Progress Update: A Woman of Whispers
Wrapping up work today on Act II, and though I’m writing faster than I ever have, I wish I could write even faster, because I couldn’t be more excited to share this story with you.
But I can at least share this snippet with you now!
Little WolfNo one followed us. Not that I could see or hear. The moon had long left us, vanished behind the low clouds. And the snow just kept falling, thick and heavy now, covering our tracks. Soon it would cover us too.
Seeing anything was impossible. The flakes caught on my lashes, stung my eyes. But it was the wind that had me worried most. It howled across the Fells like it had a grudge. It tore at our cloaks, lifted the hoods right off our heads. Even with my gloves, my hands were half-numb on the reins, my face raw and stung.
Ashwake snorted and tossed her head. I could feel her legs slipping, even beneath me.
And Linny—I already knew how she hated the cold. She’d dropped her reins long ago, just sat perched in her saddle, clutching her cloak and hood around her, her fingers bare and frozen. Even through the wind, I heard the chatter of her teeth.
Not that I was faring any better.
I could barely make out Rook ahead of us—just a smear of movement in the swirling dark. Harrow’s shape. The bundle of Velarian slumped against his chest.
And behind me—nothing. Just white and silence.
I reined up.
“Rook!” I called. My voice vanished into the storm.
Again, louder: “Rook! Rook!”
No answer.
I kicked Ashwake ahead, urging her forward. The snow was past her knees now, crunching hard with every step. She was just a pony, too small for this, and I cursed this storm for not playing fair.
When I finally caught Rook, he turned like he hadn’t even heard me. His face was dusted with frost, the brim of his hood white.
“We have to make camp,” I said.
He shook his head. “Too exposed.”
“She’ll die,” I snapped, nodding at Velarian. “And so will Linny—and so will we!”
Rook looked past me, squinting into the white. No sign of Linny where I’d left her behind.
He cursed under his breath—just a word, nothing more—and swung down.
Velarian didn’t even stir. Just a limp weight in his arms.
A moment later, Linny rode stumbling out of the white behind us, hunched and pale, her hood half off, her face smeared with wind-tears. She shook so bad her teeth clacked and clattered. She looked at us, confused.
“This is it,” I said. “We camp here. Or we don’t wake up.”
From A Woman of Whispers, a Trail of Whispers, Book 1. Coming fall 2025.
Copyright 2025 by Cary Caffrey & Agatha Anders.
