always good for a game." She smiled, the blue-and-purple gem flashing.
Yob shook his head, making himself dizzy; he hadn't guessed right all day. The woman chuckled and gave him a mock curtsy. "I am Frijan, daughter of Wiggulf the Riverking. And you are my prisoner, ore. Get yourself up and march. We have a long way to go on land, since I know your kind cannot swim."
Yob stood up. As he towered over the woman, he remembered how big he was and began to laugh. "Your prisoner? I am Yob! A Wyrvi! overking. You are a little selkie. It is funny that you say this thing."
"The cut on your neck will kill you inside three days if you do not come with me. My father is the only one who can reverse the effects of the poison. Still funny, ore?"
Yob's yellow eyes widened with amazement and he clutched his neck, the pain growing more intense as he thought about it. After a moment or so, Frijan pointed the way, and they began to walk into the pine forest, following the river.
"I need some fresh water to rinse my clothes and this salt off my skin," muttered Claria as she led Cheyne and Og ever deeper into the wood. "It's been a long time since I've heard anyone behind us. The old maps showed a river running through this forest, and I can even smell it. Could we please stop and wash?"
"Not yet. I want to make a couple of more miles before we camp," said Cheyne, looking over his shoulder.
The trees crowded over their trail, and the ground was dry, loose sand, littered with seasons and seasons of pine needles and stickaburrs. Hard country in which to track. Still, he felt the presence of followers.
"Og, step it up. Stop dreaming of Riolla. She would have drowned you back there without thinking twice. Come on. You're supposed to be my guide, not the other way around."