grass or weeding the flowerbeds. Its familiarity was soothing and reminded her of home.
    After a few minutes, she cleared her throat. "Uh...thanks for untying my hands," she said. Stupid. She shouldn't speak to him; he was her