Three figures dashed through a lush green forest at a frightening pace. Their surroundings were ominously quiet, lifeless, except for the sound of their footsteps. Khargosh led from the front, but it was Mannat at the tail end of the party who dictated their pace.

They completely disregarded stealth for speed, running at full sprint –at least Mannat did— until they ventured out of the land of shadows and walked into a bald patch of land with not a single sprig or sprout growing for twenty meters. The sky grew bright and blue above their heads, while the cave opposite it stood ominously dark and gloomy.

Mannat looked around as beads of sweat rolled down his face. He was breathing just fine and his heartbeat was quickly returning to normal. He had no trouble staying on his feet, which was quite a feat considering he had suffered a lot during his first hunting trip a month ago.

“Someone was here.” Mannat followed the voice and saw Pandit’s father looking at the ground. The aftermath of their fight with little butcher was a song drawn in the dirt. Every footstep and pit told a story. The shards of Pandit’s cleaver glittered among them, as did his father’s dried blood.

Among them was an extra pair of footsteps that cut straight toward the cave and back to the woods.

“Either they didn’t care about the traces or they wanted us to find them,” Pandit mumbled.

Mannat looked around but didn’t find anyone around. The cave was also empty. “Let’s just keep going. What’s the next place we are visiting?”

“Next, we will check the boundary of the woods that belongs to us,” Khargosh said, drawing Mannat’s attention.

The many villages had been in dispute over the limited forest area for a long time. The last generation had fought a bloody war to win a greater distribution for the forest. That was why the boundary was of great historic significance to them.

They went northeast from the cave and traveled over a fallen tree to cross a lively stream. Birds sang songs at their arrival. Fish jumped out of the stream to see them. A deer walked out of the forest to greet them. the deer closely watched them disappear into the forest before approaching the stream to quench its thirst.

After another hour, Mannat told them to stop.

“There is someone ahead.”

“I see him,” Khargosh said and knocked another arrow on the bow. “Come out or I’ll shoot.”

“I don’t see anything,” Pandit mumbled and squinted as if that would help him find the man, and it did!

The man was hiding in the shade of a birch tree behind a stalwart bush with red berries. Pandit wouldn’t have found the man had he not tried to him slide behind the tree for cover. Khargosh pointed the arrow right at him, and the man decided to come out of hiding on his own accord.

Two small rough hands rose in the air above the bush.

“It’s all right, friends,” The man said standing up. “Don’t shoot. I mean no harm.”

He didn’t have a bow, but a long and sharp machete hung from his waist. There was a horn hanging around his neck, a jute bag hanging from his shoulder, and a basket full of herbs on his back. Small, sunburned face, sunken eyes, and bony limbs described his appearance. He was as thin as reeds.

“Who are you?” Khargosh naturally took the lead.

Mannat and Pandit stood vigilant. Ready to act if need be.

“I’m just a humble herb collector.” The man said. “Name’s Deacon, by the way.”

“You are collecting herbs, here this deep in the forest?”

“Is there any problem?”

“You are on our side of the woods,” Khargosh said. The man named Deacon Squirm on his feet. “That means either, you don’t care for your life, you are desperate, or you are looking for trouble.”

“It’s definitely not the last one. I promise” Deacon said and pulling something out of his jacket.

“Don’t be foolish,” Khargosh warned. He pulled the arrow and Deacon quickly raised his hands back over his head.

“It’s booze,” The mad man said shaking a polished flask in his hand. He intentionally opened the lid and took a sip to make them believe. He gulped down a mouthful and exhaled in pleasure.

Mannat sensed his mana bubbling with joy.

“Would you like some? I made it from the wild berries and wheat. It’s pretty neat.” Deacon received no response and he shrugged. He put the flask back in his jacket and put his attention back on them. “So, what can I do for you?”

Khargosh didn’t know what to do with the man. They couldn’t let him leave, but neither could they take him back to the village. Mannat saw his confliction and decided to be proactive.

“Do you know the woods on the other side of the boundary?” Mannat asked, ignoring Khargosh’s grunt. Yes, he had thrown an olive branch to Deacon, which he would not let go whatever the case. Neither of them wanted trouble. Mannat had ‘sensed’ the man’s hesitation. He knew the supposed herb collector would bolt the moment Khargosh stopped testing him.

Deacon saw their little exchange and agreed whole-heartedly. “Yeah, I know the woods. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you there. Just so you know, I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do we. Do you happen to know any place where a beast might hide?”

Deacon’s eyes lit up. “I know a place where my village people are hunting today.” He explained enthusiastically. “A wild beast killed some people early morning and the villagers chased after it. They have caught it in a ditch. I can take you there if you want!”

It was his chance to make a valid exchange with the scary people, and escape back to another side of the boundary. That way, they would have no choice but to either kill him or let him go. He would be happy with the latter, and he wouldn’t let them do the former. Deacon slid one hand to his back while the three were distracted and touched the bulge on one side of his jute bag. His insurance was there. It gave him strength. He knew he was no match for proper hunters, even intermediate ones would easily take him down, but he had his ways to get out of trouble. He wouldn’t be polite if they decided to kill him.

Mannat looked at his companions and saw their hesitation.

“Do you really want to trust him?” Khargosh asked, causing Mannat to shrug his shoulders. The man was as good a bet as they had. They had searched most of the areas where little butcher could have hidden for the day but hadn’t found a hair of his fur. Khargosh might be acquainted with their side of the forest, but the other side was also unknown to him.

“His mana is the calmest I have ever sensed,” Mannat said. “In comparison, you are tense and vigilant. I think he’s happy that he met people rather than some animal. People are easier to please than animals.”

“Herb gatherers are known to be non-violent and defenseless. They usually move with a hunter to protect them against animals in the wild,” Pandit’s eyes grew wide in excitement. “I don’t know why he’s alone. At least we won’t have to endlessly roam the forest and comb every nock and cranny in search of my brother.”

It took a bit of convincing, but Khargosh agreed in the end. What choice did he have? He couldn’t let the man get out of his sight, neither take him back to the village for the corrupted elders and the bloody Sarpanch to fill their pockets. It might get the bloodsucker off their backs though.

Herb collectors, especially those who know their craft and dabble in medicine, have merchants and nobles drooling for their services. That meant connections, which would mean more trouble if they hurt him.

Fate was on Deacon's side. Khargosh could only accept Mannat’s request and act as if they were doing the right thing.

“Don’t try anything funny or no one will find you again,” Khargosh said.

Deacon shook his head. He ignored the warning and pointed at the bow. “You are the one with the bow and arrow. Whatever you say goes. I hope you won’t choose to be funny in the end and keep your end of the bargain.”

“Shall we go now?” Pandit asked when he saw sparks flying between the two adults. Eventually, Khargosh unloaded the arrow and put the bow on his back. He reluctantly accepted the request and decided to believe in the man for the time being.

The man smiled. “Let’s go then.” He said. “Don’t move around too much and follow me.”

They followed the man from a few feet of distance. Khargosh might have dropped the arrow, but he didn’t drop his vigilance. He was the adult of the pack. The kid’s security depended solely on him. It was better to stay vigilant than to stay as a corpse in the woods to be eaten by animals. The man after all was from their neighboring village, and they had a blood debt between them.

The woods looked the same no matter how deep they traveled, which was one of the reasons people get lost in them. Nature is symmetrical in its design.

Mannat knew something was up when he noticed trees in the distance with diamond-shaped glyphs carved into their trunks.

“That’s the border,” Pandit told him. “You see those marks and better turn around. It’s not safe around them.”

“Why is that?”

“There are traps in the ground and up in the trees.” Pandit had Mannat’s attention. “Don’t worry. Dad knows the ones on our side since he helped lay them, and he can find the ones on the other side.”

“I’m not worried,” Mannat said. “I’m surprised you aren’t thinking of leading me into a trap to teach me the horrors of the border or something.”

Pandit smiled embarrassedly. “It would have been nice to see you fall into a pit and make you give some promises to get you out. Not like I wasn’t thinking of doing it--”

“Concentrate on your surroundings instead.” The voice came from ahead. The two boys grinned at each other and grew silent.

Surprisingly, Khargosh didn’t have to do much. Deacon, who obviously also knew the layout of the traps, led them across the border without mishaps. The woods remained consistent on either side, but Mannat had an important question to ask Khargosh.

“How do you plan to get us back home?”

“Dirt roads connect all the villages to the main road,” Khargosh answered, and then suddenly Deacon stopped walking. He drew eyes but didn’t seem to care. The three became vigilant of their surroundings and him.

Khargosh’s ears perked and eyes focused in the distance. He didn’t see anything moving, which made his heart grow cold. He silently drew the bow from his back, and cautiously asked Deacon,

“What’s happening? Why did you stop?”

Deacon didn’t respond and Khargosh’s fear came close to becoming reality. “Get ready for an ambush,” He told the boys and calmed his heart.