The deeper into the wilds you went, the less of a friend they became. Flowers no longer looked like flowers. They grew bright—all the colors of poison—with the shape of human faces. The trees too, seemed more chiseled than grown, artificially made and yet alive… The animals were alien at best. A deer with antlers of ice, with human arms and hands for legs. Butterflies with illustrations of praying people in their wings, of churches, temples, and worshipped lands. The most eerie were the turtles, whose shells had several sculpted human faces, one for each direction, one for each expression: laughing wrinkles, twisting rage, hideous sorrow, and motionless peace. Everything smelled like ammonia. And everything made Galfarys flinch. Although it was a bit much for his companions to exile him, they were quickly beginning to see why his companions had done so. He tilted, turned, and tumbled at the tiniest tickles.

  “Gods!” he cried, whipping away at the grace of a curling bud, nipping at his leg. “There’s wolves here too! I don’t even want to see what devil spawn they are shaped from!” He had Lahahm constantly extended out, ready for battle at any moment, which was hilarious because the spear was still snoozing, utterly clueless to the fact he was being swung at any living or nonliving thing that moved.

  Maybe Knife had cast her dreams across dreamers at random, maybe she had made a mistake and that was why Galfarys’ group could not put up with him. Even so, he seemed headstrong despite his fears of pursuing Nazaki and his quest.

  Hwayoung scowled. “The only wolves there are are the ones inside your head. Keep screaming like that and you’ll attract real ones.”

  Galfarys was already swallowed up by a completely different paranoia. “I hate mosquitoes. Did you know they use your blood to fertilize their eggs? It’s disgusting. Everything here is probably laced with poison too.”

  “The only thing lacing anything with poison here is you…”

  “What was that!?” The man lurched from a fly.

  Hazahnahkah had been amused at first, but now it was just plain tiring. Had Galfarys really survived the Seasonal? It was so hard to believe seeing him alive now.

  When they crossed even the slight hint of civilization, Galfarys went sprinting into the distance. He was very fast. Hazahnahkah used his Third Terror to weaken gravity to help Hwayoung catch up to him past the clearing. Things sang around them. Spring wells, spearbird towers, and stringed bells tethered tree to tree. Stepped rice terraces carved the distant mountains into crystal patterns, shimmering like liquid staircases. Valley gales carried the smells of wet earth and toasted grain.

  Galfarys grinned, eyes shut. “I knew this was the right way.”

  “I was leading you almost that entire time.”

  “I was hiding.”

  “From what?”

  “Being in the front.” Galfarys brought one finger to his face. Surrounding his nails was a blur, a wavering distortion of everything around it as if hot warred with cold. He leaned forward. “It’s my Ramble you see—feeling safe. I create a field of safety around myself… I can sense anything touching just the edge of it, but I can’t feel anything inside it… so I was hiding behind you.”

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  “A 16 year old girl?”

  “You’re not 13?”

  “Malnutrition.”

  Hazahnahkah was just as surprised as Galfarys was, but the man had spoken with pride resounding in his chest, not shame. His Ramble was quite useful too, even by Hazahnahkah’s standards. It made sense why he used a spear.

  “Call me a coward if you want. Serpent’s breath, maybe I am. But if I had to bet—on the scared horse or the brave one—I’d bet on the one who runs.”

  Hwayoung paused suddenly. She ducked low, whispering. “There’s no children playing. No one’s out. Slavers. Fresh graves with no markings too. Maybe gangs. And do you see how large their soldiers are? They’re overfed. Corruption is rampant in these hills.” She dirtied herself up a bit, then took Hazahnahkah and made three long cuts across her skin. It was practiced and seemingly, painless for her, as if she had done this many times.

  Hazahnahkah had flinched, but the girl had not.

  She smiled. “We just fought off a tiger.”

  Now Hazahnahkah understood. She didn’t want trouble. This was her method of staving it off—and it worked. The soldiers watching over the slaves here did not give her an issue besides long stares and turned cheeks to her story… until the mercenaries came.

  “You couldn’t fight off a housecat.”

  “You’ve got some nerve. Good. Perfect for when we break your smile in.”

  “You don’t deserve one step in this village after what you’ve cost us!”

  Hwayoung was stiff with confusion until she realized these were Nazaki’s men. Their clothes and armor were different. They must have changed since being washed up here. There was a large knight with a larger hammer, with several pots hanging from his waist. Another was a woman, a long snake with a pendant coiled around her body. Then there was a young man, who was very out of place, covered in luxurious clothes that had been dragged through swamp, trash, and just about every kind of debris imaginable. It seemed to Hazahnahkah it was only the most bizarre and strange of Nazaki’s company that had survived.

  Galfarys did not draw Lahahm. He merely raised his chin, as if to speak a king’s decree. “I don’t know what to tell you. You know my Ramble. The fact that I’ve returned means there’s no other place to go.”

  “Then even better reason we kill you!” The knight growled, brandishing his hammer. “You told us the Seasonal was safe—!”

  “Until its final outburst, which is the only way we can get here. Sir Dalagun, did you listen to the dreams Hazahnahkah gave you at all?”

  Sir Dalagun stepped forward, hammer midswing.

  “Stop!” the young man cried, holding out his hand. “We can’t afford any more losses! Our search for the one true Hazahnahkah has broken apart very fast, whether by purpose, beast, or famine. We need aid! Galfarys has brought us another who also seeks Hazahnahkah’s chosen, Nazaki! Hwayoung, surely you should join us.”

  Hwayoung simply stared at him. “How do you know my name?”

  “My dreams told me.”

  “Of course they did…”

  “Apologies,” the young man continued, smearing his filthy hand on his even filthier coattails. “My dreams have told me your name, but your dreams have not told you mine. I don’t go by my real name. You can call me Zaz. I think we can help each other, Hwayoung. I know you wish to stop Nazaki, and that I wish to help him, but together we need to find him first. Perhaps we all place our differences aside until then?”

  Hwayoung shook his hand. “Fair deal—”

  It happened so fast. Sir Dalagun’s hammer struck the earth with a thud like falling timber, sending dust curling around the body he had just dropped. Hazahnahkah did not need to read Hwayoung to know what she felt, for he too felt it. They were horrified, in disbelief, breathless. Most of all, they were confused. Zaz—who had instantly died from the strike—lay twisted in the dirt, neck broken before he even knew there’d been a fight.