Chapter 7 --7.
She took a deep breath, arms stretched wide as if trying to let the air calm her nerves. Her gaze wandered across the quiet surroundings. The river nearby wasn’t much—narrow, slow, and definitely not a main water source—but even so, she wasn’t dumb enough to sleep out in the open. Not here.
From everything she’d seen so far, this was the only water around. And where there’s water, there are animals—big ones, wild ones, desperate ones. The kind that don’t care who or what gets in their way.
She wasn’t some survival expert. This wasn’t her world. She didn’t know the rules of the jungle—hell, she didn’t even know if this place was a jungle. All she knew was after seeing that oversized, terrifying vulture earlier, she’d be a fool to stay put. If that thing came back—or worse, if something bigger showed up—she doubted she’d be lucky enough to escape again. And she wasn’t about to gamble with her life.
"Uck..." she groaned as another step sent a sharp pulse of pain shooting up her leg. She stopped, looking down at her foot—and cursed under her breath. The swelling was worse now, puffed up and red.
With a sigh, she bent down, carefully unwrapping the cloth around her ankle. The skin underneath was tender, the sprained spot throbbing from the long trek. She pressed gently, only to flinch at the sting.
"Perfect," she muttered, sarcasm thick. "As if today wasn’t already fantastic."
There wasn’t even any oil around—not a single drop. The best she could do now was use water. She remembered what her grandmother used to say: soaking a sprained foot in warm water helped ease the pain, made it easier to walk again. Yeah, yeah, she knew cold compresses were the usual go-to, but her body never responded well to cold. It made her muscles stiff, her joints ache. She needed warm water.
Well, water wasn’t the problem. That, at least, she had plenty of.
But—
"Damn it," Kaya groaned, rubbing her temples in frustration. Of course, now that she had water in abundance, there was nothing to boil it in. No pot. No container. Not even a dented old bowl.
As she stood there, stewing in irritation, a shrill sound pierced the silence.