Wild is the Witch (31)

I look around and exhale slowly. There’s no point in trying to make my way back to the campsite now; I’ll never find it in the dark. It’s better to stay here—on the same path Pike and I traveled together—than risk going too far off course.

I sink to the ground and pull my knees to my chest, then lean my head against the trunk of the spruce and close my eyes. Its roots snake through the dirt, cradling me in its arms, telling me I’m safe. My eyes are tired after crying, and I hug my arms to my chest, exhaling into the tree, sinking in deeper.

When I start to get cold, I wrap myself in magic, thousands of tiny fragments rushing to my skin and colliding, creating enough heat to keep me warm. Once I stop shivering, I reach for the owl, giving all my attention to finding him.

I breathe out in relief when I feel him right away, so thankful he’s still out there.

Our connection is strong, with the owl giving me access to his magic, wanting me to come after him. He may not let my magic influence him, but he wants to be found. I concentrate on the pull, the direction of the stream, and locate him about eight miles northwest of here. We’ll have to pack up tomorrow and drive to a new trailhead, but at least he’s still close.

Still living and breathing and carrying my ill-fated curse.

Now that I know he’s safe, I can rest. I burrow back into the spruce, wrapped in magic and cradled in roots, and slowly drift toward sleep. For just a moment, I feel at peace.

Then: “Iris!”

I jolt forward and open my eyes, squinting into the darkness.

“Iris!” he calls again, his voice getting closer.

“Pike?” I’m still half asleep, and I rub my eyes.

“Stay where you are,” he calls. “I’m coming!” His voice sounds urgent. Worried, even. A faint smile tugs at my lips.

“Over here!” I call back, realizing that Pike probably thinks I’m scared, lost and alone in the woods.

He’s close enough for me to hear his footsteps, then his headlamp comes into view, bobbing up and down in the darkness. His light crosses my face, and he rushes toward me.

He kneels on the ground in front of me, his eyes scanning the length of my body. “Are you hurt?”

“No, why would I be hurt?”

“Because you’re not with me,” he says. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing. I was upset about the owl and stopped to gather my emotions for a bit. I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten.”

“Jesus, Iris, I was worried sick.” He stands and shoves a hand through his hair. “You can’t do stuff like that, okay? If you need a minute, fine, but at least tell me first.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, standing up and wiping the dirt from my pants. They’re soaked through, and I shiver. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Pike stops moving, his headlamp crossing over my face, illuminating the trees behind me. I wish I could see him better, see the way anger and worry pull at his features. His tone, his urgency, his tense stance all tug at something inside me, shifting my pieces ever so slightly.

“Thank you for coming back,” I say.

He doesn’t respond for a minute, but I can feel him looking at me, feel the way his eyes settle on my face.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he finally says, and even though it’s dark, I look down, unsure of how to respond.

I pick up my pack, resting it on my shoulders once more, and follow Pike back to the campsite. He doesn’t say anything the rest of the way and busies himself with the fire once we’re there.

“Thank you again,” I say, breaking the silence.

Pike pauses what he’s doing and looks up at me, his expression unreadable. Then something in him shifts, and he looks down. “You’re welcome.”

“I really didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I know,” he says, his voice softening, letting go of some of the heaviness from earlier. “It doesn’t seem like I had anything to worry about, anyway. You looked pretty comfortable when I found you.”

“I was almost asleep,” I admit.

He laughs at that, big and loud, the sound filling me up in a way I don’t expect. “Of course you were.”

“I’ve always liked the trees,” I say. “I used to beg my parents to let me sleep outside. Something about being surrounded by nature has always calmed me down.”

“Did you need that a lot as a kid? To be calmed down?” He pauses what he’s doing and looks at me, his face dim in the evening light.

“Yeah,” I say, my fingers working the hem of my jacket. “I guess I did. I’ve always been really aware of the things I could lose. Too aware, probably.”

“What kind of things?”

“Everything,” I say. “My family, my friends, my home, my health. Everything.”

Pike keeps working on the fire, and suddenly the flames spring to life, casting a warm orange glow on his face. He dusts off his hands and sits on the tarp, then his eyes meet mine.

“Have you lost things?”

I swallow hard. “Yes,” I say, embarrassed when the word comes out hoarse.

“And life goes on. And somehow, you find a way to go on with it.” I watch him, no longer sure we’re talking about me. Then he clears his throat and leans back, taking a deep breath. “The trees really do help,” he says.