The sound of the stream had followed them all the way, still holding the same tune by afternoon. It was a low tune, lying beneath their footsteps.
Daylight slanted down, cutting the light on the ground into strips.
Kiyoshi slowed his steps. Farther ahead, the stream would turn into a cleft in the rocks. Once it did, the stones would swallow its sound.
Ahead, the stream narrowed between two large rocks. Its flow quickened, its voice rose, and a frothing white line flickered in the dusk.
He stopped and watched the stream for a while.
Where there was water, there was a path.
Where there was a path, there were people.
He left both thoughts unspoken.
He raised his hand and pointed toward the ridge on their right. Once he had chosen that direction, he did not change it again.
No one in the group asked. Their footsteps did not even break rhythm.
Sasuke glanced at the stream, then at the ridge, his feet turning first.
Naruto followed. His mouth opened, then closed again.
Their route shifted from the streamside onto the ridge.
The soil grew dry, the grass thick. It made no sound beneath their feet.
The wind on the ridge was harsher than by the stream, making their pack straps flap. That sound followed their steps, drowning out half the stream's murmur.
Kiyoshi kept his stride measured, his eyes not on the path but on the ground to either side.
There was no freshly turned soil. No newly broken branches, either.
Not a single trace of an animal trail could be found.
This route had been chosen cleanly. Whoever had chosen it knew exactly what they were doing.
Too cleanly.
Behind them, the stream's voice sank little by little.
It sank into a layer of background sound.
He