Page 41 of Cursed Shadows 4

I scoot along the fallen tree towards the tallgrass.

The backpack shifts to press against the curve of my spine. There, I feel the slight tickle of fish as they flail their final moments of suffocation.

I pause at the edge of the tallgrass.

It would be easier to crawl along the trunk the rest of the way towards the forest floor. But between me and the safety of land is the tail end of a slippery, slimy greyish creature submerged in the water. The tail protrudes, leaning over the fallen tree, and it sways side to side. There’s a translucence to the flesh that reminds me of kelpies—and I know exactly what this creature is.

One to be avoided.

The river eel.

One flick of that ghastly tail at me, and a shock will jolt through me, powerful enough to throw me off this log and back into the river, unconscious.

I choose the tallgrass.

I lie flat on the tree, then slide, slow and careful, off the edge. My cheek is smushed against the rough bark as my boot points and sways as it searches for the boulders. The touch comes with a sudden spray of icy water, and I know I’m close to the rush of the river again.

One wrong move, and I’ll be swept away to the waterfall.

The scrape of bark along my cheek is the tree’s farewell to me. I twist away from it, then manoeuvre myself onto the boulder.

Slowly, I lower to a crouch.

My mouth puckers as I bite down on the insides of my cheeks. I eye-up the riverbank.

From this angle, I get a better view of the mud beneath the tallgrass, soil that’s soaked to the core of the earth from the river water.

I push up just a smidge. Half-crouched, half-risen, my knees ache too quickly. Hands splayed at my sides, I watch the tallgrass, watch it sway and crackle and whisper.

Then I lunge for it.

I tell myself that this is a dance.

And so I dance.

One leg kicks ahead of me, pointed. I am performing, there is an audience, and this is mere dance, it is ceremony, nothing more.

The lie carries me.

It carries me across the waters to the tallgrass, where one boot comes smacking down on wet soil—

And the mud slips out from under me.

Face-first, I crash down on the sludge of the riverbank.

Damp dirt fists into my mouth and forces its way up my nose. I am fast covered in mud.

The toes of my boots dig into the wet earth, the pressure keeping me in place. I don’t slip any further down, the river doesn’t steal me away.

A breath of relief grunts through me.

Still, I twist my face against the smear of dirt.

I push up onto my elbows, then spit out a chunk of grainy mud coating my tongue.

I loosen a weighted sigh.

If anyone saw…

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