Waterborne (Wanderlust 3)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tanden waded in the shallow water, towing the raft along behind him.

It was a windy evening, and towing the raft through the waves was much easier than riding it and trying to paddle against the wind. Jale was walking along the shoreline, trying to keep out of the water as much as she could. Which wasn't very much, as the thick jungle, big roots and scattered rocks kept forcing her to sidestep into the water.

"You might as well accept that you're wet," Tanden called over, the exact moment her foot slipped on a rock and she fell to one knee in the water.

Jale swore in Tallenese as she yanked herself up with huge, loopy root.

"Wrong language," Tanden said.

She shot him a glare and spoke in Morcean. "I don't like walking with wet feet."

He replied in Tallenese. They kept switching languages, because it gave them something to think about. Tanden only wished Jale knew more than three. "If you walk in the water, you won't think about them being wet."

"That's stupid," Jale grumbled in Teltish, climbing back onto the bank. "Maybe you should just pull me on the raft. I can lie back and relax."

Tanden switched the vine he was using as a rope from one hand to the other and wiggled his stiff fingers. It was his turn to speak Morcean. "We might actually cover more ground that way."

"Was that a joke?" Jale asked in Tallenese.

"Maybe," he replied in Teltish.

She rolled her eyes and carefully moved around another tree.

The banter, and their game of switching languages, was the only thing keeping Tanden sane. Having to remember what language to speak next, as well as translating everything, kept his mind occupied. He thought about Soren from time to time, but he managed not to get dragged down into the dark thoughts.

They had been travelling along the coast for days. They were still heading North, a fact Tanden didn't like to think about, because thinking about it meant acknowledging just how long it would take to get around the enormous Alvan Bay. The only hope they had at rescuing Ara and the crew—the slimmest little hope—was finding a fishing village and getting their hands on a real boat. Even a row boat would be faster than their makeshift raft.

Jale spoke up in Morcean. "There's a dip in the shoreline up there, by those cliffs. Might be a good place to stop for the night."

Tanden looked head. He could see the dip she was describing, a tiny bit of inlet before the shoreline shot up to tall cliffs. He certainly didn't want to try to pass those by in the dark, so he nodded and replied in Tallenese. "All right."

They walked the rest of the way in near silence. Tanden tried to start up conversations, but Jale was getting too tired to keep it up. When they reached the dip in the land, they found the makings for a decent campsite. A bit of a clearing surrounded a fallen tree. There was enough room for them to both lie down, and build a small fire. A small creek trickled down the steeply slanted side of the cliffs, giving them a welcome source of fresh water. They cupped their hands under the stream and drank their fill. Then, as Jale wandered into the jungle in search of something to eat, Tanden worked on collecting dry wood to start a fire.

He built the fire, but needed Jale to light it, so he sat beside the stack of wood and waited patiently. These were the hardest moments, when there wasn't anything to think about aside for what had happened. But this time he didn't have to fight off the thoughts for long, because he eyes found marks on the fallen tree. He moved closer and traced his fingers over the lines. They looked like writing, and even though Tanden suspected they were probably simply natural markings in the bark, maybe caused by insects, they were still a pleasant distraction.