And the Borok tribe is far away, and my odds of surviving this journey are probably worse than I think.
This might be a terrible idea. But I have no choice. I have to find Callie. Even a tiny chance, and I have to try.
I wipe my eyes again. “Even if it costs me everything?”
Yes. Even then. Callie would do no less for me.
I stop, take off my pack, and press it to my face to stifle the sobs I can’t hold back.
But there’s no cleansing on the other side. Just pain.
Something curls around my waist. I jerk. Surely that ocean blob can’t reach this far?
It’s just a red griket with a white spot on one ear, tail snaking around me.
“Sorry, Otis. I don’t have meat for you. I won’t be hunting. You should stay with Kenz’ox and Aker’iz.”
He regards me with huge purple eyes, double snout twitching. He tightens his tail, then lets go, standing there, spiraling casually.
I wipe my face. “Suit yourself. You might not like this trip. The tour guide is a crybaby. You’re free to abandon me anytime.”
I trudge on. Otis’s company is comforting, but for his own sake, he shouldn’t come all the way. Even Kenz’ox nearly killed him on sight, and who knows how the Borok tribe will react.
Keep the sunrise in front of you,Cora said.Never ask for directions.
Well, sunrise was hours ago. But I can guess where it was—away from the ocean.
I shake out my arms, trying to regain feeling. Everything aches—my chest, my throat, my legs. The moon boots are stiff as hell, and I know exactly where they’ll chafe.
The forest presses in, shadows and thorny branches, warning me back. But I ignore it, like I ignore the sting of tears that won’t vanish.
Clusters of Plood mushrooms appear here and there. I don’t kick them over. Too many. At least they’re not everywhere.
Otis trots ahead, tail curling in lazy spirals, looking smug. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting me. Maybe he actually is. My breath hitches. I’m supposed to be the warrior, but he might be better at protecting me.
The jungle is dense, dark, alive, and stinky. Weeks of this await. And then, the Borok tribe. Dex. Maybe Callie. Maybe danger, death, more pain.
I swallow, and the air tastes of old leaves and loss.
A dry branch snaps underfoot, loud even here. Otis looks back, judging me. I roll my eyes. “Stealth isn’t my strong suit. Add it to the list.”
I lift my head and picture what’s ahead: Borok territory, strange places Cora described, every ridge and river possibly hiding death. Underneath that, another image—his face when I walked away, the hurt he tried to hide.
“Just keep the sunrise in front of you,” I mutter, choosing a direction and praying it’s right.
The forest swallows me. Otis hums, weaving between roots like he owns the place. Forward is the only direction I have.
One step. Another.
The pain doesn’t ease. But it becomes something solid to push against.
And so I go.
21
–Kenz’ox–
I go back into the Plood ship. There’s no reason for it. It’s just a small part of me that keeps hoping that maybe it didn’t happen. Maybe she’s still in here, smelling sweet, muttering to herself, and smiling when she sees me.
