"Alright, stream first," you murmur, pushing damp white hair from your eyes. You move cautiously, weaving through massive ferns and over moss-slick roots. The ground slopes gently downward. Soon, the sound of rushing water grows clearer. Emerging from the dense foliage, you find it: a narrow, fast-flowing stream cutting through the jungle floor. Kneeling at the bank, you cup your hands and drink deeply, the cool water washing away the grit and fear. Your reflection stares back – a child's face, gold eyes wide in a too-pale face framed by tangled white hair. *This is real. This is me now.*
A glint catches your eye upstream. Half-buried in the muddy bank, wedged between stones, lies a jagged shard of dark metal – rusted but sharp. "Finally," you breathe, scrambling toward it. As you pry it free, your Observation Haki prickles again. Subtler this time. Not a beast... but *presence*. You freeze, the makeshift knife clutched tight. Through the trees on the opposite bank, shadows shift. Low voices murmur, rough and unfamiliar.
"Oi, did ya hear that racket? Sounded like a fight," grunts one voice, thick with suspicion.
"Probably just another beast tearing something apart," replies another, dismissive. "Stop jumpin' at shadows, Rik. We got bigger problems than jungle noises."
You press flat against the muddy bank, heart hammering. Pirates? Smugglers? Their silhouettes become clearer through the ferns – two men, ragged clothes, crude weapons belted at their waists. One scratches a scarred cheek, scanning the trees. Your mind races. *Hide? Run?* But the stream offers no cover here. Your grip tightens on the rusted metal shard. It's pitiful, but it's something.
"Bigger problems like that damn patrol ship circling the bay," the scarred one – Rik – mutters, kicking a stone into the water. "Captain's gonna flay us if we don't find a way 'round 'em soon." They're distracted, arguing logistics, not searching for you. A sliver of hope. You focus your Sound-Sound Fruit, pulling the memory of the scaled boar's frustrated squeal from moments ago. It takes concentration, shaping the sound, placing it *behind* them, deeper into the jungle where you'd escaped.
*"RROOOAAARRR!"* The guttural cry erupts from the thick foliage across the stream, startling both men. They whirl, weapons half-drawn. "What the hell? Thought it left!" the other pirate yelps, backing up a step. Rik squints, hand on his cutlass hilt. "Sounded closer this time... or maybe it's wounded? Easy pickings?" The distraction holds. It's your only chance.
You slide silently into the cold stream water, letting the current carry you downstream behind the curve of the bank, away from their line of sight. Mud squelches under your small hands as you scramble onto the opposite shore, ducking behind a fallen log draped in moss. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, but you clamp down, forcing silence. *Observation Haki... focus.* Their presence flickers like weak candles – still facing away, arguing about the boar versus the patrol ship.
"Easy pickings my ass, Rik," the second pirate hisses, his voice tight with fear. "That thing tore Jax apart last huntin. We ain't huntin' it without the whole crew." Rik spits into the ferns. "Fine. But we tell the Cap'n we saw nothin' but jungle ghosts. He's jumpy enough with the Marines sniffin' around." Their footsteps crunch away, fading back towards the coast. Relief washes over you, cold as the stream. *Marines nearby? That changes things.*
You wait until their presence vanishes from your Observation Haki's range, then slither from the mud. The jagged metal shard feels solid in your grip. *A knife. A start.* Following the stream uphill, away from the pirates and towards higher ground, you scan the banks. Your senses stretch out – the buzz of insects, the rustle of lizards, the distant crash of waves. *Higher ground means vantage. Vantage means safety... and maybe answers.*