The forest didn't rest after the Weaverworms gave themselves. Every branch still shook like the newborn's rage was running through it. Buzz and Zza stayed low, claws sinking into wet soil, pushing through ferns until their shells scraped bark. Every step carried that weight of pursuit.
Buzz's shoulder throbbed where the newborn had caught him. Gold still burned there, veins pulsing like fire licking out from under his shell. He gritted his teeth and kept moving. The creek had thinned into damp ridges now, earth crumbling under their claws, the trees pressing close.
Zza shoved him forward when he lagged. "Don't slow down. It'll sniff weakness." Her silk trembled as she wrapped it tighter around his waist, binding him to her so she could drag if he collapsed. She didn't say it, but the way her jaw clenched told him: she was ready to carry him if it came to that.
