Trapped

evidence of human traffic, and we need a thornbush .
    › Aren’t the good places to camp usually the ones without thornbushes? ‹
    Usually. This is a special case, however .
    › Okay. You’re the one with the snacks, I guess. ‹ Oberon trotted ahead, his nose low to the ground, searching for spoor. Granuaile and I hiked behind him in silence, keeping our meager human senses alert for any sign that we might not be bushwhacking alone.
    Normally I am not the sort to indiscriminately whack bushes. The undergrowth grew thicker, however, as we climbed the slope and strayed ever farther from the path, until there was no space between the brambles. We had to push our way through what turned out to be rather thorny bushes indeed. I could almost feel Granuaile’s mood worsening behind me as scratches appeared on our arms, and occasional punctures through our jeans made us curse. My own mood was beginning to sour as well.
    » Can’t you ask the earth to clear a path for us through this stuff? « Granuaile finally asked.
    » I could, « I admitted, » but that sort of thing might draw the wrong kind of attention here. «
    » Whose attention? «
    » The Olympians. Both sets. We’re in their territory now, and it’s not just them we need to worry about—it’s all those nymphs and dryads and the entire mythological zoo that the Greeks dreamed up and the Romans ripped off. If I take off my sandals and start drawing on the elemental here, it’s a fair bet the Greco–Romans will be tipped off that someone’s using magic in their backyard. I haven’t completely given up on my paranoia yet. I want us stationary and isolated if possible before I take any risks. «
    The two of us silently fumed as we waded and picked our way through a sea of uncomfortable thorns and woody branches. After a half hour of this, Oberon’s voice in my head was a welcome relief.
    › Hey, Atticus. Look up. See that vulture? ‹
    A broad black wingspan sailed overhead, moving from my right to left, angling toward a steep hillside.
    I see it .
    › Watch where it goes. ‹
    Normally, vultures alight in trees or they alight on the ground next to something dead; they are not cave dwellers. But this vulture sailed right into a sizable cave entrance up on the hillside, and I could plainly see that there were thornbushes nearby.
    How’d you spot this?
    › I saw him fly out earlier. At first I thought it was a bat, because that’s what flies out of caves, but he’s weird. He circled around once and went right back in. So there you go. Kind of high up, but it’s a cave. ‹
    Yeah. And probably up for grabs too. Either that’s a nest or there’s something dead in there. We can probably use it either way .
    I pointed the cave out to Granuaile and said we should go check it out. She merely nodded in reply and followed me in grim silence.
    It’s funny how when someone is Not Talking to You their every movement speaks volumes. Granuaile had little holsters on either hip, each with three flat, leaf-bladed throwing knives nestled on top of one another. She could throw them accurately with either hand to finish off opponents or take them out to begin with; her staff was more of a defensive weapon, meant to disarm or trip rather than deliver lethal blows to someone in heavy armor. Her knives made a soft clinking sound with every step she took, though I hadn’t heard them before. Perhaps I simply hadn’t noticed. Now, however, they communicated her burning desire to draw one and toss it between my shoulder blades.
    Negotiating the hill was tiresome, and the clinking of the knives soon tapped out a different message: This had better be worth it .
    We were joined by Oberon, who was panting happily, his tongue lolling out. The forest was full of wonderful smells to him.
    » Hi, Oberon! « Granuaile said, stopping to pet him. » Are you having a good time? «
    › Tell Clever Girl I said it’s a beautiful day, ‹ he replied, using his nickname for Granuaile. He called her that about half the time, having developed a fine appreciation for her habit of sparring with me verbally as much as physically. › And just about everything in the forest is terrified of me, so I feel like quite the apex predator right now. ‹
    I repeated this for Granuaile’s sake and she laughed.
    » You are certainly top dog, « she said to him.
    › Atticus, have I told you before that I approve of your apprentice? ‹
    Yep. Every time she strokes your ego .
    That light feeling