Chapter 8: Eyes in the Forest
The charcoal pit was almost done.
Naledi had dug the circular trench while I gathered the driest wood I could find from the deeper parts of the forest. We worked in quiet rhythm — me with my scarf tied around my head, soot smudging my cheeks, and Naledi with her sleeves rolled high, moving with the strength of someone who'd built her own survival.
"I used to think I'd never build anything real," I said as I dropped a bundle beside the pit. "Now look at us."
"You've built more than fire," she said. "You're building a life."
I smiled. "With you."
She didn't answer right away — just reached over and brushed a black streak from my cheek with her thumb.
"Yes," she finally said. "With me."
That afternoon, while the sun was soft and orange behind the trees, I went further out than usual. I wanted a better kind of wood. The denser, heavier pieces that burned slower and made richer charcoal.
I walked quietly, basket strapped to my back, knife tucked at my waist. The forest felt safe now — like it knew me, and I knew it.
But I wasn't alone.
At first, I thought it was a deer. A rustle. A movement.
But then I heard the unmistakable sound of boots on the ground. Heavier than mine. Slower. Watching.
I froze behind a thick bush and peeked through the branches.
A man. Tall. Dark jacket. Limp in his left leg.
He wasn't from the village. His clothes were too clean, too stiff. He didn't look like someone who belonged here.
He stopped in the clearing and pulled out a photo from his pocket.
He stared at it. Then at the trees.
I couldn't see the photo clearly — but my chest clenched.
Was it… me?
He turned slowly and walked off, back toward the direction of the road.
I waited until his footsteps disappeared completely before I moved.
When I got back to the cabin, my body was shaking.
Naledi was kneeling beside the fire pit, testing the soil for moisture. When she saw me, she stood quickly.
"You're late," she said. "Are you okay?"
I nodded, dropped the basket, and walked straight into her arms.
"I saw someone," I whispered. "In the woods."
She went stiff. "What kind of someone?"
"Not from the village. He had a photo. I think it was me."
Naledi's grip on my shoulders tightened. "Are you sure?"
"I felt it in my gut."
She was silent for a long moment.
Then she said, "We won't run yet. We'll watch. We'll wait."
I looked at her. "You're not scared?"
"I am," she admitted. "But I'm more scared of losing what we've built."
That night, we didn't light a candle.
We kept the fire low, the door locked.
We lay side by side, neither of us sleeping, our bodies tense and alert. Outside, the crickets sang like nothing had changed.
But everything had.
"I won't let anyone take this from us," I whispered.
Naledi reached for my hand under the blanket.
"You won't have to," she said. "Because we'll protect it together."
In the morning, I went through the old bags we had stacked in the corner of the room.
One of them had a small black hoodie, an extra scarf, a faded ID from years ago.
I sat at the table and began planning something I hadn't thought about in weeks — a backup plan.
If we had to move again, I needed to know where.
But more than that… I needed to start building something stronger than a cabin. Something that couldn't be taken away by footsteps in the trees.
The first batch of charcoal burned perfectly that evening. The scent was thick but not sour — deep and earthy. I stared at the pit like it was my child.
Naledi stood beside me, her face glowing in the firelight.
"You did this," she said.
"No," I replied. "We did."
But inside, I knew — I would need to start expanding. Quietly. Smartly.
If someone was looking for me… I needed to become harder to find.
And more powerful to silence.