Leonotis hefted the sturdy branch he'd scavenged, its knobby end surprisingly comfortable in his grip. It wasn't his lost root-sword, but it bore a similar, promising weight. He pushed onward, legs driving against the steep incline of the Water Mountain path, known locally as Oke Omi, a sacred peak revered in tradition for its life-giving springs and mystical presence.
The air grew thinner, carrying a coolness that contrasted with the humid plains below. The scent of iroko and mahogany mingled with fresh pine and damp earth, a fragrant reminder of the rich, ancient forest that cloaked the mountainside. Thick moss carpeted the gnarled roots of towering iroko and okan trees, their wide, twisting branches reaching like ancestral arms to the sky. Bright green ferns and delicate orchids clung to shaded crevices, while clusters of kola nut trees stood scattered amid the undergrowth.
Every so often, the distant call of the odo (forest robin) or the drumming beat of a woodpecker echoed through the canopy. Small monkeys, bush babies, and putty-nosed monkeys darted nimbly between branches, their curious eyes flickering as Leonotis passed beneath. The soft rustling of leaves hinted at hidden duikers grazing nearby, cautious of human footsteps.
Behind him, Low followed with grim determination etched on her face. Her usually fluid, agile movements were tight, coiled with simmering anger—an emotion as raw as the red clay soil beneath their boots. The sacred mist that clung stubbornly to the higher reaches, the orun veil, shimmered faintly, swallowing the peaks in a ghostly embrace.
"She left us, Leonotis," Low finally said, her voice sharp as flint, cutting through the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant sigh of the wind. "Just so you remember. Left you netted like a rabbit to be dragged off by those thugs. Don't forget that." Her gaze flickered upwards, towards the swirling mist that clung to the higher reaches of the mountain, a silent accusation aimed in the direction Jacqueline had fled.
Leonotis didn't break his stride, his breath coming in short, focused bursts. "She was scared, Low. We were all scared. And she helped us plenty before that happened. Remember the river?"
He pictured Jacqueline's serene, powerful face as she stilled the raging water, a stark, confusing contrast to the panicked self-preservation that must have driven her to abandon them. He couldn't reconcile the two images, but his gut, a feeling he was learning to trust, told him Jacqueline wasn't inherently cruel or cowardly.
"Scared or selfish? There's a big difference," Low retorted, her own breath catching slightly on the steep climb. Her resentment towards Jacqueline felt like a tangible weight, a physical burden slowing her more than the incline itself. Jacqueline's departure had scraped open old wounds, the familiar, bitter sting of being left behind, of being deemed less important than something, or someone, else.
"Maybe a little of both," Leonotis conceded, his brow furrowed in thought. It was a complexity he didn't fully understand. "But those bounty hunters… they were nasty pieces of work. They'll hurt her if they catch her."
The thought of Jacqueline, with her delicate, almost fragile beauty and her obvious discomfort away from the nurturing presence of water, at the mercy of those two brutal, leering men spurred him onward, lending strength to his tired legs. He felt a strange responsibility towards her, a bond that had taken root during their shared journey, one he wasn't willing to sever just because she'd made a selfish choice out of fear.
Low remained silent for a while, her gaze fixed on Leonotis's small, determined back as he navigated the treacherous trail. Despite her raw anger, she couldn't deny the truth in his words. Those bounty hunters had been vicious. And despite Jacqueline's panicked flight, she had helped them, saved them even. Loyalty, a rare and precious commodity in Low's experience, a currency she'd never been able to afford, tugged at her conscience.
And then there was Leonotis. The small, infuriating boy with the surprising courage and an unwavering, almost foolish faith in others, even those who didn't necessarily deserve it. A grim realization settled in her stomach: she wouldn't abandon him, not after coming back for him once already. She pushed herself harder, the familiar burn in her thigh muscles a welcome distraction from her conflicted thoughts.
"Just… don't expect me to be friendly when we find her," she muttered, her voice still carrying a sharp, protective edge. "And if she's already gotten herself into trouble, don't expect me to risk my neck for a girl who ran off at the first sign of a real fight."
Leonotis nodded, understanding her grudging, hard-won compromise. "Just… help me get to her, Low. That's all I ask."
Leonotis pressed on, his small frame fueled by a fierce, protective determination, leaving Low to follow in his wake, her resentment a stubborn shadow clinging doggedly to her newfound resolve. The winding path climbed relentlessly, each upward step carrying them closer to an uncertain and potentially deadly reunion.
The labored, grunting breaths of the bounty hunters echoed in the thin mountain air as Leonotis and Low scrambled up the final, treacherous stretch of the path. Rounding a jagged outcrop of rock that overlooked a small, flat precipice, they finally saw them.
Kell and Borok, their faces weathered and cruel, stood over a bound and gagged Jacqueline. She was tied to a lonely, stunted pine that grew perilously close to the cliff edge. Her usually vibrant blue eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and furious frustration, and her iridescent tail, now dry and its colors dulled to a matte finish, lay awkwardly, almost brokenly, against the rough stone.
Borok, the burly man with the scarred cheek, was running a greasy hand through his unkempt beard, his one good eye lingering on Jacqueline's exposed shoulders with a slimy possessiveness.
"Burglar, huh?" he grunted, a leering smile spreading across his coarse face. "Awfully pretty little thing for a common thief."
The other man, Kell, leaner and with shifty, nervous eyes, spat a glob of brown phlegm onto the ground, dangerously close to Jacqueline's legs. "That's what the poster said. Decent bounty, fifty silver. Enough for a few weeks of good ale and better company."
"Ale's temporary, Kell. It pisses away," Borok countered, his gaze still fixed on Jacqueline, his smirk widening. "But a pretty piece like this… well, there are other… more discerning establishments in the capital that pay a damn sight more for fresh, exotic merchandise. Especially one with such… unique features."
He nudged Jacqueline's shoulder with the toe of his worn, steel-capped boot, eliciting a muffled, angry cry from behind the gag.
The lean hunter's eyes narrowed, a flicker of calculating greed lighting their depths. "You thinking of cutting the King out, Borok? Selling her on the black market?"
"Just considering all our options, my friend," Borok replied, his voice a low, suggestive rumble. "The coin for a common thief ain't gonna make us rich. But a rare young beauty like this… someone with a taste for youth would pay a decent sum."
He winked, a truly unpleasant, grotesque expression. "Think of the comforts that could buy us, Kell. No more chasing down grubby little mages and petty thieves in cursed forests."
Kell's gaze flickered back to Jacqueline, a new, more predatory calculation in his eyes. The allure of easy, life-changing riches was clearly winning him over. "She is awfully pretty…"