He picked up his bag and began moving with the jingle still playing in his head, to the point he started voicing it out so he wouldn't forget it.
"Walk the path where the reeds grow high,
Where dragonflies and minnows lie.
Past the tree with the twisted back,
Follow the river, stay on track.
When water bends and stones run thin,
The shed will wait, just tucked within."
"Where do reeds grow high?" he muttered under his breath, slowing to a stop as he mulled over the question.
It was one of those things they'd been taught during their basic education, little clues and riddles meant to help them describe terrain more accurately when they were out in the wild.
"Wetlands!" He snapped his fingers, as if proud the answer had come so quickly. But then his brow furrowed.
"But where do I find a wetland though...? A riverbank is a wetland, right?"
He spun slowly on his heel, scanning the terrain. Dry grass, sparse trees, uneven dirt. No sound of running water, no soft squelch underfoot. Nothing in sight resembled the soggy embrace of a riverbank.
With a quiet grunt, he dropped his bag to the ground and knelt beside it, unfastening the top flap. He reached inside and pulled out the folded map he'd tucked away in haste while packing.
It crinkled in his hands as he spread it open over his knee, eyes darting across the hand-drawn lines and faint ink markings, searching for the one thing that could point him in the right direction.
Straight from behind the large boulder, he could just make out the faint markings of narrow trails, worn into the earth over time, leading directly toward what appeared to be a riverbank in the distance. That could only mean one thing, this was the route he was meant to follow.
He carefully folded the map and tucked it back into his bag, letting out a slow breath as he did. Then, with a quiet determination, he slung the bag over his shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. He took a moment to glance around the open field, scanning for any sign of the landmark mentioned.
Far off at the very edge of the wide, grassy expanse stood a solitary, towering boulder, so large and distinct that it could be seen clearly from any point within the field.
"That must be it." He sprinted toward the boulder quickly, knowing that the sun wouldn't light up the sky much longer if he wasted time.
He came to a halt right beside the boulder, its rough surface looming over him like a silent sentinel.
For a moment, he stood still, eyes sweeping the surrounding grassland, searching for any clear sign of the trail he'd glimpsed earlier.
Frowning slightly, he shifted his weight and stepped closer to the massive stone. If the trail wasn't visible from here, then maybe it was hidden behind it.
Without wasting time, he began to move around the boulder's base, circling carefully as he kept his eyes low to the ground, scanning for any trace of worn soil or faint prints that might point the way forward.
Just as he reached the back of the boulder, he saw water flowing from the boulder down, like a trail leading him to the riverbank.
"This must be it." He smirked.
He was surprised by how well he was taking it all. Any normal kid, he thought, would've already broken down, begging their parents not to send them away, clinging to the edge of the gate, screaming for one last chance.
And maybe, deep down, he wanted to do just that. But he had seen his father's eyes. For a man like that, duty meant more than blood.
Others might have sat by the clan's gates, crying into the dirt, hoping their tears would soften a heart that was never warm to begin with. But not him, he knew better. His father didn't show emotion, not in triumph, not in shame, and certainly not in regret. Expecting mercy from him was like asking the sun not to rise.
The only way to survive was to act tough. Pretend the silence didn't bite, pretend the hunger and fear twisting in his stomach was something he could swallow down and forget.
Because breaking down out here wouldn't feed him. It wouldn't shield him from the cold, it wouldn't protect him from whatever waited in the woods. It would just drain him, slowly, and painfully, until he had nothing left to give and nowhere left to go.
So he did the only thing he could, he kept walking.
Quietly, he followed the trail, his steps cautious but steady, eyes flicking to either side with every few paces, scanning the brush, the trees, the wind-stirred grass, for any sign of danger… or of someone following him.
The narrow stream of water continued its winding path, threading through the underbrush until it reached a small clearing, a natural locus where it merged seamlessly into the broader current of a river.
The river, swift and cold, rushed toward the edge of a cliff where it dropped off into a roaring waterfall below, the sound echoing faintly through the trees.
He stepped closer, the spray misting his face as he scanned the area, the jingle from his uncle playing in the back of his mind.
"Where do reeds grow..." His gaze swept along the riverbank and there they were, on the other side of the riverbank.
Tall, slender reeds, standing in a quiet cluster just off to the side of the river, their green stalks swaying gently with the breeze. Just as his uncle had described, and just as tall as he thought they'd be.
He turned his head slightly and caught sight of a bridge off to the side, a narrow, weathered structure stretched across the river like a fragile thread. The wood was dark with age, worn smooth by rain and cracked under the long stare of the sun. Parts of it sagged under their own weight, the ropes frayed and brittle. But it was the only crossing in sight.
There was no other option.
He approached it slowly, each step deliberate. As he placed his foot on the first plank, it gave a slight creak that made him pause, but he pressed on, moving carefully, keeping his weight centered and steps light. The river roared below, hungry and fast.
Halfway across, the sharp sound of splitting wood snapped through the air.
*Shreek pahhh!*
In the space between heartbeats, the bridge gave way beneath him. The rope snapped like a whip, and he had no time to grab hold of anything. One moment he was above the water, the next he found himself in it.