Chapter 73: Black-Glass Ravine
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They followed a descending game trail southeast, golden leaves crunching underfoot like delicate parchment. The trees thinned as they moved farther from camp, their gnarled trunks bending outward from ancient shifts in the land. Shafts of late morning light speared through the canopy, casting warm amber hues over the path, while small winged insects buzzed lazily in the hush. Emberwood forest’s outer ring smelled of warm resin and iron; it was the scent of old sap, scorched bark, and buried heat. Fissures in the earth cracked across their path like claw marks, and in several places, the soil radiated a low glow with magma veins skimming close beneath, pulsing dim orange between stone ribs.
Fenna kept Emberling bundled tightly, the sling snug across her chest. She moved with careful steps, adjusting her pace to avoid jostling the chick too harshly. As they walked, she began to hum a low, airy note which threaded from her memory, shaped from the tune she’d used during resonance training the day before. The melody wasn’t complex, but it carried something old in its rhythm, something soothing. Each hum gently pulsed from her chest and through the sling, and the chick answered with drowsy twitters, the sounds were soft and high, like sparks flicking in the air. Emberling’s eyes drooped with every verse, small claws curled against Fenna’s tunic.
Zephyr walked slightly ahead, silent but alert. His eyes scanned for changes in the terrain, one hand occasionally brushing aside low branches or peeling bark from trees to check for moss growth. When streamsong finally reached his ears. Water running swiftly over stone—he raised a hand to halt them. "Hold here," he said, his tone quiet but firm. He lifted his chin. "Sulfur pools to the left. Water’s safe if we fill above the runoff."
The scent hit a moment later—hot stone, sour minerals, and something metallic, like wet coins. Just ahead, a narrow cataract spilled down a basalt cliff into a crystal basin, its surface broken by ripples. Steam danced and fluttered across the pool’s far edge, where faint yellow fumes curled up from sulfur vents like snakes rising from buried eggs.
The rocks around the basin were slick and dark, flecked with red minerals. Zephyr circled upstream, his boots squelching once in a patch of sticky, mineral-rich mud. He tested the footing, then wedged the first keg beneath the coldest section of the fall. The water hit the container with a hiss, startling a few lizards sunning on the cliff above. He shifted his weight to wedge the second keg in next to it, water rushing in with a low gurgle.
Down at the bank, Star crouched beside a jutting rock, his claws digging into the pebbled shore. He lowered his head to the water’s edge and lapped once, tongue flicking against the current. A second later, he pulled back with a snort, a small blast of steam puffing from his nostrils. His upper lip curled in mild offense with Drake’s sensitive palates. The minerals in the runoff likely stung his senses.
Zephyr scratched his cheek with the back of his knuckle. "Dilute later with ember-filter charcoal," he murmured, mostly to himself.