Beguile

Chapter 72

"What do you mean by there's no food?" I questioned, my brows furrowing in confusion.

Crybaby and Thief had join us.

While Crybaby is making sure things are fine with her eyes twinkling with genuinity, Thief's screams different.

He was checking if I had already killed his friends. No. Rather, he was waiting for me to kill them so he could confirm his speculations.

"Well, there are a few scraps left but it's hardly enough to sustain us for two days." Crybaby said, her tone carrying a weary acceptance. "And the river is with corpses, there are no fruits to be found, nor animals to hunt. It's like the forest has turned against us." With a heavy sigh, she stooped to gather small branches of wood scattered among the underbrush, her movements deliberate yet effortless.

Her hands, though thin and unassuming, moved with a precision and speed. With each deft motion, she plucked twigs and branches from the forest floor, her fingers dancing over the rough bark with practiced ease.

If this is the real world, just in the blink of an eye, she could steal the very breath from someone's lungs, leaving them gasping for air.

"Maybe there are alternative solutions that aren't considered yet." I started. Realizing that they could only have coins for the shop if they had a worthy feat.

But what can thieves even do here?

"But where do we even begin? We've scoured the area for food and resources, and yet we come up empty-handed every time," the girl who had slapped Eyepatch complained, her frustration palpable as she attempted to fashion a makeshift mohawk.

My lips curved into a knowing smile as my words dripped with false hope."Well, while the river may be contaminated, there could still be edible plants or roots along its banks that we haven't explored."

It was a lie, of course.

The river was teeming with poisonous plants, a deadly trap waiting to ensnare those foolish enough to fall for its facade.

But not like mere thieves know any difference.

They may distinguish between gold and bronze, but when it comes to plants, they're as clueless as the day they were born.

Silence hung heavy in the air as the other thieves exchanged uncertain glances. Some shifted uncomfortably, their expressions betraying a flicker of doubt, while others nodded hesitantly, swayed by the allure of potential sustenance.

Unexpectedly, Thief spoke up, his voice hesitant but tinged with cautious optimism. "It's worth a shot," he conceded, his words echoing with uncertainty. "We've exhausted our other options, and we can't afford to be picky at this point."

A surge of satisfaction washed over me.

I couldn't imagine Thief to be the one to concede.

"But wouldn't that be, like, a real challenge?" Eyepatch chimed in, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "I mean, we're not exactly food connoisseurs, you know? Like, how do we even know what's safe to munch out here."

Eyepatch's gaze swept around the group, his lips curled in a silent sneer.

However, when his eyes lingered longer to his friends, he made his intentions clear.

Their flesh held more appeal than any offerings the wilderness might provide.

He had tasted more flesh than plants.

Crybaby shyly raised her hand, "I've read about them... Well,  just a couple of times. Maybe twice or more. But I think I can help."

"That's great!" I exclaimed, injecting fake enthusiasm into my voice to mask the madness gnawing at my insides. "When are we going to start?"

"Now." Thief answered. "Let's start now."

I remember El to be a huge horror fan.

She watch, read, play, anything that gets her interest. It doesn't matter what the plot is about. May it be zombies, ghosts, sharks, or mask-murderers as long as it displays a good story.

However, as lovely as El is she started getting paranoid.

I had told her to stop watching them. I had told her that they weren't real.

But she was being a baby about it. So adorable. A little thick-headed.

She was convinced that one of these days, these horror will come true and that we need  to gather up informations to survive.

One of the things she talked about was of plants.

And fortunately, despite my protests, I found myself unintentionally remembering them.

The shapes of leaves, the colors of berries, it's subtle nuances. I remembered them all.

And I remember her.

I remembered the chill that had settled over my arms when her body had gone cold and her breathing stopped.

"Shiny leaves are a warning sign..." Crybaby inspected the glinting leaves. "Anything spiky or hairy indicates poison also."

Eyepatch grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Basically it's anything ugly?"

"Hey, don't go picking fights with plants." Mohawk retorted.

Eyepatch's grin widened. Undeterred by Mohawk's reaction. "You're just saying that because it describes you. Oily, hairy, spiky? Just like that grass your wearing on your head." He pointed teasingly to her declining mohawk, his playful jab hanging in the air.

Mohawk's eyes narrowed for a moment, but a flicker of amusement danced across her face. With this, the group chuckled, the tension in the air easing.

But then, there he goes again.

The quick flicker of his eyes. Watching them. Weighing them. Observing them.

Envisioning the flavors their flesh would offer.

And yet I let him be. I'll see to it how far he can go.