The jungle was colorful in itself.
Carefully, Aren stepped into it, when a low branch suddenly materialized, or rather cut off the path, and above, sunlight fractured into golden lines prancing in the midst of the canopy.
Dew had congregated in places where it had congealed, making the entire ambiance so oppressive with dry moss, damp bark, and something wild-wild, intractable.
Leaves breathed secrets handed over by the winds above his head as far away a thousand miles or so, the lethal shriek of a monkey rent the air asunder.
His boots crushed through the roots of the aged tree and he stopped next to the trunk, brushing aside a couple of gnats from his forehead. No tension. Well, not quite. That was the sort of relaxation gleaned from having crossed many borders, having been involved in many wars, and garnered sufficient scars on the hide--and in the mind--to qualify as wisdom.
He lost concentration as he headed out toward The Muri Khan-the name was good enough to ring a bell in the right (or wrong) ears. He was set to get there before others got there, in order to feel and thereby respond to The Muri Khan's strength.
But within the reckless moment-when the fingers unclutched from the sword hilt and the mind roamed-he heard it.
Not loud. Not ostentatious. Just enough for a watchful being who had been instructed in the difference between the dropping of the leaf and the falling of a footstep.
Aren was frozen. For the moment, some unconscious instinct kept him motionless, more perception coming in through the ears, shallow gasps in and out. The creak in the distance was once more heard-the underbrush had been barely even disturbed.
He slowly pulled his hand back toward his belt; his eyes glanced sideways-but not his head. Then he spun after a hesitation of three seconds.
There she was.
She was likely fifteen paces away, where the trees grew next to one another. She was hidden by the soft beams of the sunlight filtering through the canopy above.
The light brown hue of her skin had nearly a rich sheen on it; long black hair fell in loose waves past her back, and parts clung to the leaves and limbs which seemed to hold her as a part of the forest.
She was full-bodied, compact-but graceful.
The attitude projected confidence; she was at full draw on her bow, the arrow straight into his heart. She was calm-eyed, sharp-eyed. Not shaking. Not hesitant.
Beautiful-and
Aren puffed out. "Oooh. whoa, chill out, girl," he said, waving the hand up slowly in the universal peace gesture the other held alongside the knife-just in case. "You gonna ruin my face? That'd be a crime against the gods."
The girl did not smile. She did not even blink. Her eyes flicked down the length of his figure, perhaps assessing, perhaps simply patient. The arrow did not dip
"I've had worse," Aren said with a crooked smile. "But I'd rather not find out how fast you can shoot."
In vain yet. Then the voice behind her, quiet and even, after a couple of beats.
"Name
"Aren." He waved with two fingers in a comical movement. "But. I like The Laughing Blade better as a name. Sounds much cooler in stories."
That made a brief smile flicker on her mouth but it was gone in a moment. She relaxed the bow but was still staring at him.
"Am
He tilted his head slightly to the side, interested. "Well, Amira, that is a wonderful name. I hope you do not direct arrows at nearly every handsome traveling man who passes through."
"Oh," she said flatly. "How much trouble do they get into?"
He gave a short laugh and drew closer but was careful not to rush. "Fair enough."
Once they were on the go the two couples headed off side by side through the budding green. The tension dissolving was becoming cautious chat. Aren joked; Amira never quite smiled but every now and then her eyes had the spark of humour.
She walked as if once she was more in the wild than in walls; the stride is rich in meaning but still mute.
"Usually quiet?" Ari inquired as he walked by a moss-covered log.
"I don't talk to strangers."
He laughed. "But I'm charming.
That usually profile-boosts me."
She looked at him.
"You have too high an opinion of yourself."
"I think just enough," he said. "It is like a fuel for me."
They continued on at a few more paces, the birds' voice above them, the jungle coming in closer more and more like a cocoon.
Then, when they had reached a fork where a shallow brook was flowing through the path, Amira broke the silence again in a tense but unreadable voice. "Are you also looking for the Muri Khan?"
Aren was stopped in the midst of a step. He gazed at her, genuinely looked at her now.
Something was behind the question. Doubt.
Or maybe something else-something more. A smile gradually appeared on his face.