Seeker made up his mind—he’d follow the river. But which way? The overhead sun gave him no guidance. Right seemed to wind back toward the way he’d come, so he went left. But with the twists and turns, it was hard to tell.
He had a dim memory of a river cutting the City of Destruction in two. He’d cry every time he had to cross the bridge—the mud and the stench scared him. That was long ago, a whole different life before Uncertain. But the smell was the same.
His boots sank into the damp earth where the water occasionally lapped the banks. It muttered to him, telling him he was going the wrong way. That he was a fool to set out on this journey. Other times it just meandered in stubborn silence, its eddies swirling in mockery.
The shadows lengthened, but still there was no way across. In the distance stood an ancient tree, shimmering silver in the afternoon light. He raised his eyebrows and picked up his pace, weariness forgotten.
A hush fell over the land as he approached it. Its trunk was gnarled and broad, and the bark had a subtle glow, as if light lingered just beneath the surface. Though it grew firmly on the river’s edge, its massive roots plunged deep into the water. A mist clung to them, curling in a soft, shifting veil.
From its mighty frame, great branches stretched to the sky, limbs reaching high, untouched by the passage of time. Its leaves were tipped in silver, catching the light with a delicate radiance. Among the branches, small, round fruit nestled in the shade, pale skins faintly lustrous.
The fruit seemed pleasant and good to eat, but Seeker hesitated, calling to mind a passage he’d scanned in The Forager’s Manual, Being a True Description of Plants Fit for Sustenance. The peddler had let him hold it long enough to see the warning—Eating unknown berries can be fatal. Another useful book once he had money—if he could find it again.
His stomach growled. He started to reach for the bread in his satchel but stopped. No time. The sun was already beginning to sink in the west, and still no way across this damn river. He’d stick to his plan and eat when he reached the Slough, not before.
As he turned to leave something caught his eye. A branch just within reach—perfect for a walking stick. This was worth taking time for. Not only would it quicken his pace, but it would also serve as a staff, just like Lord Peregrine’s. No telling what creatures lurked in the dark if he ended up walking by moonlight, too.
He snapped the branch off at its base and whittled the smaller twigs with his clasp knife. He hefted it and tapped it twice on the ground. The bark was rough in his palm, but it was solid and sturdy. Thus equipped, and armed he continued on his way, steps lighter.
