But this—this is something else. This seems more like reverence. A deep, abiding caution rather than fear.
It’s not the first time she’s held back information from me, either. While we searched, she often translated when speaking with locals—yogis, elders, people whose wisdom was passed down through generations. They shared ancestral knowledge, pointed us toward possibilities, helped us rule out false leads.
But there were times—like now—when their answers had been too vague, or Sita had hesitated before passing along their words. Not because she didn’t want to help—she did. She wanted me to find the plant just as much as I did. But more than that, I think she wanted to protect me. Even if it was from myself.
I don’t push her. Not yet. Instead, we sit in silence, watching the fire burn down to embers until the cold creeps in, chasing away the last traces of heat. The night settles in around us, the warmth of the dying fire no longer enough to hold back the mountain chill. One by one, the travelers retreat to their rooms, until only one man remains.
Sita excuses herself to place hot water bottles in my bed, extra warmth against the chill of the night. The thick quilts and insulation will help keep the room warm enough, but I’m not going to say no to the added comfort.
Left alone, I offer a shy smile at the man which he takes as an invitation to join me. While he starts up some small talk in a delightful British accent, I find myself unable to focus on what he is saying, distracted by the weight of eyes on my back again.
Instead of the hot caress of a lingering gaze I experienced the last time I was here, tonight a different kind of heated look emanates from the woods behind me. Not sensual but watchful and possessive. Territorial even.
I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see someone from the guesthouse—but there’s nothing. My eyes search the rapidlydarkening night, but there is no movement in the trees. Not even luminous eyes in the darkness.
Despite not finding a source of the sensation, my skin still prickles with awareness. Shrugging off the feeling as lingering stress from Ben, I try to politely direct my attention back to the fellow traveler.
“Something wrong?” the man asks, tilting his head at my clear distraction.
“I thought I heard something,” I murmur in excuse.
He leans around me to look, balancing with a hand on my knee, saying, “I didn’t hear anything.”
I freeze. Not because I feel threatened, but because I don’t know how to read this casual touch. I’ve been with Ben for so long that I can’t tell if this man is flirting or just friendly. I look down at his hand on my knee and then back up to meet his eyes. He leans in, flashing a teasing smile—and the forest explodes.
A thunderous crash shatters the quiet night. Branches snap and the fire shoots sparks into the sky with a crackle as if it, too, is alarmed. The sudden noise is followed by an even more unnerving silence. Even the river has hushed its rushing waters.
We lurch to our feet, the man stumbling back in alarm as I step closer to scan across the river, eyes roving over the darkened woods where the sound came from. My heart hammers against my ribs as I search the darkness. I can’t see anything, but my heart tells me—something is out there.
“Well, I definitely heard that,” he chuckles nervously, rubbing his arms. “Probably just a monkey or something, yeah?” He offers a lopsided grin, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “Anyway, I think that’s my cue for bed.”
“Yes,” I choke out, throat dry, unable to tear my eyes away from the search. “I think you’re right.”
He hesitates for half a second, glancing toward the tree line.Then, with a stiff nod at me and then at Sita as she approaches, he turns and heads toward his room, quickening his pace the farther he gets from the fire.
“Everything okay?” Sita asks, watching him retreat. When he disappears into the guesthouse, she turns back to me, her gaze flicking between my face and the darkened tree line.
“Sita, there was a huge crash over there,” I explain, pointing off in the direction the sound had come from.
Her reaction is immediate. She grabs my hand and all but drags me toward my room. Once inside, she closes the door and leans against it, her expression unreadable.
“Sita, what is going on?” I ask, heart pounding at her reaction on the heels of the night’s events.
She gestures to the bed, and we sit together. Her gaze flicks to the small window overlooking the forest, her expression solemn. “Didi, there is a reason we have not searched those woods. What you heard—it’s not unusual here.”
A chill skates down my spine. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The mountains have their own secrets, Dahlia. We call it the Migoi.”
“I heard that myth around the campfire. We call them Yetis back home, or Bigfoot.”
I can’t help the slight chuckle over the Bigfoot memes and car stickers back home, but the memory of that strange heat prickling my back, followed by the crash in the woods when that man touched my knee and leaned in, has my nerves still on edge.
Sita presses her palms together, her expression turning solemn as she looks at me over her steepled fingers.
“The Migoi is not like the stories you hear in the West. It is not just a beast that wanders the mountains. It is a spirit, too. A guardian.” Her voice lowers. “Sometimes, they help. Sometimes,they send warnings. Other times…” Her voice trails off as she averts her eyes.
She glances toward the window again. “The crash you heard—it may have been a warning.”
