Gilded Serpents

Chapter Twenty-Four: In the Fields

The makeshift shelter was far less comfortable than what I had grown used to. With Lumo, the magicked tents held padded bedrolls, down pillows, with cots propped off of the rocky ground, I had been spoiled. Here, with Ciro, the accommodations were much less hospitable. We had set up a sordid camp which included our bedrolls and a large, earth-toned canvas tarp propped up with a few crooked sticks. Ciro explained that it would provide cover, camouflaging us from any unsavory characters who might come our way. With no tree cover nearby, we laid down in the tallest grass we could find.

We had a light meal under the low tarp ceiling, consisting of fish-jerky and dried fruits that Ciro had packed. While we ate, we carefully created as many wards as we could manage, using whatever loose branch and thick grass we could find until the light grew too dim for us to continue. Ciro refused to start a fire for light, as the smoke would give away our position. The closer we got to the front-lines, the more dangerous, and he did not want to take any chances.

As I finally lay down, head heavy on the makeshift grass pillow, I felt just how sore I really was. Although the distance between Ciro's home on the shore and our destination would be swift under any other circumstance, we had to weave our path back and forth, hiding any trace or trail, as we made our way southeast. Thankfully, by Ciro's estimation, we would be there sometime in early light.

Ciro had fashioned our makeshift ceiling even lower as we both readied ourselves for the night ahead, in hopes that the low cover between the grass could keep us better hidden. Although Ciro assured me that he would stay awake for as long as he could manage, only a few moments passed before the slow and quiet snores came from the bedroll beside me. I turned, seeing his eyes closed, hand still wrapped tightly around his halberd, forever at the ready.

I turned back, settling into the cool grass beneath my head. The tall reeds around us made a gentle whoosh as they swayed with the breeze. Every so often, the wind would pick up, just a little, causing the canvas above to make an odd warbling noise, shocking me awake every time I felt close to sleep.

With another frustrated turn, I switched from my back to my side, facing the dark grass, swiping it away as the wind blew tiny strands into my face. As soon as I seemed to fade into sleep, something would jar me awake yet again. Exhausted, I let my eyes drift, staring into the swaying grass beside me, feeling them grow heavy as they tried to make shapes in the darkness. The wind seemed to rock me, as I fell into beat with its steady waves, swirling through the grass and under the low canvas cover.

My heavy eyes spotted something small, a tiny shadow, weaving between the long stalks in practiced jumps. Perhaps a field mouse? It was hard to make out in the dark, and I was far too exhausted to focus on it for very long. My steady blinks grew slower and slower, watching the small shadow dance, back and forth between the weeds. It danced closer and closer, a quick left, then quick right, but perhaps my tired eyes were just playing tricks on me.

My eyes finally closed, surrendering into the dark once more. Finally.

It was then that I felt another blade of grass tickle my nose. I gave a frustrated sigh and swatted it away absently. Then it happened again. I groaned in frustration, opening my eyes, to find, in my horror, that it was not a blade of grass, but a finger that had been touching my face.

Only a breath away from me was an odd, smiling face. Even in the dark, I could see blackened eyes, with soot-colored veins trailing over youthful yet sullen features. Bright red hair beamed even in the dark of the canvas in a shaggy mop around his face.

There was part of me that still thought I might be dreaming, a mere night terror to accompany the stress of the sleepless evening. But all of my hopes were swiftly destroyed as the face spoke.