Stitch.

Another stitch.

The glow of the campfire danced on my fingers, staining them with yellow but barely illuminating the tear in Asp’s side.

A cold, brisk wind came from the river. I shivered, making another stitch. With such little light from the flickering fire, I darned my snake almost blindly.

Kasamarchi was sewing by my side. His job was more difficult: making my new clothing from the skin shed by two baby crocoboats. No grammar mistake here; according to Kasamarchi, it was a single skin shed by the young of this animal. He didn’t tell me much more about this species, just that we were lucky to come upon this skin so freshly shed from its first molting which made it the softest.

Stitch.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d been transported by crimson fire to a strange shore, but the past day already seemed endless. I felt like I’d been here for a month.

My eyes were closing, my mind on the verge of a fast, deep sleep, ready to switch off.

I shook my head, raising my brows and blinking sleep away. No. I must treat Asp’s wound first.

Stitch.

Kasamarchi insisted that I fix my hairband today. “You can’t stay here unarmed. It’s too dangerous.”

Stitch.

The past day’s events rang a large bell inside my head. Flashing before my eyes came the sand…the bloody red hair…veined lilac entrails…ape heads and dusty horse hooves…Then a pair of smoking glassy wings blocking the sky, breathing cold air.

During the day, I hadn’t had any time to try to make sense of everything that happened. Now my brain started on it, taking advantage of the first break it had.

Another stitch.

We escaped the Budrahs after a brief run, vanishing into the thickets. Kasamarchi dragged me uphill by hand, away from the trampling hooves. Green leaves flashed by, low branches lashing my face. I ran as fast as I could to keep up with him, clenching my wounded snake in a fist.

When we could no longer hear our chasers, my scratchy throat reminded me just how thirsty I was.

Kasamarchi stopped, listening, then led me downhill. A few minutes later, I heard a murmur of water. Soon we reached a forest spring.

I couldn’t get enough of the cold, clean water, gulping it down and splashing it over my face. The boy waited patiently. When I had drunk my fill and was sprawled in the grass, he took a small waterskin from his belt, poured out the remnants of old water, and filled it from the spring.

He would not answer any questions about his identity or our destination. When I asked, he just said that I would see everything in my dream tonight. “By morning, you will know just as much as I do,” he promised. “Don’t spend time and strength on pointless talk.”

What dream? What the hell? His words were beyond unnerving, but I’d rather not pump this old boy for more information, fearing he’d fall completely silent and tell me nothing at all.

Deeper and deeper into the forest we went. Uphill and downhill, then uphill again, climbing another mound bristling with shaggy green shrubs. It felt like some endless, excruciating roller coaster ride…or rather a roller coaster walk.

At last, we stopped for some rest. I collapsed flat onto the grass, and Kasamarchi took something that smelled like food from a pouch on his belt: a slice of strange meat, or maybe fish, wrapped in a lettuce leaf.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He passed me the slice. I took it although I didn’t actually feel hungry. Only once I sank my teeth into the salty flesh did I realize that I was starving.

The taste was strange but damn delicious. Gobbling the slice down in no time, I looked at the boy, my eyes begging for more, and he gave me another.

“Where are we? What place is this?” I asked while chewing; I looked towards the treetops to show that I meant our immediate surroundings.

I didn’t really expect him to answer. I was happy enough as I was, with no one having tried to kill me over the past few hours. Who would have ever thought that that would be enough for me to feel great? It would never have even crossed my mind in my past life, where I used to be safe and well-provided for at all times. But now I relished not being tormented by thirst for over two hours and not having to move my aching feet up and down those damn hills for as little as ten minutes!

Perhaps the perfect harmony of that moment was the reason why Kasamarchi condescended to answer. “Crealia. The Ironsea shore. The mouth of the Lizard River.”

I gaped at Kasamarchi, struggling to believe he’d put it so clearly without his usual dreamy know-it-all stuff. In the word ‘Lizard,’ he stressed the second syllable, giving it a surprisingly comfy sound.

Maybe not everyone in this world was hostile. Kasamarchi wasn’t much of a talker, but at least he hadn’t attacked me with his dagger. I couldn’t forget the very unchildlike deftness and skill he’d used when he stabbed that Ice Hawk.

An expert slayer. He could’ve killed me before I could utter a word. But he didn’t. What does he want from me?

Hastily, I lifted my eyes to Kasamarchi and met his intent stare; he seemed to be expecting me to look up. Could he read my mind? Or was it my face that betrayed all my thoughts loud and clear?

“Let’s go.” He stood, adjusting his pouch and waterskin to their proper places, and strode uphill. I had nothing on but the falling-apart rags of my nightgown, so I just pulled it down and followed.

It was strange just how quickly I’d gotten into the habit of walking around barefoot, my feet stepping on the grass so as to have a soft layer over any invisible sticks or thorns down there. From my run through the thickets, I’d gotten only a few small scratches on my face and shoulders and a few bruises on my back and knees. I must be pretty lucky, I thought, stepping over another sharp-ended stick.

Having passed its midday climax a long time ago, the sun was now crawling down, speeding up and filling with heavy crimson blood.

Kasamarchi often glanced towards the crowns of the giant trees forming an intricate spider web high over our heads, the pink-red rays of the setting sun oozing through. We were apparently heading west, to where the sun’s sphere was sliced by sharp branches, its blazing shards raining down to the horizon.

The boy adjusted his pace, probably eager to reach our destination before dark. Soon I heard a large river, the sound followed by a cool, damp gust of air.

Fifteen minutes later, we stood on the bank of the river that could only be Lizard.

Rough water rolled over the shiny, wet stones, creating foaming rapids, the opposite bank rising high like a wall. At the rocky foot of that wall, I spotted a flat kayak, half-submerged between the wet boulders.

Kasamarchi stared in the same direction. He must’ve been going to use that boat, I guessed. Left it at this bank, but the current carried it away.

I had no idea how the boat could’ve crossed the whitewater and why it was submerged only halfway. At this point it was useless, anyway—beyond our reach, oars missing.

Casting an inquiring glance at the little old man, I saw the usual calm look on his swarthy face. He had probably hidden the oars in the nearby shrubs, and the Lizard could be shallow enough for us to cross, scoop the water out of the kayak, and row on.

But…

The river was too wild here to row upstream. If we kayaked downstream, we’d come back to the very seashore we’d left that morning. What was the point of climbing up here, then? We could just walk along the shore.

Kasamarchi did not look like a fool, so the answer to my question was most likely that we were going upstream. But how was he going to row against such a rapid current…

…when he was not even retrieving the oars from wherever he’d hidden them? Instead, he went up to the water, picked up a small stone, and hurled it across the river, hitting the kayak with a dull thud.

So you’re not as composed as you seemed at first, my dear friend. Your impassive face is just a mask. Here you are, shedding it to vent your anger on an innocent boat. As though it were alive or guilty of drowning the oars. This crazy place must’ve gotten to you.

My train of thought crashed and my jaw dropped at what I saw across the river.

The crashed kayak stirred into motion, arching its body to plunge into the water, leaving a bubbling vortex between the rocks. In a moment, a flat, wide nose cleaved the foaming whitewater closer to us, followed by a spine lined with two spiky combs. The strange animal I’d mistaken for a kayak swam to us, crossing the current at an angle. As it climbed over the shallows, I could see the short legs carrying its body.

Surmounting the last rapid, the creature darted towards us in a straight line.