Into the Woods

Chapter 6

The sun was steadily climbing higher and higher, but within the dense tangle of the forest it was all dark browns and rich verdant greens. Even within this deep shape the sweltering heat mounted.

Still Lance ran on. Sweat like a suffocating blanket draped over him, soaking through his clothing and sticking it to his skin in gross, dragging swaths. But he was able to ignore it, for now. Wide blue eyes flicked back and forth in a near feverish delirium. Catching on a bramble of blackberry blossoms, soft petals with barely the first flush of pink upon them, before sliding past and landing on the husk of an old rotted out log, fresh greenery growing out of the decay. He almost tripped over this, lunging past it at the very last moment.

Despite the stark contrast Lance almost missed the first flash of pure white in the gloom. Fuzzy with the high temperatures his mind interpreted the movement as the mere flash of a wing, the fall of a feather. He turned towards it as if on instinct alone, some long lost, blood deep push to simply follow.

It wasn't even the second time he thought he saw the long strands, catching almost silver in an odd ray of sunlight that managed to break through the mossy canopy, for perhaps it could have been an elaborate spiders web, woven for the sole purpose of capture.

It was not even the third time, though as the curling locks were whipped out of sight Lance blinked, droplets of sweat slid down into his eyes, setting a sting to them as he focused on the tree where the movement had been... or at least where he'd thought it was...

The boy rubbed at his eyes, noticing for the first time the aches in his own body, leg muscles cramping as they were finally given a rest. Thirst scratched up his throat like a wild beast attempting to escape. Exhaustion pulling at his limbs. Looking around him, all of these and more clouding his thoughts, unsure of what to do next, and yet unwilling to give up this one fleeting hope quite yet.

Before Lance had to figure out his next step a figure shifted in the mid-distance, moving away from him. It wasn't so much the strangeness of the unlikely possibility of running into someone else out here (was his heart rate going this fast simply because he'd been running?) No.... it was the color of the long hair, flowing behind her like a cloak.

The witch... he had found her.

His heart skipped up into his throat, blocking his voice as his lips formed the word 'wait.'

Before he could even blink though her mysterious figure had disappeared yet again. Shifting behind another tree as if she were one. Before he realized it Lance's long legs were pumping once more. Vision tunneling to the last place he'd seen her.... Or was it over there? His head snapped back and forth so quickly he almost missed the next glimmer of pristine, trailing hair; to the far right, back from where he'd been he thought.

With a pivot his feet slid in the sediment. His gaze couldn't manage to lock on, and again she had vanished. The boy used one of the curse words he'd often heard his father grunt out when he was doing something difficult, spinning in place Lance grew dizzy with it, almost giddy.

It continued on like this, the youth gaining ground, losing ground. These teasing glimpses lead him in random, contradicting directions.

Twisting roots caught up his sneakered feet. Each time this happened he managed to catch himself. Each almost fall brought a gasped giggle to the very edge of his lips. Until the final time when he simply tripped over his own feet. Skidding into the dirt as the air was pushed out of his lungs.

He stayed like this, splayed across the ground, breathe wheezing in and out of aching lungs, for who knows how long. Until, with a grunt Lance rolled onto his back.

"Dios mio soy tan tonto—" He muttered, pressing the heels of his hands tight against his lids. Hadn't Pidge always told him that she was the brains of their little group? He'd never really been the best at making well thought out decisions. Maybe he should have listened to them.... Or his family.... Or heck even if his poor crazy abuela hadn't meant this at all. Hadn't meant anything by her words. If he'd just—