Omigosh, looking after a chihuahua pup today. Gawd, he's so little! He's sleeping on one of my legs as I write this. He's my writing mascot today.

Chapter 16

Fire. It had become a comfort to them. A luxury. A beacon of hope to latch on to. Fire chased away the predators. It warmed their hands in the bitter nights and lit up their faces in the dark. And they all had the fire. Inside of them, a pinpoint of burning light, a red hot desire to see their loved ones again.

But now fire lost these qualities. Their last comfort had been taken from them. It was hollow; a hope with no substance.

The flames did not roar and leap. Well they did, Will supposed, but he could not see them that way. The biggest fire they'd had, a real bonfire sizzling in the air, spitting up golden sparks brought only sorrow.

Will could not tear his eyes away from the glow. He was a statue frozen in time, unable to grieve, unable to comfort others. Halt's warm hand gripped his shoulder and he was sure the older ranger was watching him.

Antil had his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. Lillian's form flickered on the other side of the fire. Sirisa was on the ground, silent anguished tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Should we say a few words?" Lillian's voice quivered.

"I will," Sirisa said, rising to her feet. She took a few steps closer, her gaze drifting down to the base of the fire where among the logs a dark shape could be seen. She swallowed and lifted her head. The stench of burning flesh must have travelled for miles that night.

"Ruch took me in when no one else would," Sirisa began, husky and wavering. "He gave me a goal and a purpose in life- to clean, to cook, to serve. It was thanks to him that I had a bed at night, food at mealtimes and fresh clothes on my back. He was like an uncle to me." Her voice cracked. She took several deep breaths. "He taught me how to deal with grief. His wife had passed away and he had no children of his own. He was alone, just like me." The words she said next were in native Oramine. Will couldn't understand the meaning, but each syllable held an ocean of pain and perhaps a hint of anger.

Her knees sagged beneath her. No one supported her, they allowed her to crumple the ground. What were they to say? That everything was going to be alright? None of them knew that. Even Will found a positive outcome hard to imagine.

Antil stepped forward to say a few words. "Ruch was an acquantance who became a good friend during our time in the wild. He was a great strategist and an honourable man. He was the first of us to reach the inevitable end," here Will frowned, "and in a way, the first of us to escape this godforsaken jungle."

His last words echoed around the suddenly still forest. The flowers whispered; all shapes and colours of flowers, reds and purples and whites, orchids and lilies, picked and laid around the pyre.

"I'd like to say something," Lillian said.

"No," Sirisa snapped.

"He's my friend too."

Sirisa burned brighter than the fire. "No. Ruch would not want foreigners speaking at his funeral."

"I'd like to pay my respects."

"He doesn't want your respects," Sirisa spat. "Not yours, of all people."

"Ruch was my friend," Lillian argued. "He didn't care if I was a foreigner or not."

Sirisa was taking on an unhealthy purple hue. She actually snarled and roared, "it's your fault he's dead!"

"Enough," Halt demanded. Lillian sniffled and they could hear her whimpers as she started crying. Sirisa clenched her fists, fixated on the soil.

In a trembling, fatigued voice, she whispered, "if you had just gotten Antil right away, if you hadn't tried to carry him and had recognised that he wouldn't be able to get back to camp, maybe Antil would have been in time, maybe...or if you had seen the cobra. You were right there with him. If he'd been with someone else he'd still be alive. You were with him and you let him die!"

"That's enough Sirisa," Halt said firmly. "This is not Lillian's fault. What happened, happened. It's time to say our final goodbyes."

But there was nothing more to say and they stood in total silence. Halt's hand grew heavier on Will's shoulder as he tired and leaned more weight on his young friend. He didn't want to- if he'd been able, Halt would have lifted the weight of the world from Will's shoulders. But he couldn't. Not in his current condition.

They burned the flowers. There seemed no point in leaving them around to wither. Grey, wilted flowers would not give them the optimism they desperately needed to carry on.

Sleep would not visit them. They hadn't expected it to. The fire burned on for they were afraid if they doused it they would see a blackened shape still recognisable as a human body. Lillian huddled under one of the furs, as did Antil. Sirisa climbed a tree, her soft cries floating down to them.

Halt and Will sat side by side. Soon after midnight, Halt sank into a weary dreamless sleep. Will and Antil took the opportunity to change his bandages. But that was the only break in solitude. For a long time, Will stared into nothingness. He'd failed. That was all he could think. He'd become the leader of their little group, he'd assured them he'd get them home safe. And he'd failed.

Sunrise was not even the dawn of the new day, not really. It was like time had ceased moving after Ruch's sudden death. They put out the fire. All that was left of him was ash and the flowers had gone with him.

Will and Halt checked the snares. Though it was good that his mentor was recovered enough to do this chore, Will just couldn't find it in himself to cheer up entirely. He managed a few smiles here and there. They didn't partake in their usual banter. That just seemed shallow in the light of events.

To match the general atmosphere, they returned empty handed. No one was disappointed. Morale couldn't sink any lower. Sirisa had her usual collection of nuts and fruits. When she delivered them she took one look at the campfire and burst into tears.

Halt now had Ruch's spear. They couldn't bear to look upon his obsidian sword. Sirisa wrapped it in banana leaves and tucked it in the base of a tree trunk. None of them had trained with a sword anyway.

Sirisa made no more digs at foreigners. Mainly because she did not speak anymore. She and Lillian ignored each other. Both of the girls withdrew further into themselves. Lillian could be seen spending hours tracing pictures in the soil with a stick, or staring up at the canopy with such a dreamy look that Will would shake her to make sure her mind was still with them. And sometimes, when she took a while to respond, he was certain she had floated away to another life.

Meanwhile, Sirisa did chores until she ran out, then she would train with her spear. Not that it was really training- none of them knew how to use a spear. She just twisted it and thwacked it against trees. She made moves up. Her palms became calloused and swollen with blisters.

On one occasion, she had sensed a presence beside her and turned to see Halt lunging at a tree trunk. When she paused, he shrugged to her.

"It's a good way to keep fit," he said. What he didn't tell her was that he'd felt weak to his bones since he'd been stabbed. He trained with her, practising, and each day his strength grew. The two of them became familiar with the weapons, although Halt never quit complaining that it was not as sufficient as his bow.

They had duels. At first, with Halt still recovering from his wound, Sirisa pressed her advantage, throwing in dirty moves that forced him to twist in ways that hurt his healing stomach. But as the days went by, he began to win more often until he was the victor of every match.

Inept though he was with a spear, Halt still had the advantage of a long life of battles. He had seen men fight with them before and knew how to judge an opponant. He replicated moves he had seen from pikemen and taught them to Sirisa.

Then she'd suddenly burst into tears when something reminded her of Ruch and they'd all leave her alone after that, exceot for Antil. He touched her shoulder and she put her arms around him and cried into his chest. He'd stroke her hair and she said she knew he'd done all he could for Ruch, that no one could have done better. Will didn't have the time or energy to wonder.

Ruch was the ghost around the camp. Will still couldn't cry for him and he was guilty for it. Guilty for letting them all down too. One evening, he confessed this to Halt, the only confident he had in the wild.

"Don't blame yourself," had been Halt's instant reply.

"But Halt," Will had said, "I didn't do anything to help! There must have been something I could have done. I should have gone with him, I should have been there. Maybe I would have seen it and been able to-to scare it off or something."

"There's no guarantee of that. If you have to blame someone, blame me." Halt had sighed. "I've been out of it. I should have reacted faster to the tribesman and been of more help."

"Halt!" Will always hated to hear his mentor put himself down like that. "You were injured. It's not your fault. I'm the one who touched the painting in the first place. If I hadn't fallen for it in the first place then-"

"We both fell for it," Halt said decisively. "If you have to blame someone, blame me."

"But it wasn't-"

"Then don't blame anyone at all," and that was the end of that.

While Sirisa and Halt trained, Antil joined Will on his daily explorations. Lillian was too frightened to be alone, she had taken to sticking close by Halt. Will couldn't blame her. Halt was a comforting presence. She daydreamed while they practised. Though she kept her own spear close at hand, she wouldn't practise with it.

Will showed Antil the landmarks he used to navigate. He gave the healer the tour of the jungle from the mud where the swamp had been to the rocks with obsidian. Antil wasn't hopeful that they'd find anything. He didn't say it, yet Will could tell because everytime the ranger mentioned how he hoped they'd find something, Antil responded with a dubious, "I see."

Will was the one who detected rustling in the bushes first. He laid a restraining hand on Antil's lower arm, drawing him back into the bushes.

"What is it?" Antil whispered. Will cringed.

"Shh," he urged. He'd been ambushed before and he'd done the ambushing. He'd snuck up on people, he'd had rangers sneak up on him, he'd witnessed others trying to sneak. From all this he'd developed a form of sixth sense. And it was this that told Will it wasn't a wild animal in the bushes.

He was proved correct seconds later. A man emerged from the trees. Not a man Will felt it was safe to communicate with. No, this was a tribesperson. Dark skinned, dark haired; tattoed with foreign markings. His eyes shone with the ferocity of a wolf.

Antil flinched. Will sensed he was about to run and tightened his hold on the arm. Antil resisted so Will cautiously moved closer until his lips brushed the shell of an ear.

"He'll see you if you move," he whispered. Antil swallowed and nodded.

The tribesperson moved with quiet footfalls. If Will hadn't been a ranger, he doubted he would have heard the approch. As he passed their position, he swept his gaze over the bushes. Antil was breathing rather loudly and Will feared it would give them away. He himself did not move an inch, not even to the temptation of ducking his head when the glowing eyes met his. His ranger cloak might be raggid and torn well above his knees, but he still had the deep cowl tugged over his head.

Gutteral, unintelligible noises burbled from the tribesman's slit of a mouth. He turned his head, eyeing their position from his peripheral vision. Then he lowered the point of his spear- which Will had by now noticed was made from obsidian- and stormed towards their position.

Antil squaked and pulled back. Will released his arm, flicking his own spear into a ready position. He slid back into the shadows, remaining hidden as Antil rushed past and the tribesperson charged after him.

When the flash of red tattoes passed him, Will arced the spear down. It cracked on the tribesman's head. He toppled to the ground. Will deftly aimed the point at him, just in case he regained consciousness sooner than expected.

"Antil, come back," Will called. "I've got him."

Antil continued to crash through the trees.

"Antil? Oh dammit." Will sprinted after him- he could hardly let the healer go blundering through the jungle on his own. If he'd been in fit condition he could have covered the ground in no time at all. As it was, slowly starving and growing thinner by the day, each step was difficult. However, Antil was in no better condition, and he had never been battle hardened to begin with, so Will caught him in no time.

He gripped Antil's shoulder. The healer jerked and Will grabbed his forearm, spinning him around. "Antil, it's just me!"

Antil blinked at him, his shoulders sagging. He glanced over the young ranger's shoulder and saw no tribesman hurtling towards him.

"I got him Antil," Will explained. "He's unconscious."

Antil's chest was heaving. He managed a vague smile. "Well done," he muttered, obviously terrified out of his wits and still recovering from that. Will patted his shoulder.

"Go on back to camp," he said. "Will you be alright getting there on your own?" He was suddenly concerned that he'd have to escort him back to the campsite.

"Why? Where are you going?" Antil asked.

Will grinned at him. "I'm going back to our tribesperson," he declared. "When he wakes, there's a good chance he'll head back to his people. I'll follow him at a distance."

Antil stared at him as if he'd lost his senses. "Why?"

"Don't you want to know where these people are living?" Will was surprised he even had to answer the question. "How many of them there are? What materials they have?"

Antil shrugged. "That has nothing to do with us. So no, not particularly."

"Of course it has something to do with us!" Will waved his hand, trying to emphasize the enormity of the importance of the tribespeople. "If they find us here they might attack us. We need to know what we're living beside. And we can learn off them, by observing their survival methods."

"I suppose," Antil muttered.

"Look, I showed you the landmarks. You won't get lost on your way back. It's not too far to camp from hear and anyway, you'll hear Sirisa and Halt practising when you get close," Will reassured him. "You'll be fine."

"And you?"

Will was thrown by the question. "Pardon?"

"Will you be 'fine'?"

He hadn't been expecting that. He wondered when the Oramine had switched from thinking him a bossy foreigner (as he was sure they had) to being concerned about his safety. His grin widened. "Course I'll be fine." And it was true. Because now, with the prospect of action, the dullness in him was receding and a spark of his old self flickered. The greens of the leaves brightened around him and he became aware of pleasant birdsong.

"I'll be fine," Will repeated. "You get back to camp and worry about the others."

Antil hesitated. At long last he nodded, a jerky movement. Will hurried back to the unconcious tribesman. He hoped Antil wouldn't run into any trouble. It didn't seem right to leave him alone but equally, he couldn't pass up this opportunity.

Will scuffed out their tracks before he crouched in the bushes. It took sometime for the tribesman to groan and wake. Survellence was not as exciting as Will later made it out to be- he spent a good ten minutes watching the man stretch his limbs and rub the bump on his head, looking around.

He spent a good half hour after that going in circles as the tribesman searched for who had dared to harm him. He spent some time scurtionising the ground, trying to fathom why no tracks had been left behind. He knocked his own head with a fist, looking for all the world like someone who thought he might be going crazy.

The tribesperson wandered in what seemed to be an aimless manner around the jungle. He paused at fruit trees to gauge himself then carried on. Will was starting to get impatient.

Then a hand tapped his shoulder and Will flinched. He turned around and Halt met his gaze. The older ranger had quite the knack of appearing smug without even a trace of a smile.

"What are you doing?" Will hissed.

Halt raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "At the moment, thinking about how my former apprentice just jumped two feet in the air."

Will set his teeth. "You're supposed to be resting," he frowned, "and it wasn't two feet!"

"Hush," Halt instructed. "Don't give us away."

"Halt!"

"Will."

"You're still recovering," Will insisted.

"Are you a healer?"

"What?" Will struggled to keep up with the sudden question. "No," he conceded.

"Is Antil a healer?"

"Well, yes."

Halt nodded, satisfied. "Antil said I could come. He's a healer, you're not, he knows best."

Will shot his mentor a suspicious look. "Did he say you could come with or without your threats?"

"Look, he's moving," Halt observed. He glided from cover as the tribesperson headed off. The ranger glanced over his shoulder at his former apprentice. "Hurry up," he said curtly.

So with a drop of reluctance, Will allowed his mentor to accompany him as they trailed behind the tribesperson. 'Allowed' was not quite the right term, Will thought to himself later, for there was nothing anyone could say to change Halt's mind when he decided he would do something.

In any event, he was happy for the supportive figure beside him when, after an afternoon of chasing a randomely wandering tribesperson, they finally found themselves peering past the dark leaves to dozens of platforms rigged in the trees, with ropes hanging down that the tribespeople swarmed up with ease.

Halt touched his stomach. Will pulled his hood further over his head. They both watched.

Sorry for any mistakes, it's the middle of the night and my eyes are starting to droop...