The forest had gone too quiet.

That was the first sign.

Greenwood was never silent—not truly. There was always wind in the branches, insects in the moss, some creature shifting through the underbrush. But now the trees held their breath, and every instinct I possessed told me I had walked straight into something waiting.

I slowed, hand tightening around the hilt of my blade.

Behind me, somewhere deeper in the trees, the Company moved through the brush. Dwalin’s heavy steps, Bofur’s low humming, Kíli muttering something under his breath. Close enough to hear if I called.

Too far to reach in time.

The smell hit next.

Rot. Iron. Filth.

Orcs.

They came out of the undergrowth like a flood of black teeth and jagged steel.

I didn’t hesitate.

My swords were in my hands before the first one reached me. The clash of iron rang sharp through the trees as I cut the first down, pivoting into the second. An axe glanced off my shoulder guard, another blade scraped my ribs, and suddenly there were too many bodies pressing forward.

I fought anyway.

Durin’s line does not fall quietly.

But numbers are numbers, and even a prince of Erebor cannot fight half a hunting pack alone.

A heavy blow caught my leg. I staggered. Another slammed into my shoulder and drove me backward.

The ground hit hard beneath my back.

For half a heartbeat all I saw was sky through the branches above me.

Then shadows leaned in.

An Uruk lifted its blade.

Something moved above the trees.

Fast.

A shape dropped from the branches with the suddenness of a striking hawk, landing between me and the descending blade.

She hit the earth in a low crouch, directly over me, one knee braced beside my ribs, the other planted firm in the soil. Bone and feather flashed. A spear snapped forward with brutal precision.

The Uruk jerked back with a startled snarl.

She didn’t look at me.

Didn’t speak.

Her entire body formed a shield over mine, posture low and predatory, spear angled outward as if daring the entire forest to try its luck.

The sound that tore from her throat wasn’t a word.

It was a hiss.

Sharp. Feral. Terrifying.

The Uruks faltered.

For the first time since the ambush began, they hesitated.

Behind us I heard branches crashing as the Company broke through the brush. Dwalin’s roar split the air. Kíli shouted something that sounded suspiciously like disbelief.

But I barely heard them.

All I could see was the figure crouched above me.

Ash-grey skin marked with streaks of war paint. Black hair bound with bone and feathers. The unmistakable line of the spear held steady in her grip.

Sávrë.

My chest tightened with something that wasn’t pain.

She had followed.

Across miles of forest. Across the shifting territories of Greenwood. Through whatever dangers the wild had thrown between us.

She had tracked me down.

Not to speak.

Not to explain.

To fight.

Another Uruk lunged forward.

Her spear struck the ground before it could reach us, the crack of wood against stone echoing through the clearing. The creature recoiled with a startled grunt.

The growl that followed rolled low in her throat.

Predator’s warning.

The Orcs shifted uneasily.

And in that moment, flat on my back beneath the feral huntress who had claimed me, something settled deep in my bones.

This bond between us—this Varn-thal she had marked into my life—was not some passing curiosity of the wild.

She had come to war for me.

The realization spread through my chest like fire.

Above me the Company finally burst into the clearing.

Dwalin skidded to a halt.

Kíli’s voice cracked across the trees.

“…Well,” he breathed.

I couldn’t help it.

A grin broke across my face despite the bruises and blood.

Because my mate had just dropped out of the sky to terrify an Uruk hunting pack.

And apparently the entire Company had arrived just in time to watch it happen.

A breath of laughter slips out of me despite dirt. “Well now,” I murmur, voice rough with relief, “good to see you, wildheart.” My gaze stays on her, pride warm in my chest. “Thought you might come looking for me."