As the trail curved eastward, Jack’s stomach growled. Breakfast had been pleasant enough, but the portions were too small to satisfy his hunger.

  Kleo sighed, glancing at him. “I guess we can stop for a minute,” she said, her tone both amused and exasperated. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  Jack nodded eagerly, dropping his bags to the ground with a satisfied grunt. They were only about four hours from the temple and another two from where they planned to set up camp for the night.

  Kleo handed him a modest sandwich, her face deadpan. “Only half of it’s for you. I have to eat too.”

  Jack took it with mock solemnity. “Maybe we can camp near a stream tonight. Catch some fish.”

  Kleo nodded as she took a bite of her half. “Good plan. We’ll need more water anyway.”

  Jack finished his half in two bites.

  “So, Kleo,” he began, his tone shifting to curious.

  “You never told me how you caught those fish we ate at the temple. They were alive when you dumped them out of the water bag. How does that even work?”

  Kleo paused mid-bite, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

  “That,” she said, her tone conspiratorial, “is an Astirian trade secret. We don’t just reveal it to anyone.”

  “I mean, I’m practically half Astirian now with our binding. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Kleo snorted. “Half Astirian? That’s not how it works, but nice try.”

  Jack shrugged, undeterred.

  “I’m just saying, I’ve got the whole ‘connected to your soul’ thing going for me. Doesn’t that bump me up the eligibility list?”

  Kleo chuckled, shaking her head as she polished off her sandwich.

  “All right,” she said, pretending to deliberate. “I guess I could let you in on the secret—but you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. Not a soul.”

  Jack sat up straighter, his face full of mock seriousness.

  “I solemnly swear and cross my heart. But if we run into that Whispering Secret thing, it might be out of my hands.”

  Kleo rolled her eyes. “Fine. Here it is—I sing to them.”

  Jack blinked, unsure if she was serious. Her face betrayed nothing, her gaze calm and unflinching.

  “You... sing to them?”

  “Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis.

  “What kind of song?” Jack leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Can you teach me?”

  “Well,” Kleo said, drawing out the word as though weighing whether she should continue, “it depends on the kind of fish. Different songs attract different fish, so you must adjust for size. High or low, fast or slow—tailor the tune to fit the catch.”

  Jack’s brow furrowed as he tried to process this.

  “Okay, but... like, can I learn one? A basic one? Maybe for small fish?”

  Kleo hid her grin behind a hand.

  “Sure. I’ll teach you one of the starter songs—what we teach kids. But not now.”

  “Why not now?” Jack asked, clearly eager.

  Kleo chuckled. “Because we’re losing daylight. Let’s wait until we find a stream and set up camp.”

  Jack nodded, though he looked disappointed.

  “Fine. But the wait better be worth it.”

  “Oh, it will be,” Kleo said, her smile widening. “Trust me.”

  The small lunch done, she shouldered her pack and started down the trail, leaving Jack to wonder how it was possible to sing a fish into his hands.

  As they walked, the sound of rushing water grew louder. The source was a long, meandering river. It was the most significant river Jack had ever seen, stretching so wide that he estimated it might span a hundred meters at some points.

  They followed its course for about an hour, the path veering north of their intended direction but not enough to worry them.

  Mountains—or "large hills," as Kleo insisted on calling them—rose to the east, standing between them and Ilimar. They would have to find a passable route through them soon, but that was a problem for another day.

  Jack's excitement surged when they reached a narrower section of the river. The water rolled by, its surface shimmering in the afternoon light. It was pretty narrow but broad enough that the thought of swimming across was daunting. Given Jack’s limited swimming skills, he might not drown immediately, but it wouldn’t take long.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Okay,” Jack said, clapping his hands together. “Are we ready to catch some fish? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  “Sure,” Kleo replied, feigning casualness.

  “Why don’t you build a fire while I try my luck?”

  Jack froze, his face a picture of confusion and disappointment.

  “Wait, what? I thought you were going to teach me a song to catch fish. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, right,” Kleo said as if she had forgotten.

  “I did promise to teach you, didn’t I? Okay,…before we start, just a heads-up—it’s a children’s rhyme. It might feel a little silly, but it’s where everyone starts. If you do it right, it should work on smaller fish. Ready?”

  Jack’s eyes lit up with determination. “Ready. Everyone starts somewhere, right?”

  Kleo nodded, suppressing a grin.

  “All right, there are two parts. The first is to attract the fish. The second is to bring them in once they’re close. And remember, gestures are essential—they’re a key part of the technique.”

  Jack nodded earnestly, hanging on her every word.

  “For the first part,” Kleo continued, “you need to shade your eyes with your hand like you’re searching for fish. The rhyme goes like this:

  Fishy, Fishy, where are you? I want to put you in my stew. Fishy, Fishy, come to me, I bet that you’ll taste deliciously.”

  Jack repeated the rhyme to her, his enthusiasm endearing, but his rhythm rushed. Kleo held back her laughter, biting her lip to keep her composure. Keeping a straight face while Jack parroted the silly rhyme was proving to be her most significant challenge.

  “Good,” she said, her voice steady despite her amusement.

  “But slow it down, not too slow, but not that fast. And don’t forget to keep your hand at your forehead like you’re searching.”

  Jack raised his hand to his forehead in a mock salute, his expression one of utmost seriousness.

  “Hand to forehead. Looking for fish. Got it.”

  “Great. Now for the second part,” Kleo said, composing herself.

  “You use this rhyme when you see a fish. Extend your hand invitingly—palm up, like you’re asking it to join you.

  Fishy, Fishy, take my hand, Join me here upon the land. You can swim around in my big pot, Until the water’s very hot.”

  Jack practiced the second part several times, extending his hand dramatically. His focus was so intense that Kleo had to bite down on her knuckle to avoid bursting into laughter.

  “Okay, one last tip,” she said, still trying to hold it together.

  “If one hand doesn’t seem to work, you can try both. Some people swear it makes a difference. Opinion’s divided, but it can’t hurt, right?”

  Jack nodded. “Two hands. Got it. That makes sense.”

  Kleo pointed upriver.

  “I saw a nice shallow spot up there. I’ll try my luck while you fish here.”

  Jack blinked, a bit surprised. “We’re not fishing together?”

  “We can’t both sing in the same spot,” Kleo said, her tone patient. “It’ll confuse the fish.”

  Jack sighed, nodding. “Yeah, that makes sense. Why didn’t I think of that? All right, when you get back, I plan to have an armful of fish. You’ll probably want to throw yours back.”

  “Probably,” Kleo said, already walking away.

  Kleo found a hiding spot a short distance upstream, peering through the brush with barely contained glee. The sight of Jack searching for fish, hand to forehead, and serenading the water would be worth every ounce of the effort she’d put into this prank.

  And, she thought, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, he’ll never see it coming.

  Jack poked through the reeds, scanning the shadows of dead logs near the river’s edge. His determination to impress Kleo fueled his every move. Doubts surfaced, whispering that this was ridiculous, but he stubbornly pushed them aside.

  He repeated the rhymes like a mantra, practicing their cadence and rhythm. Despite himself, the playful simplicity of the words brought a sense of childlike joy. He would do this— catch a fish—and it would be the best meal he had ever eaten.

  Unbeknownst to Jack, Kleo was hidden nearby. Her shoulders already shook with suppressed laughter as she watched his antics.

  Neither knew that they had also drawn the attention of two Woog brothers observing from the dense canopy of the woods to the south.

  Cedric, the taller and leaner of the two, was considered handsome for a Woog. His sharp features and upright posture set him apart.

  Beside him stood his younger brother, Willard, shorter, broader, and less refined in every way.

  Willard scratched at his head, fingers tangling in his twisted shocks of hair. A basket strapped to his back was empty save for a few tools and supplies. In one hand, he held two fishing gigs—long wooden poles tipped with sharp, barbed prongs.

  Gigging was an age-old Woog tradition, an efficient method of spearing fish in the shallows.

  They had set out that afternoon expecting nothing more than a quiet evening of fishing. Instead, they were transfixed by the absurd spectacle before them.

  Cedric narrowed his eyes, studying Jack.

  The human was wading close to the riverbank, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand while singing a nonsense rhyme. Every so often, the man paused to peer into the water, expecting the fish to respond.

  “Are you seeing this?” Cedric asked in disbelief. “He’s singing to the fish.”

  Willard squinted, finally pulling his attention away from his musings about dinner. He stared at Jack for a long moment, then shrugged. “Strange.”

  “Strange? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “Well, Uncle Jerome used to sing to birds,” Willard replied, as though this explained everything. “He was so good at it, they’d land right in his hand. Then he’d grab ‘em and wring their necks. Made the best roast sparrow in the village.”

  Cedric turned to his brother, incredulity written across his face. “Birds sing, Willard. Singing to birds at least makes some sense. Have you ever heard a fish sing?”

  Willard frowned, considering this. “No, but… it’s the same principle. You know, like how birds fly and fish swim—sort of similar, right?”

  Cedric stared at him, aghast. “Right. Because flying and swimming are the same thing. ”

  “Well,” Willard said, sounding defensive, “Swimming is flying through water instead of air.”

  Chester sighed. “Sure. Tell you what, Willard—if that human catches a fish by singing, I’ll march straight back to the village and ask Rhonda to marry me.”

  Willard recoiled, his expression contorted in horror. Rhonda was infamous among the Woogs, her abrasive demeanor matched only by her brazenly suggestive comments. She was both feared and avoided by every eligible male in the village.

  “You wouldn’t,” Willard whispered, his voice tinged with dread.

  “Oh, I would,” Cedric said grimly. “If he pulls this off, I’ll serenade her first.”

  Willard shook his head as though trying to rid himself of the image. “For your sake, let’s hope he doesn’t catch a thing.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Cedric muttered, crossing his arms as he turned his attention back to Jack.

  The human was now standing ankle-deep in the water, hands raised dramatically over his head as he belted out another nonsensical rhyme.

  Willard suppressed a grin, leaning closer to his brother. “Do you think we should… help him?”

  “Absolutely not,” Cedric said. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

  They settled in to watch, half in awe, half in bewilderment, as Jack continued his bizarre ritual. Neither noticed Kleo perched nearby, her face buried in her hands as she struggled to stifle her laughter.