Quence knew that cryptic glances and the use of ‘Aves’ weren’t exactly worth his energy to be miffed about. Unfortunately, he was.

And more than that – he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that the little ‘accidents’ that kept happening weren’t accidents at all. He was almost – nay, entirely! – certain that his so-called ‘colleagues’ were trying to make him lose his composure.

He wouldn’t let them. And he had come up with a strategy to make sure he didn’t.

For the rest of their journey to the campsite, Quence had forced himself to be his most bright and sprightly self. He’d kept up a steady stream of inane blather along the lines of “behold – the trees, the clouds, that stone!” and carefully enunciated every bon mot without, he’d hoped, making it too obvious that he was enunciating.

He was fishing for a smile or a nod – any effusive gesture that proved they saw him as Doctor Quence, despite his prior slip up.
What he got instead was no reaction at all.

Time to put his theory to the test.

“A nice forest, this.” he said casually, not caring that he was essentially repeating himself. He was too busy wincing inwardly at his Aves twang.

The guide – whatever his name was – glanced over his shoulder. And, finally, he offered a smile.
“Yeah, the locals are really proud of it.”

He went on talking about the woods’ significance to the Liraxan culture, its value as a tourist attraction, and-…
Quence had already stopped listening. He was too busy congratulating himself.

Because, how could it be any different, he was right!

Surely this proved their ulterior motives for this camping trip, and that the guard was in on it. And now that he knew, he could.. he would…

Quence wasn’t sure what he would. He would do… something.

What he did do, was nothing.

Well, he erected his lone tent – nothing would make him sleep in the communal abode the others had struggled to set up – and then, he tried to get to sleep.

He would’ve loved to claim that endeavour as just another success of his. Disappointingly, sleep seemed to slip away whenever he got close.

Not that he wasn’t tired – his muscles were stiff from the involuntary mudbath he’d taken earlier, and he was fighting a ferocious headache. But it was also cold, and around his tent, the forest seemed to come to live with far more of it than appreciated.

Not that that was a problem. Obviously. Problems were for other people.

The real issue was the conversation that carried over from the campfire. The rest of his group was seated around it, convalescing after eating too much roasted marshmallows, and – ugh – talking.
Their voices were grating. The topics they discussed were mundane. At least that’s what Quence imagined them to be. He wasn’t actually close enough to understand more than bits and pieces, but surely told him that they were talking about him – and not favorably.

A burst of shrill laughter startled him from his quarter-sleep. Now they were even making fun of him!

Quence got up and glowered into the darkness of his tent. His thoughts had long shifted towards unpleasantness, and now he wasn’t even getting rest.
Frustrated, he dragged his beleaguered self up to his feet, threw on his still-muddy coat, and headed out to give them a piece of his mind.

“And then” Thompson laughed  “He said ‘this isn’t what I signed up for’ – and he did that with such conviction, I nearly fell off my chair.”

The others joined her, amused by the story Quence had only caught the tail end off. And he couldn’t remember ever having said such a thing.

He huffed and stepped out of the shadow. He gloated the tiniest bit as the others jumped at his dramatic entrance.

“I can assure you, that’s not what happened.” he made a single, salient point.

“Not what happened?” Thompson asked. Her smile wavered. “Unless I misremember, you weren’t there. How exactly do you know better than I do?”

Quence froze and inhaled sharply, letting his nostrils flare. Mostly to buy himself time.

All of the sudden, he wasn’t so sure the conversation had referred to him.
A familiar heat rose to his cheeks, and he was painfully certain that everyone else noticed flush to his face.

“No matter. “ he said, hoping that would end the conversation. “I am happy to move forward. Would it.. “ he paused, barely believing what he was saying “…disrupt the circle if I joined?”

“Nope, not at all.” Jalloh smiled magnanimously, and moved to make space for him. His gaze wandered to the PADD Quence held like a protective shield in front of him.

“Been reading?”

Quence nodded. “I’ve been…. reviewing some notes. Obviously.”

He hadn’t.

And the PADD was equal parts habit and alibi.

And, once more, he couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew.

Because what followed was a moment of silence. Not the library kind he enjoyed, and not the ‘in my quarters’-type he was used to. This was something very different, and utterly uncomfortable.

So uncomfortable, in fact, that Quence decided it had to go.

“What were you talking about until I have so… rudely interrupted you?” he asked, extending the metaphorical olive branch of admitting that he wasn’t infallible.

“We were talking about the new cohort of med students.” Zantett chirped. “And Seth was saying how Ensign Deveau fainted during his first surgery, and then complained afterwards.”

Thompson laughed again. “It wasn’t a real complaint. Honestly, it was endearing. And – well, let’s face it. Entirely normal too.”

“The first clinical rotation is a tough one.” Jalloh agreed. “I freaked out when my first patient showed up with pale skin and blue lips. Measured blood oxygen several times when I realized it was a fashion choice, not cyanosis.”

“Did you ask them about it?” the guide, whose presence Quence hadn’t registered until now, asked.

Jalloh gave a somewhat embarrassed grin. “Yeah. Something along the lines of ‘why are you blue’.”

“Super professional,” Zantett rolled her eyes.

“Can read all the books in the world. Still don’t keep your hands from shaking the first time you’re in surgery.” Quence said. Quietly. Everyone heard it.

He blinked.

“What I meant to say…“ he tried “… is that theory doesn’t prepare one for practice, does it.”

Zantett gave him a sympathetic look. “It really doesn’t.”

Quence waited for an irritating addendum to her comment, but none came. Somehow, that made it worse.

“Nevertheless, I must leave you. It is … late.” Quence said abruptly, and got up.

“Already? We did mean to do a night hike still” Jalloh protested.

“A… night hike?”
These people were insane. They had been hiking all day, and now they wanted to hike some more? At night?

“Yeah. I mean you can stay here, but…”

“Fat chance.. “ he caught himself, swallowed the rest of the sentence, and offered a positively beatific smile that fooled absolutely no one instead.  “I would love to come”

So they really were going. Quence peered wistfully at the warm fireplace. He could be luxuriating in the warmth. Instead, he was here, ensconced in his stil-damp coat, within an even more damp forest.

It must be the dead of the night – whatever that meant on Liraxa IV – and as they entered under a low canopy, the light from the campfire seemed to vanish.

“Dark.” someone commented.

“Of course, it is. It’s night.” Quence replied with a scowl no one could see. Which was neither kind nor, considering that even on earth this didn’t always hold true, correct.

Just keep your eyes fixed on the tricorder, he told himself. It will be fine.
He alternated between making sure he didn’t fall – again – and staring at whatever those readings were. It was the same set of strange energy signatures he had noticed before, and then forgotten about.

Now, they truly vexed him.

“Uh.” said Jalloh cautiously, allowing the hesitation in his voice to stymie their journey. Quence glanced at him. “Did you say something?”

“I remember that trail marker. Wasn’t it facing towards the campsite?” Jalloh said quietly.

“Yeah, I remember it too.” Thompson chimed in.

Jalloh frowned. “Then why is it now facing away from it.”

“Perhaps it’s the local spirits.” Zantett gave a facetious grin, but no one aside from her found the comment funny. Least of all their guide.

Even less, Quence.

Spirits..

No he didn’t believe in them any more.

Just that his body didn’t seem to know that. It came as tingling in his extremities, a churning in his gut, and an aching tightness in his chest. Fear.

And Quence did what he always did. He pushed it away.

Instead, he looked at Zantett, who had made the initial, ill-received comment. He’d expected her to defend herself. Perfectly reasonable for a man of science – a woman of science – to ridicule such notions. It’s what he would do. Both the ridicule, and the defending.

But Zantett didn’t.

“I know myths and legends must seem odd to you…”, Mister Guide started, but Zantett quickly shook her head. “No, not at all, actually. But I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.”

The guide smiled, and no further word was lost on the matter.

And Quence? He wondered why his instinct was having to always be right. Even when he wasn’t.

Luckily, before idleness was forcing him to think too much about the matter, he noticed something on the floor. Hoofprints!

And his mind shot back to the Kirtav they had seen earlier – who had absolutely not been startled by his outrage about the ruined coffee.

He looked over at the group, who hadn’t noticed.

He wasn’t at fault, so he didn’t want to make up for the unfavourable outcome of their last encounter.
And he didn’t want to see them either – boring! – but he knew Zantett did, and…

“Are these Kirtav tracks?” he said loudly, in his typical bloviating tone.

The group halted, and joined him where he stood.
“Looks like it – Wanna take another attempt at taking that holophoto?” the guide asked.

Zantett nodded excitedly.

“Let’s… try not to drop anything this time around.”

Quence would’ve been upset, but he was too busy being pleased.

He had proven his superiority once more and-…  he sighed inwardly.
Who was he even kidding? He had found something interesting and wanted to see the Kirtav

___________________________

.

The forest around them grew thicker, and visibility dropped as a cold, low mist began to seep between the tree trunks.

A loose branch cracked overhead, and thumped on the ground, scattering nearby leaves and startling everyone. Quence’s heart pressed against his ribs, as he drew in a sharp breath… and failed to contain his Avesness.

“Just a branch,” he muttered. “Branches fall. No biggie.”

Zantett gave the branch and investigative kick with her foot. “Yeah. Branch” she said intelligently.

“W-.. what is that?” Thompson asked, once more redirecting everyone’s attention. The tracks had come to a halt, but there weren’t any Kirtav.
Avery- no, Quence – would have been disappointed, but he was too busy being distracted by the stone arrangement Thompson had found – a circle with strange glyphs, and branches in the middle like a wheel.

“I have no idea.” Jalloh said. “Looks almost religious or… ritualistic?”

The guide stepped closer “This… is…. strange.” he agreed. “I’ve not seen this before.”

Quence wanted to see the circle, hoping – probably in vain – that it would veer his imagination to witches in the woods. But… something next to Quence seemed to move. Another crack in the underwood.
Surely these were animals cavorting about the bushes. Surely nothing to be concerned about.

“Right…” Zantett said slowly. She reached for her holocam, and took a photo.

Click.

In the stillness of the forest, the sound was unnaturally loud. And, as if in response, a sudden gust moved through the trees. It carried a faint, baritone moan that almost put Quence into cardiac arrest.

“What was that?”

Quence stared down at his tricorder. There it was again! A faint, irregular electromagnetic interference. He wanted to show it to the rest. But before he could even open his mouth, the device emitted a soft, pleading chirp. And then, it turned dark.

Whatever of his usual bravado was left, dissipated with the tricorder’s lifesigns.

“This is bad…” Quence had plenty of paraphernalia at home, but here, this was all he could rely on. And now it was dead.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m creeped out.” Thompson declared. “Let’s head back.”

“Agreed.”

They took a few steps, when Jalloh halted. “Wait, where is Kristoyer?”

“Kristo-what?” Quence asked, “We don’t have a Kristoyer.”

“Of course we do.” Jalloh said, slightly panicked as he looked around. “Our guide.”

“Oh.”

Quence hadn’t asked for his name. And if “Kristoyer” had introduced himself, he’d missed it. Mostly because he was too busy listening to himself.

“Kris?” Zantett called out, regretting it instantly. From far inside the forest, something responded. It sounded like an underworldly scream.

And, like the individuals of science they were… they ran.

The campfire glowed like it had been waiting for them, all warmth and safety – plus Kristoyer, who was neither.

“There you are!” he called out, relief and all.

He told them that heard the scream. He’d been chasing a shadow by the trees, lost the group, and decided, heroically, to head back to the camp.
Allegedly.

“I… really don’t know if I want to head to sleep.” Zantett admitted quietly, once things had calmed down.

Quence’s mind didn’t want to rest. His body, however…
He couldn’t remember ever having been so tired.

“I can take first watch.” Thompson offered. “You get some rest.”

“Nah, I’ll stay with you.” Kristoyer said.

Quence shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
He didn’t want to keep watch, no.  Mostly because he had no expertise in fighting off ghosts. But he also didn’t want to be alone in his tent.

“Do you.. uh… nevermind.” Quence said quietly. No one heard it.

Zantett, already on her way to the tent, stopped and turned to him. “Hey, do you want to stay with us? You can bring your sleeping bag over.”

Quence swallowed hard. “Yes. I would like that.”

And, without hesitation, he joined Zantett and Jalloh. To finally get some rest.

He fell asleep the moment his head hit the proverbial pillow.

If he hadn’t he might have noticed Zantett staying behind.

“Do you think we overdid it?”, she quietly asked Thompson, sporting the kind of smile that already knew the answer.

“Nah.” Thompson said “This was… art. The tricoder thing? Genius.”

“Had to really hurry it up. Energy readings – I knew he’d fall for it.” Zantett grinned. “Your turn. The stone circle? Pure theatre. Though I think it was the actual forest sounds that freaked him out.”

Thompson smirked. “Thanks. Probably helped that he dropped his coffee. And fell on his face – though I was a little worried. For like, a second.”

“A whole second?”

“Fine. Half.” Thompson shrugged.

“He’s fine. Thick skull, soft mud.” Zantett assured her. “Besides… it was nice. To talk to him. Almost like a real person.”

They both knew better than to get used to it.
And to make sure Aves didn’t find out.