The air between them was heavy as though there was something unsettling. The night swiped in, the wind swayed the trees back and forth, their limbs twisting forward. A thick mist settling around Dragolina's boots shifted with every hesitant step. The ground smelled of wet sand and decaying leaves. She could have choked from the overpowering smell.
She held the locket close to her neck, its chilly metal sharply different from her moist fingertips. Ahead the disturbed grave sat like an open wound in the ground, fresh and upsetting. The lumpy mass shifted as though something weird was within it. Something that didn't belong among the living.
A ragged breath rose from beneath the soil, wet and desperate. The sound of it sent icy dread crawling down her spine. The grave wasn't silent.
"Damaine," she said, the wind almost swallowing her words. "Who's in there?"
He didn't answer or at least make a slight movement. He simply stood there, his silhouette highlighted by the moonlight with hands trembling at his sides.
The silence was deafening, filled with unspoken thoughts.
Then, in a barely audible voice, he said, "I don't know."
A lie.
As soon as he spoke, she knew it. His fingers squeezed as though he were holding something back, and his voice faltered. He was certain of what or who was underneath.
The leaves rustled and the branches shook as the wind blew past the trees. The forest was alive, anticipating the next move.
Dragolina gulped hard, her instincts telling her to escape, to get away from that grave. However, she was unable to. Not when Damaine appeared on the verge of breaking.
The wet earth sank under her weight as she stepped closer and asked, "What did you do?" He took a deep breath and at last, looked up into her eyes. She noticed something dark unravelling in his eyes for the first time, something broken.
He said, "I didn't do anything," but his voice was shaky.
The ground trembled. Just as if something was crawling back from the earth's depths, a loud, rumbling groan erupted from the soil.
Damaine stumbled back, breath ragged. Dragolina's pulse slammed against her ribs as the dirt trembled, as if something had finally heard them.
And it was waking up.
A hand broke through the surface.
Pale. Skeletal. Fingers tightening as if grasping for salvation.
Dragolina gasped, stumbling backward. "Damaine…"
But he was already moving. He abruptly knelt, gazing down at the hand. The moment stretched, thick with dread, before he whispered,
"No."
Ash and leaves were flying about due to the constant blow of wind. The fingers quivered. Dragolina grabbed Damaine's arm and pulled him away. "We have to go!"
He didn't resist. He let her drag him away.
As they ran, as the woods swallowed them whole, Dragolina glanced back one last time.
The grave was still trembling. The hand had vanished.
But she knew.
Whatever was buried there was no longer resting.