Ravenwood(5)

It seemed to Elinore as though she had been in the carriage alone for a long time, her limbs feeling numb from the jostling and swaying. Another bright flash of lightning struck and for a moment, she thought she saw movement in the darkness outside the window - in the trees, moving as fast as the horses.

But that was impossible.

Elinore rubbed at her eyes a bit, trying to push the fatigue away along with the foolish notion. She was overtired, that was all. She kept her eyes firmly averted from the window so as not to give her delusions ammunition when the next lightning bolt lit up the sky.

Still, she felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle and stand up. She tried to shake it off. It was late. She was tired. She was over-emotional from her parents passing, the long journey and the looming unknown. Nothing more.

The long, ululating howl of a wolf struck through the air, raising goosebumps on her arm and forcing her to give up her stalwart avoidance of the window and turn her face once again to the glass, trying to see outside.

Were there wolves in these woods?

The carriage jerked sharply to one side and she slammed against the wall, banging her elbow soundly, making her fingers numb. She cursed involuntarily, knowing that as a ‘lady,’ she shouldn't even know the word she just spat out with clenched teeth. They were moving faster now, the carriage feeling like it was out of control. The horses whinnied and neighed and she hoped that Thistle was strong enough to keep them under control. No doubt they were as spooked as her.

Another howl broke through the air, louder than the rain and the sound of thundering hooves. It was hard to tell if there was only one wolf or two. The strange dual-tone of the cry confused her. She pulled her cloak tighter, fingers digging into the wool. At the next bolt of lightning she saw the same thing as before - movement in the forest.

Elinore’s mind, always a fanciful place full of plots, contrivances and imagination, immediately came to the conclusion that there was an animal outside and, despite her earlier notion of impossibility, it was indeed pacing the carriage.

There was a hard jolt to the carriage and she tumbled off the seat and onto the floor, landing disgracefully in a puddle of her cloak and her skirts. The carriage tipped and time froze for a moment as she was suspended in midair before slamming down hard to the floor again on her shoulder. Her teeth snapped together, the jolt of the impact traveling across her collar, jarring her bones. The carriage was on its side, the window beneath her smashed, the ground moving quickly as the horses dragged them. She scurried and pushed away from the broken pane, crying out as pain shot up her arm and shoulder. She flipped to her other side, feeling bruised, but not nearly as battered there. It was horribly loud - all she could hear was the crying of the horses, the breaking of wood and the sounds of the carriage being dragged.

The carriage lurched with tooth-rattling force and skidded to a halt, Elinore sliding into the seat, knocking her head soundly against the edge. She saw stars for a moment and tried to blink them away, dazed from the impact.

Stopped. They were stopped.

A sudden thought came into Elinore’s brain. Mr. Thistlewaite!

The dark made it nearly impossible to see, but she knew which way was up. Elinore staggered to her feet, lurching slightly with a quick wave of dizziness. Her right arm ached something fierce - red hot pain shooting into her shoulder. She tucked it close to her body and scrambled for the handle with her other hand. She managed to turn it correctly and had to push hard to get the door to open upward and then finally tip over.

“Mr. Thistlewaite?” she called, blinking furiously as the continuing rain assaulted her face. “Are you there?” Are you alive, she wanted to add, but was too afraid.

Elinore could not hear anything but the sound of the rain and the diminishing sound as the horses, likely spooked and slightly mad, ran off into the distance.

Right. She would get herself out of the carriage.

If she stood tall on her tippy-toes, she could get her head up and out. Not that she could see much in the darkness, but nothing lurched forward and lopped her head off, so she counted herself lucky. She managed to get a booted foot wedged between the cushion and the seat and she jumped up, jolting her bad arm, clenching her teeth against the pain. She had gotten most of her upper body out far enough that she was bent over, half in and half out. Kicking her feet and wiggling like a worm, she said a silent prayer of thanks for all the times she and Charlotte had climbed trees and crawled on their bellies while imaging they were involved in great tales of espionage and mystery - she was no stranger to a little physical effort. In what was possibly one of the most undignified displays ever seen, she extricated herself. She slid off the side of the carriage and onto the ground, her boots landing with a slopping sound in the mud. She was already soaked to the bone through her dress and cloak.

A wolf howl rang out.

Elinore paused, looking around slowly, trying to make out anything in the darkness. She had no time to be foolish and scared. She needed to find Thistle. She blinked at the rain in her eyes, swiping at her face with her hands. Her shoulder throbbed and she slipped a hand under her cloak to grip at her arm for a moment, as if by holding it briefly she could somehow will the limb not to hurt. Her hand came away bloody and she realized she’d been cut by the glass of the carriage window. Poking at the torn edges of her dress, she surmised the cut was not deep and could wait to be tended.

“Mr. Thistlewaite?” she called again, louder. “Thistle?” She thought she heard something off to her right and she paused, bending over the partial wreck of the carriage. She peered into the inky black. “Mr. Thistlewaite?”