The well-worn path by the riverbank, though winding and undeniably adding days to their journey, offered a sense of relative security after the chilling encounter near the werebear's village.
The air here was cleaner, smelling of damp soil and wildflowers, the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze a soothing counterpoint to the oppressive, watchful silence that had clung to the edges of Anansi's Forest.
Low, however, walked with a coiled tension, her gaze constantly scanning the dappled treeline, her hand never far from the scavenged throwing knives at her belt. She couldn't shake the knot of worry tightening in her chest. Leonotis's impulsive, arrogant decision to take that cursed shortcut still annoyed her, a frustration that bubbled fiercely beneath her hardened exterior, yet it was uncomfortably intertwined with a deeper, more unsettling fear for him.
Jacqueline walked beside her, her usual ethereal grace slightly subdued, her steps less like a water nymph gliding over land and more like someone treading carefully on unfamiliar ground. Her blue eyes, often lost in the distant sorrow of her own private ocean, now held a flicker of active concern as she watched Low's restless vigilance.
She had witnessed the sharp, biting words Low had directed at Leonotis before he'd stubbornly veered off towards the shadowed maw of the forbidden woods, but she had also seen the raw anxiety etched around Low's eyes, the way her knuckles had whitened on her pouch of rocks. It was a stark, almost painful contrast to the pragmatic self-reliance and emotional detachment Low usually projected like a shield.
They encountered a small band of traders, not hunters this time, huddled around a crackling fire by the side of the path as dusk began to settle. Their faces were weathered by sun and wind, their clothes travel-stained and patched, their eyes holding the weary caution of those who lived by the road and its countless dangers.
A pungent aroma of roasting river fish and strong herbs hung in the air. Low, ever cautious, signaled for Jacqueline to wait, then approached them slowly, her movements fluid and non-threatening, though her hand rested near her knives.
"Greetings," she said, her voice neutral but clear. "Good evening for a fire. Have you traveled far today? Or perhaps… through Anansi's Forest recently?" She tried to keep the last question casual, but a thread of urgency wove through it.
A grizzled man with a bald, sun-browned head and a beard like tangled grey moss looked up from whittling a piece of wood. He shook his head decisively, his eyes widening slightly at the mention of the infamous name.
"Anansi's? Gods and spirits, no, girl. That place is cursed, plain and simple. Spiders the size of hounds, some say wolves, with venom that'll melt your bones from the inside or, if you're unlucky enough to survive, cause terrible hallucinations that'll drive you mad. Lost a good lad in there years ago, my own nephew. Took a 'shortcut,' he said." The man spat into the fire for emphasis, the hiss and pop of it underscoring his disgust. "Best avoid it, unless you've got a death wish or you're Anansi himself."
His words, delivered with such grim certainty, confirmed Low's deepest fears, tightening the cold knot in her stomach. She exchanged a troubled look with Jacqueline, who had followed her approach, her silence a heavy presence.
The girl's usual detachment seemed to waver, a hint of genuine unease coloring her delicate features as she absorbed the trader's grim account.
Later, as they continued their journey under a sky beginning to fill with stars, the weight of Leonotis's absence, and the dire warnings about his chosen path, seemed to settle heavily between them.
Low, surprisingly, broke the silence, the words tumbling out as if she could no longer contain them.
"He's… he's just a stupid kid," she said, her voice gruff, kicking at a loose stone on the path with unnecessary force. "Thinks he's got to do everything fast, prove how strong he is with that new magic of his." She scowled at the memory of his defiant face. "Reminds me of some of the younger ones at the orphanage. Always trying to be the toughest, the loudest, but they just end up getting hurt, or hurting someone else."
A flicker of raw sadness crossed her face then, a brief, unguarded glimpse of the vulnerability she usually kept so fiercely hidden.
Jacqueline listened quietly, her gaze thoughtful as she navigated the uneven terrain. She had observed Low's interactions with Leonotis – the sharp rebukes often delivered with an underlying current of exasperated affection, the grudging respect that sometimes softened Low's hard edges.
Hesitantly, Low continued, her voice softer now, the anger spent, leaving only a raw ache of worry.
"It's… you get used to being on your own in a place like that orphanage. No one really looks out for you, not truly. You learn to rely only on yourself, to build walls so high no one can touch you." She glanced at Jacqueline, a flicker of uncharacteristic vulnerability in her eyes. "Trusting… it doesn't come easy. But… he's just a kid. A foolish, reckless kid. And he's… he's trying, I guess. In his own idiotic way."
Jacqueline nodded slowly, a dawning understanding in her sapphire eyes. She had always valued her solitude. A wave of unexpected, sharp grief washed over her, so potent it made her stumble slightly.
"I… I had servants once," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Mbuna… he always fussed over the smallest details, convinced some catastrophe was imminent if my favorite coral comb was misplaced. He was always concerned."
A smile touched her lips. "And Betta… he pretended to be bored by everything, especially my father's functions, but he was fiercely loyal. He once wrestled a creature that tried to snatch one of my spell books." Her gaze drifted to the horizon, a profound sadness clouding her blue eyes. "They… they were lost during our... My journey here. I… I never even got to say goodbye properly."
The admission hung in the humid night air, a shared moment of unexpected vulnerability between two very different girls, bound by a mutual, unspoken concern for a reckless boy and the surprising, discomfiting weight of newfound companionship.