Three riders galloped across the ridge. Their cloaks snapped in the wind,
and their eyes followed the trail of broken grass and boot prints heading into
the thick woods.
The captain narrowed his eyes. "We're close."
Below, Ju Xian and Taotao pushed deeper into the forest. Their breathing
had grown ragged, and every step squelched in thick mud. Ju Xian's cloak
had torn against the brambles, and Taotao's shoulder sagged with the
weight of his soaked satchel.
> "My legs are declaring rebellion," Taotao muttered, barely dodging a low
branch. "And I think my left boot just gave up on life."
> "We're almost there," Ju Xian panted, wiping blood from a scratch on her
cheek. "We can't stop now."
Behind them, the faint sound of hoofbeats echoed — then grew louder.
Taotao spun to glance behind. "We have company."
Ju Xian grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. They veered off the main
path, crashing through undergrowth, thorns tearing at their clothes.
> "You have a talent," he gasped, "for making death feel like cardio."
Then it happened.
The ground beneath them gave way.
A hidden trench — long forgotten, half-rotted with old battle stakes and
leaves — opened underfoot. Ju Xian gave a short cry. Taotao swore midair.
They crashed through undergrowth and slammed into cold mud.
For a moment, everything was silent except for their groans and the patter
of leaves falling after them.
> "Ow," Taotao wheezed. "Am I dead?"
Ju Xian sat up, dazed and bleeding from a shallow cut above her brow. "If
you are, then I'm not impressed by the afterlife."
Above them, the sound of hooves drew near.
They ducked down.
The riders paused at the edge of the trench — unaware of the fugitives lying
just below — then rode on.
Taotao exhaled slowly.
> "Next time," he whispered, "I vote for hiding in a bakery."