Dew weighed the grass tips low.
Dawn came slowly, the light touching the treetops first, then the slope. The earth there still held the night's chill.
The blankets were packed early, their corners soaked with dew. Wringing them out yielded nearly half a handful of water. It was cold and smelled of raw grass.
The waterskin went around once.
No one took an extra mouthful.
They stopped filling it halfway, tied the mostly full skin shut, and saved it to ration out with meals.
The team followed the water downstream.
The sound of water swallowed their footsteps.
The stream lay to their left, the path to their right.
The water had chosen this route for them.
The stream's unhurried murmur fell into time with their steps.
Naruto's stomach growled once, then quickly fell quiet.
Their rations were limited by meal. They had broken them into small pieces at noon yesterday, and smaller still now.
He tightened his waist strap another notch.
He hefted what little remained at the bottom of his bag and tied its mouth shut again. Breaking off a corner, he put it in his mouth and chewed a long time before swallowing. Then he sucked every last crumb from his mouth.
Kiyoshi walked in the middle, his eyes on the path.
Something lay on it.
A line of footprints veered off at a fork.
Dew had soaked the prints dark.
Their edges still stood sharp, not trampled into a blur.
Deep at the forefoot, shallow at the heel. Someone had been hurrying.
The spacing was uneven, one print deep, the next shallow. Their feet had sought out hard roots and loose stones-a group accustomed to traveling at night.
But their direction had never wavered.
The other sets of tracks at the fork were faint and old.
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