I heard the water before I could see it.
I stopped so abruptly that Thomas, a few steps ahead, turned around. There was a faint sound beneath the noise of the treetops. It disappeared when the wind blew and returned when the trees fell quiet.
"There."
He went still, listening.
We circled a thicket from opposite sides and found a narrow passage between moss-covered stones. Water flowed through it, gathered in a shallow depression, and continued beneath the roots. I could have crossed the whole thing in a single step.
It seemed far too little to have made such a difference.
I knelt beside the bank.
"Wait."
My hand was already in the water. I turned toward Thomas, irritated before I understood why.
He was looking up, following the thin stream between the rocks.
"Let's see where it comes from."
"It's running water."
"I can see that."
I waited for him to say more.
He didn't.
I pulled my hand away. Water ran down my wrist and soaked into my sleeve.
We followed the stream uphill for a short distance. Leaves were caught between the stones, along with roots and a dark opening beneath an embankment. Water emerged from there. We found nothing that could tell us whether it was safe to drink.
I remembered that clear water could still make you sick. I remembered a teacher talking about it, a diagram enlarged in a textbook. I didn't remember anything that could help me solve the problem without a pot, a fire, or a bottle.
"We'd have to boil it," I said.
Thomas nodded.
I looked at his empty hands.
Then at mine.
I knelt again.
The first handful slipped almost entirely through my fingers. The second time, I pressed my mouth against my cupped hands before lifting them very far. The water was so cold that my teeth hurt. I drank quickly, stopped to breathe, then drank again.
I hadn't discovered that it was safe.
I'd simply been unable to keep waiting.
Thomas crouched a little farther upstream. When he finished, he rested his hands on his knees for a few moments.
I hadn't realized how tense his face had been until I saw it relax.
We washed the dirt from our hands. The scratch on my wrist stung, and the little splinter wound looked redder once the dirt was gone. I ran my thumb near it without touching.
"We should stay here," I said.
Thomas looked around.
"Nearby. Not in this hollow."
I lowered my eyes to the ground where I'd been kneeling. Moisture was already soaking through my trousers.
I stood.
Above the spring was a strip of sloping ground protected from the wind by a fold in the hillside. We could still hear the water. Thomas surveyed the area before setting down his axe. He looked up into the canopy, nudged a piece of rotten wood with his boot, and tested the ground with his heel.
I looked up too.
This time I knew what I was looking for, even if I wasn't sure I'd recognize a dangerous branch when I saw one.
"For today," he said.
Those two words bothered me.
I wanted us to find the right place, build something, and stop searching. I wanted to solve a problem and know it would remain solved when I turned my back.
Thomas bent down to pick up his axe, then stopped halfway. He reached for his shoulder.
"Does it still hurt?"
"When I pull."
I pretended to examine the ground.
His arm had pulled me out of the mud.
Now we needed that arm for everything.
"I can carry things."
"You can start with those branches. The ones you can drag without falling on top of them."
The last part made me look at him.
Thomas was already choosing a stick from the ground.
I dragged the first branch by its end. It swung around, caught against my leg, and struck me behind the knee.
Thomas said nothing.
On my second attempt, I grabbed it closer to the fork.
The work seemed small when I looked at what we'd gathered and enormous whenever I had to go back for more. My wet foot grew colder every time I stopped. I tried to ignore it until I started walking with my foot turned sideways.
Thomas noticed.
"Take off that boot."
"I'll be barefoot."
"Sit down first."
I sat on a root. The leather resisted, and I pulled so hard I nearly slammed my knee into my face. When the boot finally came off, some of the water spilled onto the pine needles.
My sock was dark and clung to my skin.
I wrung the fabric out. Less water came out than I'd expected. My toes looked too small and far too white.
"We don't have another pair," I said.
Thomas had his back to me, arranging a stick against a low fork in the branches.
"I know."
I held the sock between my hands.
Such a ridiculous thing.
At home, I would have left it somewhere and found another pair. Maybe someone would have complained. Maybe I would have complained about having to look for one.
I rubbed my foot with the driest part of my clothes and wrung the sock again.
When I put the boot back on, it was still awful.
Just slightly less wet.
I went back to carrying branches.
Thomas was building a low shelter, supported between a forked branch and the ground. It didn't look like a house under construction.
It looked like a pile of sticks he was trying to convince not to collapse.
When we set one of the larger pieces in place, it slipped.
I swore and pulled my foot away.
"Hold this," he said.
"I was holding it."
"Here, Varian."
I moved my hand.
He adjusted the end, tested the weight, and only then told me to let go.
This time, the piece stayed.
His face was red from the effort. A streak of dirt ran across his forehead.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Bring more branches."
He didn't sound angry.
That left me with nowhere to put my embarrassment, so I went to find more branches.
Between trips, I searched for the portrait.
It appeared as soon as I thought of it.
The same face that no longer looked quite so much like Thomas when I saw him up close. The figure didn't have the streak of dirt across its forehead. It didn't favor one shoulder.
Four hundred and twenty-five gold.
One hundred and fifty wood.
I could summon another.
The thought brought immediate relief.
Two more hands.
Someone who might know how to make a fire.
Someone who might know where we were.
I looked at the man working in front of me.
I'd expected answers from him too.
"Thomas."
He raised his head.
"I can bring another man like you."
His gaze passed over me, then toward the place where he had appeared, even though the trees now hid that direction.
"Now?"
"I think so. I have enough."
"Enough of what?"
It took me a moment to answer.
"Gold. But they're not coins I can actually hold. It's... here."
I touched the side of my temple and immediately felt stupid.
Thomas waited.
"It appears when I look for it. You cost seventy-five."
As soon as I said it, I wished I could take the word back.
He lowered his eyes to the axe handle.
"To summon you," I added.
"I understand."
I couldn't tell whether he really did.
The wind stirred the loose branches at our feet.
"It would help," he said at last. "Another man."
The relief returned.
"Then I can—"
"What will he eat?"
I looked at the unfinished shelter.
It wasn't a prohibition.
Thomas was still looking at me, waiting for an answer to a simple question.
"The same thing we do," I said.
My stomach clenched before he could say anything.
I lowered my eyes.
"I don't know yet."
Thomas ran his thumb along the wood of the handle.
"Neither do I."
I let the portrait disappear.
Later, when we had something to offer besides the ground beneath our feet, I'd think about it again.
I still didn't know if it was the right decision.
During the next trip, with a branch scraping against my legs, I wanted to change my mind.
I didn't.
The light began to fade while we were still working.
There was no beautiful sunset to watch.
The color simply drained from everything.
The moss grew dark.
The spaces between the trunks seemed deeper.
I could still see the sky, but it no longer gave the ground enough light.
I asked about fire.
Thomas patted his clothes, even though he'd already done that before.
"I don't have anything to light one with."
I stared at the axe.
He followed my gaze.
"If you find something that can make a spark, we'll still need something dry enough to catch it."
I remembered people spinning sticks between their hands. I remembered the cut in a video between the first attempt and the flame.
I'd never paid attention to how much time disappeared in that cut.
I picked up two pieces of wood.
One was damp inside.
The other left crumbs in my palm.
I rubbed them together anyway for a few moments, growing increasingly angry at how much I looked like a child pretending to accomplish something.
Thomas didn't laugh.
"We need to finish the roof while we can still see," he said.
I threw the pieces onto the ground, farther than necessary.
Then I went back and picked them up.
Maybe they'd be useful for something.
We built the roof with whatever we could gather.
Branch over branch.
Leaves wedged between the tips.
Material Thomas pulled from one side to another until some of the gaps grew smaller.
I lay beneath it for a moment and saw strips of sky everywhere.
"Rain's going to get through."
"It will," he said.
I turned toward him.
Thomas was kneeling, holding the base of a branch with both hands.
"Less than it would without this."
I crawled back out to help.
We covered the ground, and the pile that had seemed so large disappeared beneath the weight of my body. I could feel the uneven earth through it.
We needed more.
When we finished, I had resin on my fingers, an ache in my back, and such an intense hunger that the thought of food made my mouth fill with saliva.
During the work, I'd seen mushrooms growing near a tree trunk.
I didn't know which ones were safe.
Neither did Thomas.
We left them where they were.
Before it became completely dark, we returned to the water.
The path seemed longer.
I paid attention to an exposed root, a broken stone, a leaning tree near the slope.
We had no container to carry anything back with us.
I drank again.
My stomach felt full and still hungry.
When we returned, I had to crouch low to enter the shelter. A branch caught in my hair. I pulled too quickly and tore out several strands.
Thomas came in after me, protecting his shoulder.
He laid the axe within reach, its blade pointing away from us.
We barely fit side by side.
For a while, the sound of our clothes brushing against the branches covered everything else.
I tried to find a position where the ground didn't press into my hip.
When I finally did, my foot began throbbing inside the boot.
Darkness closed in beyond the opening.
I could still see Thomas's hand.
Then I could only make out his outline.
"Do you think there are people nearby?" I asked.
"I haven't seen any sign."
"But there could be."
"There could."
I imagined a road beyond the trees.
An inn.
People who would understand what had happened to me and know where to send me.
Then I thought about the other things that might live in a forest in Azeroth.
I pulled my arms tightly against my chest.
"If something appears..."
Thomas shifted beside me.
"Wake me."
"You're going to sleep?"
I asked it in a tone that embarrassed me.
He took a moment to answer.
"I'm going to have to."
I wanted to ask him not to.
I wanted him to keep watching the opening until daylight returned.
The thought of closing my eyes and leaving the trees unwatched felt unbearable.
But I'd seen his hands trembling as he adjusted the last branches.
"I'll stay awake first," I said.
"Don't go anywhere alone."
"I won't."
"If you hear something, wake me from here."
I nodded, though he probably couldn't see it.
Thomas settled down slowly.
His breathing took a while to change.
Every time he moved, I wondered if he was still awake, and felt a relief I didn't like.
Then he stopped moving.
I stared outside.
There were more sounds now.
A short rustling in the leaves.
Cracks.
The water, which seemed closer whenever the wind died down.
I tried to separate the sounds of trees from what might have been footsteps.
I couldn't.
The System window appeared when I searched for it.
It didn't illuminate the shelter.
Thomas remained a dark shape beside me, and I could no longer see the opening clearly.
The numbers were readable, but everything else remained the same.
Four hundred and twenty-five.
I closed my eyes and dismissed it.
I remembered a half-open door, light spilling through from the other side.
Someone walking through the house while I pretended to sleep so I wouldn't have to put my phone down.
I tried to remember the last thing I'd said at home.
I couldn't.
That frightened me more than not remembering how I'd reached the forest.
I searched for a sentence.
Any sentence.
All I found were fragments that could have belonged to other days.
I buried my face in the crook of my arm.
I breathed through my mouth so I wouldn't make a sound.
Beside me, Thomas shifted.
I stayed perfectly still until I heard the heavy rhythm of his breathing again.
When I raised my head, the trees were still there.
I don't know how long I spent watching.
At some point, something landed on the roof with a dry thud.
My entire body tensed.
I grabbed Thomas's arm.
He woke with a sharp breath and reached for the axe.
I couldn't speak.
I pointed upward, though he couldn't see my finger.
We listened.
One branch scraped against another.
Something small slid across the roof and fell outside.
Then there was only the wind.
"What was that?" I whispered.
"I don't know."
He kept his hand on the handle.
I waited for him to go outside and look.
Thomas didn't.
Slowly, I let go of his arm.
My heart took much longer to calm down than the roof did.
"You can sleep for a while," he said.
"I'm not tired."
The sentence ended in a yawn that hurt my jaw.
Thomas pulled one of the branches that had sagged near the opening and set it back into place.
"Lie down."
I rested my head on my arm.
This time I didn't pretend the ground was comfortable.
"If you need..."
"I'll wake you."
I listened to the words until they lost their sound and became nothing more than something I could lean on.
I slept in pieces.
I woke cold, shifted position, and drifted off again.
Once, I found my hand inside my boot, trying to scratch my foot without taking it off.
Another time, I thought I was in my bed until my face touched a branch.
The worst part was always that moment.
The instant after remembering.
When the light returned, my first thought was that I hadn't slept at all.
The opening was gray.
I could see the earth between the leaves of the roof.
Thomas was still sitting there, leaning awkwardly against the base of the tree, eyes closed, his axe resting beside his leg.
I didn't know when he'd fallen asleep.
I listened.
Water.
Wind.
A bird repeating three notes, stopping, then beginning again.
My stomach hurt.
My mouth was dry.
My foot was still damp, and I needed several moments before I had the courage to move.
But I could see my hands.
I ran a finger over the hardened resin on my thumb.
Then I lightly touched Thomas's arm.
His eyes opened immediately.
"What?"
"It's light out."
Thomas looked toward the opening.
He rubbed his face and remained still for a moment, as though he too needed to remember everything.
I pushed aside a branch and crawled out.
The shelter looked smaller from the outside.
One side had sagged.
A pinecone was caught near the top of the roof. I didn't know if that had been what woke us.
Thomas came out behind me, hunched over, then slowly straightened.
I looked toward the water.
Then toward the slope we hadn't explored yet.
I wanted food.
I wanted a roof I could sit beneath without hitting my head.
I wanted to take off that boot and know that, when I put it back on, it would be dry.
"Let's drink first," I said.
Thomas nodded.
I waited for him to take up the axe, then followed.
On the way down, I recognized the broken stone before he had to point out the path.