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Turo fumed, pacing beneath the Kapok tree.
His fists clenched at his sides, his voice dripping with venom. “And why should I stay back like a coward? Why am I supposed to babysit a corpse?”
Nox's gaze hardened, as though seeing Turo for the first time. The Turo he knew was kind, dependable. But this—this stranger—reeked of bitterness. Or perhaps this cursed place had twisted him. “Dias is not dead,” Nox said, his voice taut.
“Yet,” Turo shot back. He paced beneath the Kapok tree, his frustration spilling out in restless strides. “Think about it. He’s lost half his body, more than half his blood. Even if we drag him back to Tuscanvalle, what are the chances he’ll survive? And even if he does—what then? What kind of life is that? Look at him, Nox! He’s deadweight, even to himself.”
Nox stepped closer, gripping Turo’s shoulder to halt his frantic pacing. “You sound…” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “…different.” He took a breath and steadied his tone. “I know the odds. I know he might not make it. But he’s one of us, Turo. How could we abandon him? Would I leave if it were you lying there instead?”
Turo's scowl deepened. “Are you saying I’m about to die, too?”
Nox groaned, rubbing his temples. "No. I didn’t mean that." A few feet away, Bhola and Khotal hovered awkwardly, shivering in their wet clothes but staying close enough to eavesdrop.
"No one’s dying tonight,” Nox snapped. “We’re all getting back to Tuscanvalle. But for that, we need a raft.” He turned to Bhola and Khotal. Finally, he barked orders. “Bhola! Khotal!”
The two flinched but shuffled closer.
“Build another raft,” Nox commanded, his voice firm. “Do it as fast as you can. I’m going to find Samora. If I’m not back by the time it’s ready, take Turo and Dias back to Tuscanvalle. Don’t wait for me. Dias needs a medic now.”
Turo scoffed, folding his arms. “You don’t have to play the martyr, Nox. And why do I have to sit here, twiddling my thumbs, while you all get to be heroes?”
Nox turned to him, his eyes flashing with frustration. “Because I don’t want to send another search party to find your corpse! You’ll stay here until the raft is ready, and that’s final. No more arguments.” He signaled Bhola and Khotal to move, ignoring Turo’s glare.
“You’re not ordering me around, Nox,” Turo growled. “I’m not a child.”
Nox stopped and turned, his patience wearing thin. “Then stop acting like one! What were you thinking, chasing Samora across the lake in the first place?”
Turo stayed silent, his jaw tightening as he tried to bury the truth. What had he been thinking when he chased Samora? He’d convinced himself it was about finally outdoing Nox—proving once and for all that he was the better man. Yet here he was, nearly drowned and humiliated, saved by Nox yet again. He huffed in irritation.
He had to do something. He couldn’t let Nox win this time. If Nox succeeded in hunting the monster-baby Samora was about to birth, the title would be his for good. Turo clenched his fists, his thoughts spiraling, but Nox cut him off before he could speak.
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“I promised Uncle Marnoell I’d bring you back unscathed,” Nox confided. “So cooperate.” He gave Turo a pointed look before turning on his heel and leaving with Bhola and Khotal.
Turo sat fuming beside Dias. A short while later, the trio returned, their arms loaded with sticks, bark, and leaves. Turo watched silently as they laid everything down, creating a crude but functional bedding. Once it was ready, they shifted Dias onto it, his unconscious body limp and unresponsive.
Without a word, they left again. When they returned, they carried thorny branches and vines, likely scavenged from nearby shrubs. They dropped their bundles with soft thuds, their movements hurried and clumsy, as though afraid to linger. This time, Nox stayed behind while Bhola and Khotal disappeared into the shadows once more.
Nox worked methodically, weaving and tying the thorny branches with the vines into a sturdy perimeter around Turo and Dias. Bhola and Khotal occasionally returned with more supplies, tossing them at Nox’s feet before retreating again. Turo watched it all, arms crossed, refusing to lift a finger.
Once the fence was complete, Nox straightened up outside the makeshift barrier. He demonstrated opening a small patch in the fence. “This will keep predators out,” he explained. “If you need to leave, open it like this. But for God’s sake, Turo, stay inside.”
Nox gestured emphatically, his frustration seeping through. “We don’t know this part of the woods, and we’re in enough trouble as it is. I don’t want to have to organize another search party for you.”
Turo didn’t respond.
Nox exhaled sharply, turning his attention to Bhola and Khotal, who lingered in the distance, their nervous glances darting between the shadows and the lake. “What are you waiting for? Get to work on the raft!” he snapped.
Bhola and Khotal glanced at each other, their faces pale, their shoulders hunched as if expecting a monster to lunge from the shadows. They muttered to themselves, eyes darting nervously.
Nox scowled. “Go on, then!” he barked.
With visible hesitation, the pair trudged toward the lake shore.
“Stick to the shore!” Nox called after them. “Don’t wander into the woods. If you get lost, we won’t find you.”
Nox turned to Turo one last time, his eyes narrowing. "Why do I feel like you’re going to cause more trouble tonight?" He rubbed his chest, as though the thought physically pained him. Shaking his head, he added, "Alright, stay here. Don’t test me. I’ll bring Samora back, and then we’re leaving." With a final nod, he disappeared into the trees.
As the darkness swallowed Nox, Turo began pacing inside the thorn fence, his agitation growing with every step. He cast a disgusted glance at Dias’s limp form. The man was deadweight—useless. A waste of effort.
Turo’s mind churned.
He needed to find Samora before Nox did. He had to hunt the cursed child first. This was his moment—the only chance to show his people, and his father, he deserved to lead. But how? Nox was already searching. And Turo was saddled with the task of guarding Dias. Could he really just leave him?
The idea struck like lightning. Dias was slipping away, anyway, his body pale and limp. Blood still seeped from his wounds, pooling beneath him. Even if the raft was finished in time, would it matter? Dias didn't seemed to be breathing anymore. He's probably dead already. Why should Turo waste precious time guarding a corpse? Why should he throw away his chance to prove himself for a man who was already as good as dead?
The thorn fence was enough. It had to be enough.
Resolved, Turo crouched by the patch in the thorn fence, his heart hammering as he slid it open. The branches creaked, thorns snagging at his clothes. He slipped through and shut it behind him, careful not to leave a trace.
While Nox had gone inland, Turo hugged the water’s edge, his steps light and deliberate. He kept his senses sharp, scanning for any sign of predators that might come to drink, even at this late hour. He knew Samora had used an oversized basket to sail here. If he could find it, he might narrow down her location.
Samora wouldn’t have gone far—injured, in labor, and weakened as she was. She had to be nearby. Quickening his pace, Turo moved along the shoreline, his eyes darting between the sand and the murky water.
The hunt was on.