Morning light filtered weakly through the thick canopy, tinting the forest floor with splashes of gold and green. The path grew narrower now, littered with leaves that clung to dampness, tree roots tangled into knots, and stones that were moss-green.
Frieren walked ahead, cloak brushing against fern and sagging branches. She raised her staff occasionally, striking it against the uneven terrain to check for footing. Wet bark, earth scented the air.
SpongeBob brought up the rear, flailing his arms wildly, Wandula held under the other arm. All the roots were small obstacles. He tripped over one and fell on a knee, letting loose a startled yelp before laughing. "Whoa! Okay… okay, nothing broke. Just me!"
A burst of wind rattled the leaves overhead, sending dew spilling and refracting the sun like miniature diamonds. SpongeBob crouched, trying to catch them. "Look! Sparkly sky water! Is it rain magic?"
The expression on Frieren's face did not shift, she steered exactly around a deformed root, watching the forest floor for threats. "It's dew," she said matter-of-factly.
SpongeBob grinned. "Ah, well… still magic to me!" He poked at a rock covered with moss with his spatula, then struck a branch that had fallen on the ground.
Birds sang in far-off branches; a squirrel ran across a tree trunk, leaves flying behind it onto the ground. SpongeBob tried to follow it with his eyes, turning in a small circle. "Wow! You think it's running racehorse on me?"
She did not speak much, but her movements were intentional, showing SpongeBob exactly how to read the trail.
SpongeBob, meanwhile, picked up a leaf, studying it in his hands. "I wonder… do the leaves grow in patterns? Maybe some are lucky? Hmm… yep, this one's definitely lucky."
The breeze shifted SpongeBob stopped to lean on a tree, breathing a satisfied sigh. "This forest is huge. It's like… like a Krabby Patty on a really huge plate! All this layering!"
Frieren regarded him, expression still unreadable. She skirted a prostrate log, continuing to walk at the same steady pace, but couldn't help letting through one very brief smile at SpongeBob's unbridled wonder.
The leaves grew thicker as they traveled deeper in. Vines dropped down from the branches, sunlight struggling to pass through the canopy. SpongeBob ducked under one overhanging branch, bumping his head. "Oof! Sorry! I didn't mean to… hey, do you think trees get mad if you bump them?"
"No," Frieren said dryly. "But bumping them isn't healthy for you either."
SpongeBob nodded somberly, then twirled his spatula in a baton move. "Right! Safety first! Adventure second!"
The path wandered through younger beech and birch, above a bird was singing. SpongeBob stopped to listen, tilting his head, and then breathed softly, "It's like the forest's saying hello."
Frieren strolled along with her eyes cast down, moving cautiously, pushing aside leaves at times. The forest was quiet and yet alive, full of minute movement, quiet noises, and hidden beasts—just the kind of place where it would be easy to lose one's way, if you were not paying attention.
-
The woods grew darker as they made their way Frieren's boots in soft earth, not wishing to disturb the delicate mushrooms sprouting at the tip of roots that twisted like gnarled stone.
SpongeBob followed behind her, hands stuffed in back pockets, gaze raking the forest floor. Occasionally he knelt to study a glinting rock or curled-up leaf, taking long enough to memorize its shape before standing and falling into step once again.
A brook babbled off to the left, hidden behind a thicket of ferns. Frieren paused, watchful, and lifted her staff to test the ground in front of them. The ground sloped downward, roots crossed by wet stones, slippery and treacherous. She adjusted her stance, then extended her hand to guide SpongeBob carefully along.
He nodded, firm grip on the wandula, and placed each step deliberately. He was quiet for the first time that day, focused on the rhythm of the forest—sounds of water, groans of old branches, high whine of wind through leaves.
A rabbit scurried across the path, white tail flickering before it vanished into foliage. SpongeBob stood frozen, watching it disappear. Frieren merely glanced at it, shifting her weight to step past a moss-covered root.
Later, they came to a small clearing where sunlight pooled, illuminating patches of moss with bright green. Frieren crouched to examine the earth, brushing a thin layer of leaves away from small tracks—quite possibly foxes or badgers.
SpongeBob was beside her, still silent, scanning the markings. He tracked her pace, careful not to trample the delicate undergrowth.
A silent beat of wings passed overhead. Both of them halted. A hawk rode slowly overhead, wings reflecting light in a flashing curve. SpongeBob merely nodded his head, observing the spectacle without remark. Frieren pushed her cloak aside and continued on, tracing the gentle curve of the path.
The air was damp now, rich with the scent of earth and pine. Small creatures scurried across dead logs, ants marching in line, and the distant gurgle of the brook snaking through the underbrush. SpongeBob skirted a stinking stump, watched the ants scurry, and went on.
The way narrowed as the sun fell lower, goldening the forest and shaded. Frieren came to a stop on a small hilltop, taking in her surroundings. Below them lay a shallow depression, bordered by birch and beech, where the underbrush was sparse and the ground soft and dry.
This'll do," she said, getting down to examine the ground. She ran her hand over the earth, feeling for rocks and roots, and nodded for SpongeBob to set down their packs.
He carefully placed down his bundle, angling the spatula so that it would not penetrate the material. He began to collect twigs and small branches together as Frieren unfolded a creased canvas tarp. Loose leaves were used as a bed; he laid them out and scraped off the top layer of dirt, smoothing it as best he could.
Off to the side, near the clump of ferns, was a natural screen. Frieren leaned the staff against a tree and began to pitch the tarp between two low branches, tightening it with cord she had brought. She worked with a calm precision, economical, silent, as if sensitive to the weight of forest bearing down upon her.
SpongeBob gathered stones to create a ring of fire. He positioned them in intervals, testing the stability by prodding them with his spatula. Content, he added a small fire of sticks in the center, allowing room for dry leaves on top. Frieren had already scouted for loose items and hanging branches; prudence in a wood was a quiet, ever-present consideration.
The trees themselves seemed to nestle in around them as they worked. Leaves sighed softly in the evening wind, far-off birds cried out once, and a soft trickle of water issued from somewhere deeper in the forest. Squirrels occasionally darted across a branch overhead, pausing to look at the strangers before disappearing into the branches.
"Will the fire be all right here?" SpongeBob asked quietly, leaning on his spatula.
Frieren nodded. "Small. Controlled. That's sufficient light, sufficient heat." She knelt, picking up dry leaves with slender fingers. "Don't produce sparks."
SpongeBob placed the leaves in the center of the circle of stone. Frieren knelt beside him, striking flint lightly against steel to produce a small ember. She cradled her hands, sheltering it from wind, and blew gently until a tiny flame developed.
He knelt, watching, then began adding branches in measured layers. The fire crackled higher, a tiny golden corona against the deepening shadows in the woods. Heat danced along their cheeks, and the aroma of parched wood filled the clearing.
SpongeBob crossed his legs on his leaf bed, gazing intently at the flames. Frieren placed a pair of personal items—a few water flasks, a small packet of rations, and the staff that rested nearby. Her actions were quiet and deliberate, creeping almost into meditation.
The forest around them was quiet, but distant. Leaves moved, and the gentle hum of insects came from behind the vegetation, but nothing ventured close. Night fell gradually, shadows running long and soft, folding the clearing into a gentle cocoon of quiet.
Frieren finally sat down, back against the trunk of a beech tree, staff standing up beside her. SpongeBob mimicked her, hands in his lap, gazing at the fire. Neither of them spoke a word for what felt like an eternity, letting the woods breathe around them.
Somewhere beyond the trees a far-off hoot of an owl floated, and a wind wandered by with a whiff of pine sap and wet ground. SpongeBob shifted slightly, the spatula poised across his knees, and watched the sparks fade up into the night.
The fire hissed quietly, small orange lips savoring the dry branches. Smoke drifted into the air, blending with the fading light that filtered through the birch canopy. Frieren secured the tarp, tightening it close over them against the night wind.
SpongeBob sat cross-legged on the leaf bed, spatula draped across his knees. He didn't speak; he merely observed the forest. The leaning of the shadows, the soft creaking of the branches in the wind, the periodic glimpse of a passing animal far away. In seven years, he had come to learn to observe first and act later, to watch first before saying something. His patience had grown, tempered by many days on the road and under Frieren's unspoken guidance.
Frieren's fingers moved efficiently, laying out a small bundle of rations and water. She glanced across the fire, breaking larger twigs into shards to support it through the night.
One branch snapped somewhere to the east. SpongeBob's head swiveled around, eyes open—but he didn't hurry. He only stared, watching the commotion in the bushes. A bony fox passed by, cautious, stopping briefly to sniff the air before it disappeared into shadow.
"Always something passing through," Frieren murmured, not looking at him.
He nodded, his voice low. "They come quietly. Don't make a noise."
The scent of wet soil and resin pine mixed in with the smoke. Low and insistent, insects buzzed, and above them, an owl hooted twice before silence returned. Frieren leaned back against the tree trunk, staff handy, eyes half-closed, letting the layers of the forest wash over her.
SpongeBob reached into his pack and retrieved a small knife and thin twigs. He began whittling slowly, shaping one into a smooth curve. His fingers moved deliberately, each shaving of wood slow and deliberate, the kind of patient attention he'd developed after years of practice. He wasn't rushing. His spatula—his Wandula—dangled by his side, more friend than tool.
Frieren's gaze wandered over the forest floor. Mushrooms topped birch tree roots, some small and pale, others dark and knotted. Moss covered stones in huge clumps, and dew had begun to appear along the edges of leaves. She noticed the shift in light, shadows deepening in places, retreating elsewhere.
A remote brook bubbled quietly, and SpongeBob stretched his head in its direction. "Water flows fast here. May replenish later." His voice was even, earthy, without excess enthusiasm.
Frieren nodded brusquely, glancing in his direction. "Track. Slowing down, steady. That's for now."
They remained there silently for a moment. The warmth from the fire radiated outwards, a small patch of light amidst encroaching shadows. Every crackle, every wind whisper through leaves, was a muted articulation of the forest's vitality.