He rose to his feet and glared at the minnows swimming freely in the river.
"The minnows! That means I'm closer to the shed now! I need to find the tree with the twisted back, soon!" he said quickly, then sprinted back to the tree to check if his items had dried.
But they hadn't even started. Judging by their texture, it would take a couple more hours, time he couldn't afford to waste.
"I can't wait here for these to dry... I need an idea. Something that can help me now," he murmured, eyes fixed on the damp materials.
Then, suddenly, an idea struck. A bright smile lit up his face.
I can go ahead and look for the shed while these dry here. I can't afford to waste time sitting around.
With that, he turned and made his way toward the edge of the river. His next destination: the tree with the twisted back.
As he walked, he softly hummed the lyrics of the jingle again, to make sure he was still on the right track.
"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."
And so, he kept moving in the direction the jingle had mapped out for him, the tune softly escaping his lips in a steady hum.
It wasn't just to keep the rhythm of his steps, it helped him stay focused, grounded, and distracted from the haunting silence that pressed in from the edges of the forest.
Every note was a tether to clarity, a ward against the creeping unease that came with too much quiet and too much time alone.
His eyes swept the terrain as he trudged forward, shoulders already heavy with fatigue. The endless walk of the past few hours had begun to wear him down in places he didn't even know could ache.
Even though he had mistakenly slept straight through the night, a luxury in itself, his body didn't feel rested. If anything, the stillness of that long, unintended slumber had only made him groggier, like his muscles had stiffened from too much stillness.
Time passed, the trees whispering above him, and then, finally, his eyes caught something in the distance. A tree, but not just any tree. Its bark curled unnaturally, spiraling upward in a warped, brittle twist like something that had once tried to grow proud and tall but got bent under weight and time.
"Is that the tree with the twisted back?" he murmured softly to himself as he glared at it from the distance.
He blinked a few times to be sure it wasn't a mirage conjured by exhaustion or misplaced hope. Then he broke into a half-run, limbs sluggish but driven by something deeper than strength: the thrill of possible confirmation.
When he reached the tree, he circled it slowly, fingertips brushing across the bark with cautious reverence. The twist had worsened over time, the wood now flaking with rot at certain patches, the outer layers brittle beneath his touch.
But there, beneath the decay, half-swallowed by moss and age, were faint markings. Not random scrapes or claw marks. Intentional, familiar ones.
His uncle's handwriting etched on the bark.
A slow exhale left his lips as relief bloomed in his chest.
"This is it…" he muttered under his breath, voice barely above the breeze. "Which means the shed should be closer now."
He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally reciting the next part of the jingle. Follow the path of the river and don't stray away from it…
Opening them again, he turned toward the river, the soft gurgle of water calling to him from somewhere just beyond the thicket.
He stepped closer, stopping at the bank, the surface catching flecks of sunlight like scattered silver.
Then, before taking another step, he looked around slowly, methodically, cataloguing every detail he could use as a marker: a leaning stone that jutted out like a broken tooth, a crooked cluster of cattails near the water, a branchless stump riddled with mushrooms.
If he lost his way or found the shed and needed to return, he'd need to remember this place exactly as it was now.
The tree with the twisted bark stood slightly behind him, near a dip in the slope, partially hidden by thorny underbrush. The river curved here, its banks a little steeper on one side than the other.
He knelt beside the water, fingers dipping into the cool current, and murmured quietly to himself:
"Follow the path of the river and don't stray away from it, no matter what."
He stood up, dusted off his trousers, and began moving again, this time keeping deliberately close to the river's edge, just as the jingle had instructed. Each step was measured, his eyes flicking between the flowing water and the forested path ahead, making sure he didn't stray too far from the riverbank.
The melody hummed softly under his breath, like a thread tying him to the directions he'd memorized so carefully.
After a gentle bend in the river, he began to notice something different. The stones that once lined the bank, scattered generously like breadcrumbs, were now fewer in number.
Some had sunk halfway into the soft soil, others completely vanished beneath moss and sediment. The change was subtle, but it was enough to catch his attention.
He slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping over the terrain with growing anticipation. According to the riddle, this spot, where the stones thinned out, was where the shed was supposed to be. This was it. He was finally here.
'But... where was it?'
"This should be the place, but where could it be hiding?" he asked himself as he stroked his jaw, glancing around the terrain.
He turned slowly in place, scanning the area with a cautious eye. Trees stood in silence, their branches unmoving despite the soft breeze. The shed should've been somewhere nearby, tucked away behind brush or nestled between trunks.
But no matter how hard he looked, there was nothing that resembled a structure. Just the same blend of foliage, undergrowth, and the ever-present river whispering beside him.
"So everything I did was just for nothing? After travelling all this way, I nearly died while falling into that river, just to find out there's no shed?!"
He walked over and sat by the river, not caring about the dirt beneath him. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. He tried to hold them back, wiping them away, but they just kept streaming down.
Then he raised his head and, by chance, glanced toward the branches in view, only to notice that one of them was different from the rest.