The archer kept his bow partly raised, eyes narrowed in hard suspicion.
"Answer," Rowan demanded, voice tight with suspicion. "Who are you? And what are your intentions for approaching us?"
Before the moment could tighten into something dangerous, the swordsman stepped forward and gently pushed the bow aside.
"Easy, Rowan. Look at him."
His voice carried a quiet command — not arrogance, but the kind of authority that came from long experience. Rowan hesitated, but didn't resist.
The swordsman gave Eric another assessing glance, his expression shifting from alert to thoughtful.
"He doesn't look like a poacher or a bandit," he murmured, more to Rowan than to Eric. "He looks more lost than dangerous… and starving."
His eyes lingered on Eric's pale cheeks and the faint, unsteady sway in his posture.
"He's pale as chalk," he added quietly. "This is no ambusher. Just a wanderer who's had more misfortune than luck today."
Eric fought the urge to snort. That's because I'm literally dead, you genius. But hey, appreciate the sympathy. t
The swordsman softened his stance, though caution still lingered in his eyes.
"What's your name, wanderer?"
"Eric Myles," he said.
Rowan finally lowered the bow, though the tension in his shoulders remained iron-tight.
"Garrick," Rowan muttered, still keeping Eric in his sights. "I'll say it again — we can't go soft on someone we know nothing about."
So their names are Rowan and Garrick, Eric noted.
Garrick stepped forward, the tension easing from his posture.
"You can lower your hands," he said, voice steady. He unclipped a leather water pouch from his belt and held it out. "Here. Have some water."
"Thanks," Eric replied, taking it with careful fingers.
Of course, he couldn't actually drink it. One gulp and the water would spill straight through the hole in his stomach. He held the pouch politely, hoping no one asked him to chug it.
Now that they stood closer, Garrick finally got a proper look at his face. A small crease appeared between his brows.
"Your eyes…" he murmured. "They're unusual. Cloudy—almost grey around the pupils."
Eric didn't hesitate; he'd come prepared for this exact problem.
"Yeah, I know," he said with practiced ease. "Some disease I caught as a kid. Messed up my eyes for good."
Garrick blinked, taking half a step back. "Disease?"
"It's not contagious," Eric said quickly, raising a hand. "Doesn't spread. Doesn't hurt anyone. Just a nuisance I've had to live with."
The last thing he needed was to be mistaken for a plague victim and mercy-killed on sight.
Garrick's shoulders relaxed again. "I understand." He paused for a moment, then added, "If that's the case… would you like to come with us? Our village isn't far from here."
"Really?" Eric blinked. Genuine surprise slipped into his voice.
In a forest filled with carnivorous plants and murderous fauna, kindness from strangers wasn't something he expected. Maybe his luck hadn't completely rotted.
Rowan, naturally, was quick to crush the moment.
"Oh, come on!" he snapped. "How many times do I have to say this?"
He jabbed a finger toward Eric. "We don't bring strangers into the village! What if he's a bandit? What if he's lying? What if—"
Eric looked from Rowan's irritated scowl to Garrick's calm, patient expression.
Yep. If I'd met that unpleasant personality first, I'd definitely still be wandering alone right now.
Thank the gods—or whatever ruled this place—that his first encounter had been with the sensible one rather than the paranoid dirtbag.
The three of them set off along the narrow forest path, and before Eric could even decide where to walk, Rowan snapped,
"Middle. Stay where we can see you."
So that was that. Eric ended up sandwiched between them — Garrick leading with an easy, unhurried stride, and Rowan behind him like a watchdog who'd very much like to bite.
Overhead, branches shifted with the breeze, scattering flecks of light across the ground. Somewhere far off, something shrieked — bird or beast, Eric couldn't tell.
The silence dragged on. Heavy. Awkward. Claustrophobic.
Finally, he cleared his throat.
"By the way," he said, glancing from Garrick to the irritated shadow behind him, "I never actually asked the names of the men who helped me."
Garrick cast a brief smile over his shoulder. "Ah. Fair enough. I'm Garrick."
Behind him, Rowan scoffed. "If you're going to tell him, tell him properly."
Then, with the enthusiasm of someone announcing a tax bill: "Rowan. Not that it concerns him."
Eric managed a polite smile. "Good to meet you both. Really. Thanks for not leaving me out there."
Rowan clicked his tongue. "Still might regret it."
Garrick shot him a quiet warning look, then returned his focus to the path. "Ignore him. He's cautious, but his heart's in the right place."
Sure it is, Eric thought, glancing back at Rowan's glare. If that's what 'good intentions' look like, I'd hate to see his bad ones.
After a few more minutes, Rowan asked casually, "So, tell me something. What brings a wanderer this deep into the forest?"
Eric blinked. "Didn't I… already say I lost my way?"
"You said that," Rowan said sharply. "You didn't say why you were wandering in the first place."
Persistent bastard. Eric smoothed his expression, trying not to look like he was inventing his next words on the spot.
"Well," he began, adopting the tone of a man with respectable, boring ambitions, "I'm a scholar. Numbers and theory, mostly. I was traveling to look for work in a city that might need someone with my skills. And while on the road I… took a wrong path."
He prayed it sounded at least halfway believable. The lie was flimsy — paper-thin, wet-paper-thin — but technically not a lie. He was good with numbers. Undead or not.
Rowan didn't look convinced. "A scholar blundering straight into Dryad territory? Either reckless or stupid."
Eric coughed. "Everyone makes mistakes."
Garrick chuckled softly from ahead. "He's got you there, Rowan. Not everyone knows these woods like we do."
Rowan muttered something under his breath that Eric was pretty sure wasn't a compliment.
*****
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