With the back of her hand, Kestrel wiped the residue from her lips before securing the cap back into place. She shoved the waterskin into her pack, aware that at least half of its contents were gone now.
“Sure, but it’s unnerving being out here. Like it’s just you and nothing.”
“Not just nothing. There are monsters and death out here, and don’t you forget it.”
Like usual, she hadn’t consciously decided to carry on a conversation with a man who wasn’t even there, but sometimes hearing Thom’s responses—even if they were only from her own head or occasionally spewed from her own lips—it made her feel safer. Like he was right there beside her, ready to protect her if she needed it, like he had all those years ago.
It made her feel as if she wasn’t so alone.
“I’ll be smart about this. I’ll keep my eyes out for the beasts, and I’ll find you,” Kestrel insisted, and she peered around the tree trunk in search of the proof she needed to bolster her spirits.
An oasis rippled just a few paces ahead. Likely the same one she had nearly drowned in all those years ago. Kestrel’s throat shriveled at the thought. Suddenly, all of her nerves were active and alert. She scanned the area for the charred, bumbling creatures known as the cinders, searching for their smoldering bodies as well as the wretched stench of burned flesh. All she smelled, though, was the salty heat of sun-warmed water and the slight honeyed sweetness of whatever tree was offering her shade.
Maybe there were no cinders nearby, and for that she was grateful. But Imaginary Thom was right. There were other monsters in the Wilds, and she would need to keep her guard up, to keep herself safe and hidden if she ever hopedto find Thom.
He was all she had. She could not fail him.
“Where in the Hollows are you?” she whispered to no one.
Imaginary Thom’s reply came anyway. “Who knows, Little Fury. The Wilds are a big place; you could wander from coast to coast and never find me.”
“Don’t say things like that! They’re not helpful.”
“I’m just saying what we’re both thinking: it’s about time you turned back, yeah? Before you get too lost again like last time.”
It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed her mind.
But, oh, how she was tiring of having to convince herself otherwise.
“I’m not lost. And I’m not turning back. Not until I’ve found you. So you can either pipe down or, better yet, tell me something useful for once. Like which direction I should be going, or how far away you are, or—or anything that might help me find you!”
The voice in her head went as quiet as a windless sky.
Kestrel rolled her eyes. But maybe it would be better this way, with Thom quiet in her skull. She didn’t need the distraction, especially if he was just going to feed into her own inklings of doubt. She needed fortitude. And that, Kestrel was learning, would have to be wrenched out of her, dragged along the scorched sands beside her, kicking and screaming the entire way.
So that’s just what she would do.
Kestrel pulled the knife out of her pack, gripped the wooden hilt firmly in her fist, and carried onward. She passed the oasis without a second glance and weaved through the sparse trees with canopies like molted feathers. They couldn’t provide much cover, but the small streaks of shade they could were a welcomed reprieve, one that her pale-but-stinging forehead was grateful for. Her freckled skin was not used to so muchsunlight, so Kestrel did her best to keep to the shade as much as possible.
Hours dragged by.
The moon finally rose high overhead and Kestrel tucked herself into the crevice of two boulders to get some rest and hide from whatever terrors the night might bring. Fortunately, there were none, but she still didn’t sleep with ease. All night her dreams ravaged her. She kept waking toward the sound of that gut-wrenching screech only to find that it was just her imagination.
The moon’s visit was short-lived, and when the sun greeted her again, Kestrel was still bone-weary, but eager to get moving again.
The farther she trekked, the deeper her doubts dug into her.
Once again, Kestrel found herself out in the Wilds with no idea where she was going. She didn’t have a map, nor the familiarity with the terrain like Thom had. She was following a trail without actually following anything—there were no footprints leading her way. The worrying truth was that Kestrel was traversing the Wilds blindly and with nothing but hope to guide her. And if Thom had taught her anything, it was that hope was perhaps the most dangerous thing to bring out here.
When Kestrel emerged from the trees and found open desert once more, she wasn’t sure if she had made it to the other side or if she had just gone in one big circle and would wind up back at her tower if she kept pressing onward.
With a frustrated shriek, Kestrel chucked her knife at the sands. “I swear to the blessed moon, Thom, when I find you, I’m never letting you live down what I had to go through just to?—”
But as she screamed, a hoarse voice called out to her from across the parched horizon.
“Kestrel?” At first, she wasn’t sure if it wasreal or another figment of her imagination. But then he shouted louder. “Kestrel! Is that you?”
She would recognize the sound of him anywhere.
