Wild is the Witch (45)
“We won’t have anything to help him with if all our gear floats away.”
Pike keeps walking, moving farther away from the riverbank, and I follow after him, helpless. He will never understand if I go after the owl alone, and with all the magic in these woods, after everything that happened with the bear, I can’t afford his questions. I can’t afford for the magic pulling at his mind to crystallize in any way. Deep down, Pike knows I would never make that mistake, I would never run. He knows that’s not how I would react.
But my stomach feels as if it drops to the earth as I replay what happened with the bear, the feathers on the ground, the burn. I slow my steps and fall back, seeking out the owl. With the curse still bound to him and his proximity to me, I can survey his injuries, get a sense for how bad things are. But regardless of the extent, he’s at a greater risk of being sought out by predators. He’s at a greater risk of dying.
And if the owl is at risk, so is Pike.
I stop walking and steady myself against a tree, trying to catch my breath.
It was one thing when the owl was healthy, when I had plenty of time to find him and bring him back to the refuge. But now he’s bleeding, an undeniable invitation to other animals, and I can’t risk it. I can’t keep doing this on my own.
I’ll follow Pike back to the campsite, make sure we have the gear we need, and call for help. And if it’s too late, if the owl is too injured, I’ll grab the herbs I need for the binding ritual and undo the curse right here, in the middle of the trees, with Pike nearby.
I close my eyes and survey the owl, letting my magic move through him. He’s bleeding, but his heartbeat is steady and his breathing is even. As long as he’s safely off the ground, in a hollow or cavity, he isn’t in any immediate danger.
“Stay put,” I whisper, more a plea than a command. “Stay alive. I’m coming.”
I rush to catch up with Pike, and he turns around when he hears me.
“How the hell did that bear get burned?” Pike asks, talking more to himself than to me. “It’s been pouring rain for the past twenty-four hours, and we haven’t seen a single person since we got here.”
“Lightning?” I ask, hoping it sounds plausible. “Maybe the bear was up against a tree that was struck?”
Pike is quiet for several minutes, and I don’t think he’s going to answer. “Maybe,” he finally says, and I can hear in his voice how he’s trying to put the pieces together, pieces that don’t make any sense. Pieces that only fit if magic is part of the equation.
He doesn’t speak again, and the silence is awful. I wish I knew what he was thinking, if he’s on to me in some way, if his mind is screaming at him that the world is just a little different when I’m around. Animals are just a little calmer.
He’s going to find out. Once I call for help, I’ll be put on trial for a second time, and Pike will know the secret I’ve tried so hard to keep from him. From everyone. And I know it’s selfish, but I want this time with him, these last moments when he looks at me with curiosity and wonder, as if I’m the best subject he’s ever studied.
I’ll tell him once the curse is undone and we’re back at the refuge, once his life is his again and there’s no more risk. I’ll tell him, and he’ll no longer look at me with curiosity and wonder.
He’ll no longer look at me at all.
“What were you planning on doing with that flare?” I ask, trying to get his mind off whatever it’s circling around.
“I was trying to distract the bear. Get it to come after me instead.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask, and I genuinely want to know. I was the one who ran—whatever came next was mine to endure.
“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to think about it, but I assume it had something to do with not wanting you to die.”
I catch up to Pike and gently touch his wrist. He stops walking and turns to look at me. Sweat is lining his forehead, his hair sticking to it. His glasses are covered in raindrops and his eyes are tired.
“Thank you for what you did,” I say. I cursed him, and he tried to stop a bear from attacking me. I’ve been so worried about the danger that Pike is to me and my family that I haven’t stopped to consider the danger I am to Pike. It’s his life hanging in the balance, not mine.
“You didn’t look scared,” he says, watching me. “When you were running. You didn’t look scared.”
“How did I look?” I ask, meeting his eyes. I won’t shy away, won’t give him a single reason to think I’m hiding something.
“You looked…free,” he finally says. “Wild.” He pauses, and his gaze falls to the ground. “Beautiful.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I’m speechless. Pike doesn’t know who I am, not really, and yet he says certain things that make it feel as if he knows exactly who I am. It’s unnerving and terrifying. It’s wonderful.
“I don’t think I ever developed the proper fear response to animals,” I say, going back to his original comment, even though the words that followed have already lodged in my chest.
Free. Wild. Beautiful.
“No, I don’t think you did,” he says. We watch each other for several seconds, then we start walking again.
The river continues to rise, and when we get back to the campsite, water has already reached my backpack. I silently curse, wishing I would have put it safely in the tent before leaving this morning. The whole thing is soaked, and I get to it just before it floats away. Pike moves his things out of the tent and pulls the stakes from the ground, then he carries it all deeper into the trees before it, too, is claimed by the river.