Wild Magic by Cat Weatherill

have done, I forgive you. You don’t have to leave.”
    â€œI do,” said Finn.
    â€œYou don’t! That’s what I’m trying to say. Whatever it is, you can still live here with us.”
    â€œI can’t live with myself,” said Finn bleakly. He pulled away from his father and watched Beren braiding ribbons into Aspen’s mane. “I can’t be trusted anymore.”
    His father followed his gaze and suddenly felt fear twisting inside him like an eel.
    â€œYou haven’t told me the whole story, have you?” he said quietly. “The forest where you picked up the wound . . . was it the Whispering Forest?”
    Finn didn’t reply, but his breathing deepened.
    â€œThe deer you were hunting . . . was it a magic beast? Did you . . . exchange words?”
    Still Finn didn’t reply. But he didn’t need to. The look on his face told his father all he wanted to know.
    â€œFinn,” he said at last, “my heart breaks to see you go, but I won’t stop you. You’re an adult now. You have to make your own decisions and some of them will be hard.” A sob rose in his throat. He stopped. Closed his eyes. Struggled to control himself—and Finn, watching, suddenly saw the future. He saw his father aged and withered. The worry and the grief of losing his only son had worn him down, and it was entirely his fault. He had ridden into the forest alone, but both of them would suffer for it.
    The vision faded.
    His father sighed. “I never thought I’d say this,” he said, “but I’m glad your mother didn’t live to see this day. She loved you more than life itself.”
    Finn reeled. Why did his father have to say that? Wasn’t it enough that his heart was breaking? Did his father want to rip it out of his chest too? Because that’s what it felt like.
    But Finn’s father wasn’t being deliberately cruel. He was simply lost in his own grief. “I don’t want Beren to see me like this,” he said, wiping his face with his fingers. “She thinks you’re bound for romance and adventure, and I won’t spoil it for her.” He threw his arm around Finn’s shoulders. “Come! We shall smile for her sake.”
    He led Finn back across the courtyard, pausing only to whisper a final message into his ear: “This will always be your home, Finn, and I’ll always be here. Remember that.”
    Finn nodded. His eyes were bright with tears and he didn’t trust himself to speak. He hugged his father, held him close, kissed him fleetingly on the cheek, then clambered onto the wagon.
    â€œBlessings to you both!” he cried, raising his hand in farewell. “Father—I will send the gray mare home, as soon as I have found somewhere of my own.”
    â€œThere’s no hurry,” replied his father, waving him away. “Keep her if you want. Aspen is very fond of her!”
    With the broadest smile he could manage, Finn clicked the reins and the wagon moved off. Aspen followed behind. The hawk circled above. Ahead lay nothing but a bleak, lonely, terrifying future.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
    Finn drove north, not caring where he went. On the first night he slept in a barn. On the second he camped under the stars. All the while, his wound wept and the moon waxed mercilessly. And then, all too soon, it was the third night.
    Full moon.
    Finn turned the wagon off the lane and onto a bumpy track. It led through woodland to a glade, and there he stopped, jumped down, and unhitched the gray mare. He glanced up. The full moon was rising, climbing into the sky like a great round beetle. Finn felt hot. Feverish. The wound throbbed. Blood was seeping through the dressing, sticking his leggings to his thigh.
    â€œAspen,” he called softly. The stallion came forward. “You must leave me now. Take Gray with you. Return in the morning when you hear my call.” He stroked the stallion’s ears,