Robin's cheeks still stung but at least his hair was long enough to cover the torn area. He'd slept a surprisingly long time - the entire bus ride - but Andy assured him that that was common after a shock. Robin had never had a shock before.
But still, maenads. The one group of beings - well, technically they were mere mortals - who had caused his mother to worry so and to create the green wood to protect him. And as soon as he set foot in the true mortal world, they had attacked him.
Yet despite all this, Robin was thrilled. Because they were getting closer.
Andy and Nasim had seriously wanted to rent something called a "fan boat", but Robin had pointed out that it came with a mortal guide and they couldn't afford to lose him or have him get hurt or freak out and try to drown them. With that irrefutable logic, and the promise that they would soon be eaten by either a living dinosaur or a tiny insect, they took a canoe.
Apparently there wasn't that much solid ground in the Everglades and the man who rented the boat to them assured them that, "If you try to walk in the opelika, you will sink to your knees. It's not the gators or skeeters you gotsta worry 'bout, it's the big swamp."
"Thanks?" Nasim said questioningly, handing the money over. The man laughed at that and his throaty chuckling followed them out the door and as they took to the canoe and began to paddle away.
As they headed into the marshlands, Robin suddenly frowned, his head turning sideways like a dog who's caught a scent.
"This isn't right," Robin said. "She's not in the swamp. At least, she's not this way."
"But this is the way Helios said to go," Nasim countered.
"The waterways are pretty twisting," Andy shrugged. "Maybe if we go this way, we'll wind up in the right place."
That was when Robin began to be worried, but he didn't argue. Well, he had actually begun to be worried when he'd reached his hand up and the feather wasn't there anymore. The feather that had been in his hair since his hair was long enough to hold it. Calliope had put it in there herself, her gentle hands twining his dark brown strands around the shaft of the feather.
Robin was aware that he was pushing the others to go faster, that they were struggling to keep up, but neither of them said anything.
They were getting farther away. Robin started to panic.
"Robin, we need to slow down!" Andy panted.
"Something's wrong!" Robin growled. "We're getting farther away!"
"Well, which way should we go?" Nasim gasped.
"That way," Robin said, gesturing off to the left through the unbroken line of cypress trees. Water, thick and congealed with plant life, blocked any way leading off that led off to the left.
Suddenly, he gave an angry whistle. It warbled in the air, thrumming and rising. Robin turned his head and gave another whistle, gentler this time and pulsing over and between the trees. The waters almost looked like they rippled.
It came out of the woods, its great white wings like an angel. Gracefully, peaceful as a dove, the snowy egret perched on the edge of the canoe and looked at Robin with bright yellow eyes.
He met its strange eyes and began to mutter and chirp softly, the egret occasionally dipped its great head once or twice. When Robin paused, the egret tilted its head to the side and gave a scratchy, low call. It clacked its black beak three times and gently took off. Looking back over his shoulder, the egret called again as it winged away.
Without speaking, they turned the boat and followed.
"Reminds me of the fox," Andy said quietly. "The one who led us through Adirondack to the green wood."
"I did not send a fox," Robin said, his voice calmer. "But I know one who would. Kivese chose foxes for her symbol; she thought of them as her own personal joke. Foxes are members of the dog family, but they resemble cats in their manners and nature. Just as Kivese felt closer to mortals than gods."
The egret whispered beside him. Not much farther, bird without wings, he assured Robin. Birds had always called Robin that, though the feathered ones didn't speak as humans do. Robin understood many languages, but the language of birds was a call, a dip of the beak, and a flick of the wings.
And the bird, a water creature who was the embodiment of all that was patience and strength, the one who could communicate with the gods, promised Robin that they were going the right way. So why did he still feel like they were moving farther away?
"Robin, it's getting dark," Andy noted. Robin looked up, surprised. Indeed, it was darkening, but the egret seemed to glow with light as he continued to wing forward.
At last, when all they could see was the brightness of the snowy feathers, the egret banked to the right and landed on a branch that was invisible in the dark.
Safe nest here, the egret told Robin.
The boy responded with an inquisitive trill.
Safe nest here, the egret repeated. Don't fly by night, one without wings.
The canoe jarred to a stop with a gentle squelch. "Some sort of island," Nasim muttered. "I wonder if it's safe here."
"It is," Robin assured him, jumping out and splashing in ankle deep water. He pulled the boat up further onto the firm land. His hand flared with pain as he did so and he felt a tiny drop of blood licked its way down the back of his hand.
"No, I mean whether the alligators are going to come up here and eat us while we sleep," Nasim told him, jumping out as well. Robin could just make out the dim outline of the son of Hecate. Suddenly a bright purple fire sprang to life in Nasim's palm, lighting the entire scene with an eerie, dancing light.
I'll watch over you, the egret promised.
"We'll be safe," Robin told Nasim and the boy apparently trusted him. They had no blankets, no sleeping bags, so they settled for tucking their packs under their heads and - fingers curled around their prepared weapons - drifted to sleep.
As Robin's eyes began to close, he saw the egret framed against the star-pocked sky.