The wind, the swirling breeze of diamond blew,
A Razor powder set to blinding
in Ruby Tears.
Blinding with vision of things shouldn’t be seen,
Shouldn’t be known,
Shouldn’t be told.
And wisdom never sold.
But once. Bloody once but never Twice,
Lest we all need Forget and start over again.

--Tomes of the Touched

“A peculiar scent on the winds.” Edlmir scrunched his nose, and if he’d raised his lip, he would’ve looked as a stud smelling for a mare in season.

Imagining the bastard as a horse brought a grin to Rinold’s face, but he’d noticed the odor a wick before. It wasn’t the first time that the breeze carried a hint of basil and urine; some sort of flower he guessed. If it wasn’t a flower, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the hells it was.

But the forest was full of smells, and most he tracked to wet and decay. Every piece of low ground collected water from the damned-near daily rains, pools of stench covered in green muck, and how often a rack of skin-scattered ribs sat by these bogs proved you didn’t want to drink the water even if it was potable. No one in their party had seen anything living in these still waters, but they avoided them at every step, as if they might lead to one of the Twelve Hells.

Rinold rubbed the scent from his nose, glancing high into the trees. The canopy here was thick with leaves big as a man… Hells, he swore some of them could blanket a horse. A few might make sails on a small boat. Flowers, hundreds of flowers big enough to swallow his face, and colored after every hue of the rainbow, dangled in clusters from the thigh-thick branches. The trunks of the trees here wore a scaled armor-bark, the plates bigger than his hands and offering grips to climb high with ease.

They were three weeks in the woods and deeper south than they’d traveled before. Most times they entered the forest to find meat and fruit, but those forays proved easy; food in these wilds was abundant, and this fact drew more and more Silone over the Roemhien Pass. No, this time Edlmir talked him into exploring south. Puxele had given him the demon’s eye at the notion of his leaving, but after a couple of days, it was all he could do to keep her from joining them.

The big promise? He’d be back before their child was born. Only three months along, it was a vow easy to keep so long as he stayed alive. The other promise, to name a river after her. He figured this promise could be tricky, some muddy stream wasn’t going to suffice.

Uncertain of what to make of the smell, he focused his ears. If getting used to all the reeks of the jungle confused his senses, after a lifetime in cold mountains, the constant buzz and call of life put the shivers to his skin. Bugs, birds, bog-deer, frogs, lizards, lemurs, squirrels, and monkeys swinging from trees or hanging from their tails, every damned one and a hundred more critters filled the universe with a constant clamor that grated his nerves. What worried him more were the things you wouldn’t hear until their fangs tasted your flesh; these prowling cats or snakes they’d seen and avoided, but there were rumors of fouler beasts. Hells, more than rumor, one pile of shit they found was bigger than a Choerkin.

He grinned. I’ll have to use that on Ratsmasher next time I see him.

They followed a river the party named the Swimming Monkey, after coming across a family of the hairy critters taking a bath, and it traveled with steady southwestern crooks. It started as little more than a stream, though every rain drove it wider and swifter, but by now more than a dozen similar streams had joined into a twenty-stride flow deep enough they’d need to swim to cross.

A tree and grass covered hillock rose before them, and the river cut a sharp channel with rocky cliffs maybe three poles high on their side. Skirting the bank low looked a tricky proposition with steep, water-worn rock for footing.

Edlmir clucked as he stared. “We could swim across.”

“If I can’t see bottom, I ain’t sticking my toes in it, let alone swim.”

Kurin slipped to their side. “You smelled that?”

Rinold turned to the Kingdomer, a Wayfinder who Puxele had insisted join them. She was a stout woman at a similar height to his own, and no doubt she outweighed him. If not straight out, then the magnetic stones she carried in her pack tipped her over the edge. “Aye, smelled it. Not for the first time.”

“Not a smell I’ve met before yesterday, and I thought it belonged to a flowering bush. Today, a tree smelled that way.”

“In this wet hell, I’m betting some sort of mold or fungus.” The woman snorted, and Rinold trusted her instincts: She didn’t think him right. “What the hells you think it is, then?”

“Just like it smells; we’re in something’s territory.”

“Piss marks?” Not once had he smelled the mark of an animal without kneeling to catch a trail. “That there’s some pungent pee, if yer right.”

“Or a lot of it. I’d be curious to see what made the marks.”

Edlmir huffed a curt chuckle. “Not me, no ma’am. Critters who mark tend to be critters who ain’t so worried about being eaten.”

“Likely as not it’s one of the big cats.” Rinold’s eye twitched, and he pursed his lips. There was a reason half the men carried spears and pikes and the other half longbows; sword and ax range meant you were headed for dead against the monsters stories spoke of. “But I’m thinking my man here has a point. Let’s keep moving.”

They scratched and hauled themselves up the steep hill and gave the world a good look while catching their breath and resting their muscles. The river moseyed on south-southwest, and amid the deep greens and browns of the forest, a stone outcropping rose above the canopy in the distance; it stood overgrown by patches of vines and small trees.

Kurin stared at the distant hill as Rinold had seen her do to a multitude of landmarks over the past several months. He didn’t understand what she was doing, to the detail, but once the woman had an eyeball on a location and made its mental map, she was sure as Puxele’s arrow to find her target. She pulled a folded parchment from her pack, scribbled marks and a quick note.

Rinold turned his eyes back to the jutting hill and the creeping green up its rocky sides. He squinted, eye giving a twitch as he surveilled a squared corner of rock. “That ain’t no mountain, it’s a structure of some sorts. Look at how that yonder crag squares so neat.”

“Hefmulu telû. I believe your eyes true.”

The smile on her face caught his attention as much as the rock. “What the hells is it?”

“I don’t know. Kingdomer explorers have called them Yudulê Omu, green mountains, because the forest has overgrown them. Pyramids… Maybe temples, shrines, signal towers, and some claim they have secret entrances. People who built them are dead and gone. Most have more ruins around.”

Rinold stood accustomed to ancient places buried in snow… or sitting in a steaming bowl with some babbling pile of bones ready to spew riddles. What were the odds of there being a second Touched? “What do people find at these places?”

“Often nothing, nothing no one admits to anyhow. Rumors abound, as you’d imagine.”

“Treasure.” He laughed. “I ain’t never heard of ruins that someone didn’t claim held a treasure. Sometimes they aren’t a lie.” Puxele’s ring came to mind, though it’d been a gift.

“Perhaps our peoples aren’t so different.”

Edlmir grinned. “After I heard treasure, I stopped listening. What’re we waiting for?”

Rinold sucked his teeth. “That’s a stretch from the banks of the river, I figure. But it ain’t like we can get toolost with the Dragonspans covering the north, even if, gods forbid, we lost our Wayfinder.”

Kurin grinned. “If I’m lost, you’re all dead.”

Every Wayfinder he’d met lacked humility, but at least Kurin tempered her cocky with a hint of smile.

They descended steady but slow, clinging to vines and slippery rocks until reaching bottom. The ground squished beneath their feet, sucking at their boots until they reached an animal trail; fresh Srôbu boar tracks marked the turf, biggest godsdamned pigs Rinold’d ever seen. An adult sow Puxele dropped over a year before weighed three hundred bricks and fed several families through a tough stretch. If a sounder of the beasts carried a charge their way, every soul here would be scrambling for a tree. 

Kurin took the lead with a nod and Rinold slipped in a few steps behind her. It was in his nature to be out front when exploring or hunting, but the Kingdomer’s skills made his considerable directional wits fall behind without complaint. 

He glanced into the trees, to Kurin’s back… back to a tree limb. He stopped in his tracks, warriors behind stumbling to a stop. The eyes of a gigantic eagle stared at him from beneath two tufts of feathers rising from its head, like some demon with blunted horns. White chested, dark gray wings and head, and a black band around its neck, the creature’s hooked talons were as long as his fingers, and it was at least four feet tall; but it was the calm, intelligent gaze that transfixed him.

“What the hells you call that thing, and does it eat people?”

Kurin strode back to him for a better view. “Ah! Griffon Eagle is the easiest translation. Legends say they served the Griffon Lords during the Age of God Wars. No one’s ever seen one take more than a child. So, if you consider children people…” She shrugged.

Rinold stared; it stared. “Beautiful and disturbing. Let’s keep a movin’, shall we?”

Kurin led them into a dense thicket following the trail, and most of the men bent beneath the low ceiling to avoid thorns. Sometimes, short was useful. “Who were these Griffon Lords?”

“No one knows. The Cliffs of Knowledge mention them but give scant details. Some people believe they were men who rode on the backs of griffons, others believe they were actual griffons. Some hold that these lords spoke human tongues.”

Rinold pondered before taking a drink from his canteen. “That eagle looked like it had smarts, wouldn’t have shocked me a bit if it spoke.” Not after the Colok reeducated his expectations.

Kurin chortled as she swept branches from her face. “No one I know has ever heard of a griffon speaking to men, but plenty of Kingdomers have died trying to tame one, to become a Griffon Lord. Stealing eggs… most die right there.” She laughed. 

Lion-eagles bigger than a horse… Griffons. Half of Rinold’s brain craved seeing one, the other half dreaded the notion of seeing one too close. “I heard you Kingdomers hunt griffons.”

“Mmm, only when needs be, to save our herds, or a wounded griffon feeds on a villager. And then, more often we convince them to leave the region instead of killing them. Their feathers are a more formidable armor than you might imagine, killing one tends to cost Kingdomer lives.”

“But you esteem their feathers.”

“We esteem their lives! They are a holy animal. It is said that a soul who stares into the eyes of the griffon and lives has been judged pure by the Foundationals. The gods judge many souls impure every year.”

Rinold’s eye twitched as he squinted. “You mean people go to look one in the eye?”

“Sotodu Emûel.The Pilgrimage of the Eyrie.”

“No offense, but that’s plum crazy.”

Kurin laughed. “I’m not so ignorant as to consider myself pure, nor so bold to consider myself so lucky. I’ve seen them in the skies from way below, this is close enough. Tssht!”

She raised her hand and crouched, and Rinold dipped a knee beside her. “What?”

She shook her head, eyes plying the woods from ground to canopy.

A griffon eagle lit in a nearby tree, the branch bending and swaying with its weight. Its eyes, he swore the damned thing stared at him alone.

Kurin stood, her breaths easier, but her eyes still scanned the trees. “We seem to have a friend. I’ve never seen one follow a party.”

“Griffon Lords keeping an eye on us?” He tried to grin.

“More likely it hopes we stir up some game… Or, it’s telling us to shut up and pay attention to the surrounding forest.”

They spoke less and stopped more often to take in their surroundings afterward, and damned if the bird didn’t follow them. Rinold considered they might be near its nest, but after a couple horizons, his theory no longer made sense. By afternoon, he’d named the eagle Hirk. He hadn’t thought of Hirk in years, a dog that had adopted the Wolverine and followed his wardens around for a long stretch. The goofy thing wouldn’t come so close as to take food from a hand, but the hells if it would leave even if you threw rocks at it. One day, after two years, Hirk disappeared, and every man who’d made fun of the animal murmured prayers for the beast.

The sun cast long evening shadows by the time their winding trail brought them to the base of the Green Mountain. Overgrown by vines and bushes growing from its ancient cracks, the pyramid’s base was maybe two hundred and fifty strides across, and it rose at an easy one hundred strides, standing well above the mighty trees. Massive stones twice his height stood pieced together in steps toward the summit, and from their vantage, it wasn’t an easy climb. A stone-covered road, overgrown by grass, weeds, and lichen, spanned the side of the structure and split into the forest in paths marked by a lack of huge trees. No doubt a careful search would yield the remains of other buildings.

They struck camp at the pyramid’s feet and scratched together a meal of dried fish, while Hirk watched from the bare-branched heights of a dead tree, tearing meat with its massive beak; the bird’s meal was fresher than theirs, and furry. Rinold suspected it some type of monkey.

Kurin eased in beside him. “Our friend joined in our meal.”

Edlmir plopped to the ground. “That godsdamned bird gives me the jitters. Anythin’ eats a monkey might as like eat a man.”

“Some Kingdomers eat monkey.”

Edlmir chortled. “Remind me to keep an eye on you.”

Rinold puffed. “I figure we’re better off with its belly full.”

“True enough.” Kurin turned her nose to a breeze drifting in from the east. “Smell that?”

He didn’t until she asked, then the odor was obvious: basil and urine, but it was faint. “Aye. Hey, Hirk? How about you let us know what the hells pisses that smell?”

The eagle’s gaze locked with his, and he imagined if it were a griffon it’d be judging him and on its way to killing him, but instead Hirk dipped its head for a rip of monkey.

“Our friend is a quiet sort.”

Rinold grinned. “Aye.” He leaned against the cool stone of the pyramid; it felt good to have something solid at his back. “We’ll stay here the night, up a couple tiers to get us off the ground. Come mornin’, we’ll see if our friend shows us where the treasure hides.”

Edlmir grinned. “If the bird does that, I’ll forgive his demon’s gaze.”

***

Rinold awoke with an uncomfortable twist in his gut, but no memory of a dream to explain his unease. In the east, the sun brought a faint glow over the canopy of monstrous leaves and the swooping swarms of flittering birds ducking and diving into their shadows.

He sat up slow, planting his hands to the stone of the fourth tier of the pyramid where they’d slept. His eyes flicked to the four sentries to make sure all was well. Two sat high above, and the two below stood with spears in hand, one stretching his arms. Quiet. Normal.

It did nothing to unbind the knots.

Edlmir stirred a couple feet away, and Kurin stepped to his side, bright-eyed as ever. “Ready to explore this Green Mountain?”

The morning glow spread in the east, scattered clouds drifting into oranges and yellows; the deep green leaves of the jungle glistened with dew, still on a windless morning. “No. Something’s watching us. 

Edlmir huffed. “So much for taking a piss… Sure it ain’t your feathered pal?”

“Hirk wasn’t no shy bird.”

Kurin said, “I haven’t seen nothing, and I’ve been awake a candle.”

“I know it by the twitch of my eye, but I don’t see a damned thing. Wake everyone but keep ‘em quiet. Anyone needs to piss or shit, they stay on the pyramid. And watch them godsdamned woods.”

Edlmir slipped away, shaking men from their sleep.

Kurin squinted at Rinold. “You’re certain? I don’t miss much.”

“If I were certain I’d put an arrow in it.”

“Only one?”

The notion of more than one set of eyes hadn’t crossed his mind. “I think so.” His eyes swung back to a stretch of woods straight beneath the rising sun and he cupped his ears. Vines, bushes, massive tree trunks, a thousand places for critters to hide, but not a sound carried from the area. He pointed. “You hear that? We’ve got noise from all around… birds up high, bugs godsdamned everywhere, but not there.”

The Wayfinder squinted. “You’re right… See that line of vines and bushes further out? Could be the remains of a wall.”

It took a flicker to discern what she looked at. “Could be.”

“Want me to take a look?”

The woman could disappear in the forest with her outfit of rags and sticks, but animals weren’t men and used senses other than sight to hunt. “Not so sure it’d be wise.”

“So, what dowe do?”

Rinold glanced around and raised his voice. “Everyone at the ready. Keep your eye out for any movement.” He slipped his bow from its harness and nocked an arrow, taking aim… hells, he didn’t have a target. He picked a spot between two trees and loosed. The arrow sailed into the gap and disappeared into the underbrush, whipping a few branches, but nothing else gave a twitch.

“Where the hells are you?” He took aim at a tree and loosed a second arrow. It struck and protruded from the trunk, but he’d figured on hearing a little something even from this distance. The longer he stared… “Something ain’t right.” The arrow shifted in height from the ground, then lowered. Difficult to see from this range, and it made no sense. Unless… “Breathing. The arrow hit something breathing.”

Edlmir took a knee beside him. “I see it. Trees here breathe?”

Rinold turned to Kurin.

“They say there’re man eating plants deeper south in the Summer Jungles, but never have I heard of a tree with lungs.”

Hoemulus, a hunter from Emudar who knelt thirty paces down the pyramid, said, “It didn’t hit the godsdamned tree.”

“What the hells’re you talking about?” Plain as the scar on his face, the arrow stuck in the tree’s trunk.

“It just ain’t, come take a look.”

Rinold jumped to his feet and trotted to the man’s position with Kurin and Edlmir on his heels; he kneeled, eyes pinned on the arrow. The fletching rose and fell as before, but the angle of view… the tree shifted, or rather, the tree wasn’t where it seemed to be. “It’s like the godsdamned thing is stuck in a wall of clear water, and we’re seeing the tree through it.”

Edlmir huffed. “Some kind of Water te-xe?Like that frozen one you met in the Treaty Lands?”

Kurin answered for him. “Te-xe are tiny, even the most powerful are maybe the size of a hare.”

Revelation struck, and Rinold stood with his eyes trained on the arrow. “We aren’t seeing through the creature…” He looked to Kurin. “That lizard you showed me, one that changed colors? They matched whatever they stood beside.”

“Chameleon?” Her eyes darted back and forth in thought. “If you’re right, whatever this creature is… the way it blends is beyond anything one of those lizards can do. The way the real tree blends with the false trunk… how would anything do that?”

Rinold could read the woman’s mind because he too wondered if it wasn’t some trick they might be able to mimic. “The how don’t matter much… It’s the why. Does it hide to stay safe or is the camouflage a predator’s trick?” 

Emldir said, “The beast slunk to the edge of our camp in the middle of the night and took a nap? No, I’d wager it rested in wait for us to awake.”

“Which means it’s got the smarts to recognize guards at the watch… or it can’t climb.”

Kurin said, “Now I know what I’m staring at, I think I spot ripples, distortions… if I’m right the damned thing is huge. Thirty paces, maybe more. Stealth hunters tend to be slow overall, but quick in a tight space, like the head of a snapping turtle. Might be we could just walk over the pyramid and stroll away.”

“Gather the gear, but we’re here, so we might as well see what can be seen before headin’ on. Constant watch on whatever the hells that thing is.”

Rinold put a dozen sets of eyes on the creature as the rest of them poked around the giant blocks of stone. While Edlmir oversaw the guards, others lifted and pulled each other up the tiers of stone. Rinold and Kurin took a stroll east. Neither of them was tall enough to enjoy the idea of climbing the escarpments.

Rinold’s eyes flicked back and forth from the woods and the seams between stones. “You think there’re passages in this place?”

“I do, but from what I’ve heard the entries are in the surrounding area. But rumor speaks to hidden contraptions and levers as well.”

They rounded the northeast corner, and the eastern side looked as a mirror to the north, but when they reached the southern side, Rinold grabbed his ribs and laughed; built in stairs led from the forest floor to the peak of this man-made mountain. Rinold hit the steps at a jog. “Won’t they piss when they reach the top and we’re there?”

They didn’t piss, but a couple of them did moan. He didn’t pay attention to a wit of their grumbling banter; the overlook of the forest was beautiful, a sea of green with colorful birds and butterflies rising and falling into its still waves. They stood on an island without another sight of land; to the north even the Dragonspan Mountains had sunk from view. He turned southwest, guessing where the river might flow, and his mouth opened to ask how far these forests stretched, but he didn’t utter a single word.

“It’s moving!”

He spun. “Which way?” But when he looked, he didn’t need an answer. A wrinkling distortion shifted southeast at the edge of the forest, crushing shrubs and grasses under its invisible weight. Forty paces long if a hair. “Heavens have mercy. Run west! There’re stairs on the south!”

Kurin grabbed his shoulder. “It’s turning into the trees.”

His eyes followed the beast into the woods, its path winding between trees, before turning onto an ancient, bramble-covered road and came their way. He whipped his bow from his back and nocked an arrow. “Nock ‘em! This thing ain’t lettin’ us leave!” Its trail wasn’t silent now, as small trees cracked and ground beneath its weight. “At the head! Loose!”

He held his string tight as bows thrummed around him. Twenty paces in front of the base of the pyramid the arrows struck; they skipped and tumbled from the target.

Kurin muttered beside him, “Sheketu.”

Moments later the world quivered under their feet as the creature rammed the lowest tier, and for a split flicker a great slitted eye appeared, rising straight and falling. Serpent. Rinold twitched his fingers, and the arrow flew true, but the eye disappeared, and his arrow ricocheted into the grass. He squinted, trying to track the distortion; the thing fell back from the third tier but slithered east along the second.

His breaths rushed, eyes flicking back and forth. That thing reaches the stairs…“West! Down now! Hit the trees and scatter, get across that damned river and we’ll meet up on the other side!” He tugged Kurin into motion and jumped down, staggered several steps and jumped again. His knees weren’t as young as they used to be and they ached by the third landing, but it was better than whatever that godsdamned snake had in mind for him.

He slumped to a knee on reaching the turf, catching his breath as others raced past and into the forest.

“Move!” Kurin kicked him in the ass and he lumbered back to his feet; it took a dozen strides for his legs to stiffen from the limp leather the descent had turned them into, but once in stride confidence returned and he glanced back.

It wasn’t hiding no more. Smaller trees bent and brambles cracked before the monstrous serpent, its head covered in plates of lustrous-green scale that rose as horns above its eyes. “Split apart!” Men running nearby veered, but Rinold kept a straight line, hoping it’d follow him. So far, success. He glanced to Kurin by his side. “Get out of here!”

But she held firm by his side, and he didn’t have the breath to argue.

They tumbled as the world fell away and his bow fell from his hand as he bounced and skidded on his belly and chest down a slime covered hill, his nose stopping so close to a stream’s edge he could see his muddied reflection. Streams lead to rivers. He bound to his feet and glanced back. Kurin rose slow, covered in green ick, and trotted his way. Brush crashed from above, and they ran; no time to go back and search for his bow.

The creek was no wider than a pole, and as soon as they reached a rushing narrow they leaped to the westward side. He held no hope the gurgling brook would stop this thing but slowing it a flicker would be nice. He caught his stride and a second wind; he could damn near run all day like this. Hells, this was drinking sweet wine compared to running out of the Crack of Burdenis. Then, he realized the serpent’s armored head was damned near straight across from them, racing them southwest.

“Hells!”

Kurin nodded but didn’t waste her breath on a word. He glanced at the beast, the creek, and the path ahead. 

“Water and its channel are wide as this beast… it’ll struggle to cross moving parallel or it would’ve already.”

“Wonderful.”

There was no missing the sarcasm, but he lacked the breath to laugh as they ducked branches and leaped over a streamlet that fed the creek. His boots sucked the mud on the opposite bank, and he stumbled, fingers sticking into grass-twined muck, and he prayed he didn’t leave his boots behind as he lunged forward.

He kept his boots and straightened to catch his stride. “The river!” A murky green flow appeared ahead.

“Who’s to say... this damn thing... don’t swim... fast as it slithers?”

It wasn’t the first time Rinold took to disliking logic. The current of the river ahead would take them right past their scaled friend’s mouth, but the creek they ran beside widened ahead, and its cut in the forest floor deepened. Let’s see what this bastard can do. “Follow me.”

He cut northeast, winding his way around the base of a felled tree larger than a ship could handle for a mast, looking for a tree near the river’s bank, a tree whose heights might help starve this critter. Four poles high and bigger around than a Colok’s chest, it was larger than he’d seen this thing knock over, and it bore branches low enough to grip; a nut tree of some sort. He glanced back; the serpent had squared itself to the stream bed and was barreling toward them to make its crossing. Thank the heavens this damned thing didn’t turn its corners like a regular snake. “Climb!”

Rinold leaped for the lowest branch, caught, and swung his legs up and over, showing why he’d earned his nickname long before the Wolverine came around. Kurin stuttered her leap and slipped, fingers unable to even tickle the branch’s bark.

He wrapped his legs and reached his arm to her hand, pulling her up as her feet scrambled against the bark for a toe hold, and together they sat breathing heavy.

The serpent rose through the air and hit the near side of the stream bank; dirt and debris scattered into the air with impact, and its horns wobbled above its brow.

“Mercies be. Climb!”

Branches clung to his clothes and ripped at his skin as they shimmied higher, not bothering to look down to see what he knew was coming. They were twenty feet high and rising when the tree shook as if struck by a runaway boulder in a landslide. Branches waved and his foot slipped, leaving him dangling as nuts clattered from above to dance on his head and shoulders. He closed his eyes and bellowed, bleeding hands slipping as tired arms hauled him high enough to catch a heel over a nearby branch. 

Kurin snagged the nape of his shirt, and with her as a steadying guide he managed to a seat. He hugged the tree and laughed. “Take that, you godsdamned snake!”

Kurin giggled, but after she caught her breath, she said, “My people have a saying... never taunt the Traitor.”

Rinold snorted. “This thing ain’t a climber... it didn’t even like the pyramid. In a couple candles this bastard’ll give up like a bear circling a bee’s nest it can’t reach.”

Circle it did, surrounding the tree’s trunk, the edge of its body slipping into the river’s current. Rinold marveled at the creature’s tenacity. “Stubborn prick.” And stiff as a board compared to most snakes, no way it could wind itself around a tree this size. But after making its loop, it stared up at them, slitted black eyes unblinking, tongue tasting the air. Its head tilted to give them a better look. 

“Can’t even raise yer head like a snake, can you? Ha!” He plucked a nut from the tree and winged it, beaning the serpent between two nostrils the size of his forearm. “Next one goes right up your nose! You bring any whiskey, we got time ta kill.”

Kurin snorted, then pointed as her eyes widened. “Fifth Earl, what’s it doing?”

Scales shifted at the things side and its head rose a couple feet from the ground as it slithered toward the trunk. The giant nose kicked up as it eased into the base of the tree, and scales further down the body shifted, lifting? Branches shattered and fell from the creeping head’s path. The good news was it moved slow as molasses.

“Son of a godsdamned whoreson.” It wasn’t often he borrowed the Wolverine’s curses, but this moment was worthy. He rose to stand on his branch and shimmied around the tree. “Back to my first notion. It’s time for a bath.” He reached the tree’s riverside and walked out on a branch, his hands guided by twigs and leaves to help guide his balance.

“Are you crazy?”

He glanced back; her tone was incredulous, but it didn’t slow down her following him. “Wait there until the branch steadies... if the thing follows me, stay here. It keeps coming for you... well, you better get crazy.”

She nodded. “Good luck.”

The golden-green snout cracked branches beneath them, and he took three breaths to steady his nerves. “I don’t know what damned god to pray to for this one. If I make it so far as the river, at least no one will realize I pissed my britches.” He turned and winked, then let go of his handholds. Two strides then three before the heavy branch bucked beneath his weight, and he sprang. Twigs and leaves slapped his face, and he bellowed; he was going to land right on the damned thing. He threw his legs forward and ricocheted off the serpent’s back, somersaulted sideways into the river before he could think to hold his breath.

He sputtered, gasped, and flailed, transitioning from murky blindness to blinding sun, and let fly a stream of water that left an oily coat on his tongue. Soon as he knew he wasn’t drowning, he struck his arms forward and swam with the current. Ten strokes then twenty before he looked back; the good news and bad were the same; the serpent lowered from the tree and was coming after him.

He settled into the swimming rhythm and his brain was brash enough to think maybe this was better than running, considering his knees and all the running before.

The currents in the middle of the river changed his mind; moving fast with an occasional twist and curl that threatened to turn him around or dunk him for good. He glanced back in time to see the serpent’s head set in a halo of watery splash as it collided with the river.

Damn Kurin for being right about the swimming thing.

No time to piss and moan, he stroked faster, angling the best he could upriver in the hopes of not getting carried past an outcropping ahead, and as he grew closer, he realized there were cliffs beyond. Shits!Those cliffs were death; no way he’d climb his way from the waters before being eaten. He kicked his tired legs and drove himself on, spitting vile water that sloshed his mouth after damned near every breath.

His shoulders ached, and he didn’t dare look back; all his focus was on slime covered rocks ahead.

Stroke. Breathe. Stroke.

His hand struck algae and stone and he lowered his legs, knees clunking the river bottom. He scrambled toward the outcropping; he was going to make it. He hollered and laughed. “Hells yes!” And in flickers he stood atop a dry boulder, a half-drowned squirrel but very alive.

He turned and whooped, watching the currents carry the serpent past him and into the steep walled cliffs beyond. He flicked his nose at the beast and pointed. “Goodbye, snakey! Best of luck next time!”

The crack of a twig from behind ended his laughter. No way taht’s Kurin so soon... “Hirk? That you?” He turned, his eye spasming in twitches. A dozen men and women stalked his way, their armor fashioned from strips of wood to cover their chests, but other than that, they were damned near naked. Ruddy skin and black haired, the eyes of every one was a hue of topaz. Human, but not what he was used to. And every damned one of them pointed an arrow at him with bows as long as Rinold was tall.

Kurin was right again: Never taunt the Traitor. His shoulders relaxed and his head slumped as he raised his hands and smiled with a mutter beneath his breath. “Gotta be shittin’ me.”