"I've killed before. Why

  not do it again. Why not this stag?" Pastel thought, biting into a

  fruit he'd never eaten before. He looked at the fruit in his right hand.

  It was vaguely spherical, the flesh was white and acidic; pasty.

  With

  his left hand, he stroked the pommel of his sword. He couldn't stop

  thinking about the buck. Memories of his capture came flooding back. His

  breath, the heat of his body, the taste of his blood. Yeen seemed to

  see it as a danger best not confronted. "We can't initiate conflict in

  the trading post it would be... not just frowned upon. It's a free

  zone." "You want to leave before he notices us, then?" Pastel had

  replied.

  Pastel

  understood the logic. It was safer to leave as soon as possible, knowing

  that there were probably people nearby looking for him. Perhaps the

  vixen herself was one of those buyers of magical items. But the

  intuition he'd been waiting for seemed to have arrived at last.

  After

  the fear that had gripped him at the sight of the deer and the fox, the

  moment he grabbed his sword when Yeen surprised him on the quayside, a

  déjà vu crept up on him. As clear as it was elusive, like those scents

  you know with certainty you've smelled before, without remembering when

  or where. But rather than a scent, this time it was the texture of

  metal, the leather of a sword handle, a glint in his eyes and an amalgam

  of emotions in his chest. Close to his heart, under the light fur of

  his breast. Adrenalin, anxiety, fear, doubt, but also a strange

  excitement and... a fierce certainty. It was time to check where these

  impressions were coming from. "Either the stone is really trying to talk

  to me... or I'm crazy." Pastel said to himself.

  Yeen

  had gone to negotiate the borrowing of a pirogue. Pastel was sitting

  alone on a bag of nuts. Unable to resist, he stood up and, skirting the

  walls in the shadows, took a narrow passage between two wooden

  buildings. A small reptile brushed against his leg, and he made his way

  down a busy alley, like all the others. His gaze focused on the

  distance, searching. After observing how the others - monkeys, pigs,

  birds, dogs, panthers - walked between the stalls, he entered the dance.

  Pastel moved from stall to stall, discreetly camouflaging himself from

  one figure to another, always observant. He saw the fox. Once again, it

  was only a ginger reflection. She disappeared. The stag couldn't have

  gone far. He moved forward, backward, into a store, out again, then saw

  the deer's antlers. He approached, always following the movements of the

  crowd, never in a straight line, slowly. A few meters behind the deer,

  he could see its neck, the bag on its muscular shoulders. In one leap he

  could reach it. One leap.

  "What

  now, Pastel?" he thought to himself. His heart was racing. He was

  certain that in one leap he could reach the deer, take it by surprise

  and inflict a mortal wound. But what was the point? "In the middle of

  the street, like that?" He stopped, suddenly surprised at himself, his

  hand on his black saber. The deer continued on its way and soon

  disappeared. "What's come over me?" he said quietly. His intuition had

  guided him there. It was like following the shattered reflections of a

  dream. He had simply come to find this feeling of certainty, a few steps

  behind the deer. The certainty that he could kill it. He'd let it go.

  What would have happened if he had? How different would his future have

  been? He thought back to the moment earlier: he had the fruit in his

  hand, his hand on the pommel. He thought back to the fierce, impromptu

  certainty he felt then. Pastel restrained a hiccup of surprise.

  "Deja

  vu of a deja vu..." The two moments formed a strangely perfect loop.

  Clear. Like reflections of each other. "Like an echo" He tightened his

  arm on the stone, warm in the hollow of his armpit. Had he just

  understood something? Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed the gnoll

  approaching behind him, before grabbing his arm.

  "What

  the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the road, you little

  twerp? If you'd wanted them to find you, you wouldn't have done it any

  differently!" Yeen murmured. He noticed the strange expression on the

  young fox's face. "What's the matter? What's the matter with you?"

  "I

  could have killed him... he was there, within reach of my sword but...

  that's not the important thing. Yeen I think I've figured out how..." He

  stopped speaking, swallowing his words. He couldn't talk about the

  stone there in the middle of the street. As they held back at the docks,

  Pastel wondered if it was even a good idea to tell Yeen. The

  familiarity they'd developed over days of jungle walking and lovemaking

  hadn't made Pastel's distrust disappear, it had simply given it a

  different texture.

  At

  the docks, Yeen cast serious glances left and right, checking that

  there was no one suspicious to notice their departure. At the end of the

  trading post, a little way upstream from the larger piers where all the

  hustle and bustle and trade was concentrated, was a smaller pier, made

  of nothing more than a few wooden planks placed on trunks, planted in

  the river. All around, dozens of empty pirogues clattered against each

  other. "That one" pointed Yeen, stepping onto the rickety, damp planks

  that served as the dock.

  "We'll

  leave now and travel until morning. You can sleep if you like. Tomorrow

  morning it's my turn. We'll be in Ternoulie in two days."

  "Two

  days by pirogue." Pastel thought, a little demoralized, as he watched

  the gnoll take his place in the long, narrow boat. Under his weight it

  sank a little underwater, its rim a few centimeters from the surface.

  "Are you coming?" the mercenary insisted.

  Pastel

  hesitated. A shiver ran through him as he thought back to the ocean

  horizon on the Guidean coast. He thought back to the swell and the salt

  spray in his fur. The steep coasts full of nesting birds. He thought

  back to the slap of the sails and the creak of the tarred hull. "This

  has nothing to do with the ocean. This river is quiet and we'll never be

  far from shore." Pastel thought to reassure himself. He stepped onto

  the planks and slowly sat down in the dugout. He turned his head to look

  at the trading post and the other boats passing nearby. He thought of

  Mazeran, the deer and the fox.

  It

  had all happened so quickly. He'd already learned a lot in just one

  day, but it seemed strange to be leaving already when, he had a strong

  feeling, so many important truths still lurked in these alleys, so many

  intriguing reflections in people's eyes.

  The

  gnoll stood up, at the end of the dugout, and with a long pole in his

  hand pulled the dugout away from the dock, the water lapping around

  them.

  "Is it always like this, civilization?"

  "Huh? What are you saying now?"

  "Giving

  up... I mean I've never been so close, physically close to so much

  possibility. I feel like I could have learned so much from all these

  people. It's like the more people there is, the more you have to give

  up."

  The gnoll burst

  out laughing. "It's cute. You call this hole *civilization*? Wait till

  you see Ternoulie... and even then, Ternoulie is a village, compared to

  Siranopolis." He kept silent for a second, passing the pole around in

  his left hand to push on the other side of the dugout and adjust their

  trajectory. "But it's not stupid... giving up. Say, you're giving me a

  headache." Pastel smiled, his gaze shifting from one bank to the other.

  As

  they followed the current, the boat had picked up speed. Pastel tried

  to estimate their speed. "A horse could carry us at equivalent speed

  across the plains, but, not for two days and definitely not in this

  jungle." he measured.

  The

  river widened slowly, as small streams and gullies poured into it. As

  the trading post disappeared into the distance, Pastel estimated the

  river's width at around twenty meters. Twenty meters of reddish,

  mineral-laden water. On either side, dense vegetation jutted out into

  the water, grasses growing in the waves and trees stretching their

  roots, creating turbulent zones where several fish were undoubtedly

  hiding. Above them, the trees launched their canopies a few meters above

  the water, dropping vines and leaves, adorning the waves.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  ***

  Pastel wiggled, his bottom sore from sitting still for too long on the hard wood of the pirogue.

  "Hey, be careful!" shouted Yeen, who had been startled by the movement of the boat.

  "My

  legs are getting tingly. I don't remember sitting so long in my life.

  It's unbearable!" replied Pastel, scratching himself. "It stings all

  over!"

  "It itches you? It's only been a few hours since we left and it's itching you?"

  Pastel

  sighed. He knew there was no point in persisting with the gnoll. He

  stretched out his legs and leaned on his arms, watching the other, who

  was swinging his pole back and forth. His back muscles could be seen

  contracting under his fur as he pushed to move a little faster than the

  current.

  "Don't you miss your village sometimes? Where you grew up?" Pastel asked, scratching his left thigh energetically.

  "The

  slums of Yaloumbalis? The open sewers with the shit of the rich running

  down our streets, the carels and the clan wars? Not really, no."

  "I mean before Yaloumbalis when... when your mother was still alive."

  The gnoll pressed harder on the pole, making the dugout speed up for a moment in silence.

  "Everything was so much simpler." Yeen murmured softly.

  Pastel waited. The gnoll was searching for his words.

  "I

  don't remember much. Only... the taste of mangoes and the smell of her.

  The smell of my mother..." Yeen had mumbled the last words, as if they

  had to fight their way out.

  Pastel's

  claws scratched obsessively through his fur, breaking the silence. The

  latter was scanning the gnoll's muscular neck, arched forward. His head

  turned, and for a moment he saw the brown profile surmounted by small

  round ears. A look of bitterness cast into the waves.

  "There's

  absolutely no point thinking about all this now it's.... rotten. It

  rots the mind, these memories. Now we're now and what can we do about

  it? I mean there's only one direction to this fucking life and the only

  fucking thing to do is look ahead. There is nothing to give up if you

  just look ahead."

  Pastel

  noticed Yeen's gaze lift toward the river and forest ahead. First his

  chest tightened, then he blamed himself. He looked away. The gnoll

  didn't want to talk. He never wanted to talk. Why was he worried for

  this brute? Pastel cast an oblique glance. " Maybe this good will is

  interested. When we get to Ternoulis, he's going to feed me to the dogs.

  He'll steal the stone. Why else would he help me so much?" He pressed

  his arm against the stone in the warmth of his armpit. "Why do I care

  about him? Why am I not more afraid of him?" He repeated inside himself,

  facing the feelings mingling in his chest.

  Small

  fish skimmed the water, swallowing pollen grains or insects that had

  fallen into the waves. Oblique sunlight penetrated the mineral-laden

  liquid. The evanescent silhouettes of the fish traced shifting shadows

  like long, dark fingers that, from the depths of the river, played with

  the surface.

  "What's the cloudy water hiding?" said Pastel to himself, speaking half from the river and half from his thoughts.

  "Light

  the lamp. In my bag." Said Yeen, snapping the fox out of his thoughts.

  He crawled on all fours into the narrow boat, which jiggled. He pulled

  out a small lamp made of opaque glass and steel, which he examined with

  fascination. The gnoll glanced at him and clicked his tongue in

  disapproval. "Take the lighter and light the wick inside. Be careful not

  to burn yourself or drop it! It's oil."

  Pastel

  slammed the two stones together, careful not to direct the sparks

  towards the wooden craft, first burning a strand of wick before lighting

  the little lamp, which awoke with a small thud, radiating a subtle heat

  and warm glow through the dirty glass. "Tie it here" said Yeen,

  pointing to a piece of wood sticking out of the side of the boat.

  The

  sun soon set and, with the extensive canopy hiding much of the sky,

  very little of the moon's glow reached the water. Only their small lamp

  subtly illuminated the waters. The light from the small flame barely

  suggested the contours of the trunks on the shore, but made pairs

  Pastel

  held back an exclamation of surprise when he noticed the first golden

  reflections in the forest, eyes reflecting the light of their lamp.

  There were dozens and dozens of them. Far from being synonymous with

  emptiness, the shadows of the jungle, with the racket of insects and

  howler monkeys, underlined the impressive life swarming between these

  trunks, in these lianas. All around and above them, beasts swarmed,

  howled, fought, copulated and ate each other. Pastel slumped back in the

  boat. He looked up at the stars and relaxed as soon as he recognized a

  constellation. Soon he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  For

  the first time in a very long time, Pastel had a dreamless night. He

  was awakened before dawn by an unbearable itch. He opened his eyes and

  met the gnoll's gaze, who immediately looked away. "He's watching me

  sleep" thought Pastel, barely conscious. He scratched his chest and arms

  energetically, grunting, then glanced at his hands: under his

  fingernails he saw blood and fur. Pastel got up quickly and felt his

  body, under the fur he discovered red, sensitive patches everywhere,

  where the fur was easily peeled off. He yelped in surprise.

  "Good morning," Yeen gestured without looking at him.

  "Yeen, I.... good morning. I think I've got an infection or something."

  The gnoll put down his pole and crouched down next to the fox to observe him. He put on a phlegmatic grimace and said, "Yep."

  He stepped aside, raising his arms: "It's an infection, my friend. You'll have to deal with it at Ternoulie."

  "An infection? What's that?" Pastel snapped.

  "I don't know, it could be all sorts of things. Parasites, fungus, curse...".

  "'Curse?!"

  "I don't know, man. I feel sorry for you."

  "And how did I get this?"

  "Hmmm,

  I don't know, maybe one of the hundreds of times you had fun touching

  everything you saw in the jungle despite my warnings?"

  The fox growled as he wiggled at the bottom of the boat. "As if I didn't have enough problems," he thought.

  In

  the hours and days that followed, they did nothing but cruise,

  exchanging only a few words, anecdotes and jokes. Pastel, his skin

  increasingly sore, took control of the boat a few times, while the gnoll

  dozed for a few hours. The fox couldn't help glancing at him. He kept

  repeating to himself: "Don't get attached to the mercenary, don't get

  attached to the mercenary, don't get attached to the mercenary...".

  The

  second day was exactly like the first, except for the itching that

  turned into burning and the places where the fox's fur seemed to fall

  off. At one point, in the middle of the afternoon of the second day,

  Yeen stopped wielding the pole and frowned. Pastel was in the middle of

  describing how the fox clans of the east differed from those of the

  west, when the gnoll interrupted him with a sharp gesture.

  Slightly

  offended, the fox replied: "Oh, excuse me, you asked me to give you an

  account of the plains and all of a sudden you're pissed off".

  "We're not alone anymore," whispered Yeen, whose eyes were focused on the trees.

  Pastel heard a creak.

  "We've just entered the territory of the tree monkeys. I don't know why, but they're watching us intently."

  Pastel

  scanned the vines and canopy without seeing anything, then detected

  rapid movement. He said, "I've heard that some plains foxes have taken

  refuge among them. Maybe they noticed me."

  "Who

  told you that? Who's 'we'?" Yeen asked quickly, turning back to the

  fox. The latter hesitated before answering. He met the gnoll's gaze,

  which sensed his hesitation. He wouldn't be fooled. "The innkeeper at

  the trading post told me.".

  "Mazeran?! Did you talk to that bitch?"

  Yeen exclaimed before massaging his temples with his hands. "What did

  you say to her? You know that woman has no enemies or allies, only

  customers. You don't know who she's going to sell this information to!"

  "Pfff,

  amusing criticism coming from a mercenary who kills in exchange for a

  bit of gold." replied Pastel quickly without hesitation. "Besides, I'm

  not as stupid as you think... I measured my words."

  The

  gnoll shook his head: "You're a naive little fox, you don't know which

  words to measure with whom, which information is trivial and which is

  valuable... You don't know how much you don't know!"

  "Oh,

  I absolutely know how much I don't know! It's the only thing I can

  think of! Only unanswered questions! Why were we forced into exile, why

  is everyone so nasty, who's buying all those magic items, who's

  trustworthy and why are you helping me and what are you hiding from me!

  Nothing but questions! Only questions and doubt!"

  A shudder was heard in the leaves above them.

  "Don't talk so loud, Pastel," whispered the gnoll.

  He

  continued: "I'm helping you because... because I can. I know you need

  me. It doesn't cost me much." He turned his head toward the forest. "And

  I like you."

  Pastel's

  heart was pounding. He looked at Yeen and his spotted fur outlined in

  the afternoon light. His heart tightened. The warmth of the stone

  brought him a new foreboding: fear.

  A

  whistling sound echoed through the jungle. Pastel looked into the

  distance and saw the river widening, shimmering with light. What he

  first thought were specks were boats. Pirogues, but also large sailing

  boats. On each side of the riverbank, the forest was becoming lighter.

  He noticed buildings, structures he'd never seen before: towers,

  temples, and pyramids whose imposing tops loomed above the trees and

  behind towering stone fortifications.

  "Ternoulie" murmured Pastel.

  The whistling began again. He looked up into the forest. It was the monkeys drawing his attention or trying to warn him.