Still groggy, Megan forced herself upright, wincing as her spine screamed in protest. Her muscles felt like overworked taffy —pulled, twisted, and left to harden in the cold. She rubbed at her aching shoulders, muttering something unintelligible to herself.
Dragging that human boulder through miles of undergrowth had been its own version of a nightmare. And as if that hadn't been enough, she still had to deal with him.
Luckily, on the way to the cave last night, fate had thrown her a bone. Near the riverbank, nestled between two mossy stones, she'd spotted the waxy, violet-tinged leaves of Slumberthorn — a rare knockout herb that thrived in shaded, damp soil and was nearly impossible to cultivate outside its native habitat. Its scent was sweet but deceptive; it released a mild neurotoxin when mashed and steeped in water, enough to knock out a grown man for several hours without harming him.
