aziba avoided the roads, instead leading them through a murky bottomland infested with mosquitoes and leeches. It seemed a final insult after all the other filth Mog had been forced to endure over the past few months. The boggy soil squelched and sucked at his feet, occasionally rising high enough to slop over into his boots. By the time they reached higher ground, he felt as if the entire fetid swamp was being worn on his feet.

He knew better than to complain, knowing it would only earn more scorn and sour looks. For another hour they climbed steadily, following the headwaters of the swamp until it transformed from a wide slow-moving slough to a narrow racing stream. The thickly forested terrain provided ample shade in which clouds of hungry insects assailed them. Mog slapped at himself, growing increasingly angry and disgusted.

After noon their path wound along the edges of a shimmering pool into which a crystalline curtain of water poured over juts of pale karst. A lush fern-covered wall of limestone curled around the natural bowl of the waterfall’s pool. Here they waded ankle-deep across the shallows of the stream and headed toward the lower end of the draw. Mog silently prayed for them to stop, his eyes wandering longingly to the waterfall.

They had gone perhaps half a mile when they reached an insect-free patch of sun-washed boulders above the falls. Laela sat down unceremoniously on the edge of one and made a perturbed whistling sound. Maziba paused and glanced back at her.

“Food? Rest?” she said peevishly, “I have at least one boot full of river mud and I’m famished.”

The others chuckled and nodded agreement, forcing Maziba to give up his trek for the nonce. Joshaat vanished into the brush to forage while Laela and Kathir busied themselves with removing their sodden boots. Maziba and Khaled began to argue and it was at this point Mog realized that they were not paying attention to him.

He was having a bath, whether they liked it or not.

Mog slipped away unnoticed, taking pains to move quickly for he knew their lack of vigilance was fleeting. Once he reached the cover of the undergrowth, he bounded lightly over the mossy loam. At the edge of the waterfall’s shimmering pool, he shucked off his filthy clothing and boots with the speed and fervor of a lover. It was all he could do to subdue a hoot of victory when he was free of them and plunged headlong into the cool water.

He grasped handfuls of the smooth mica-flecked sand beneath his feet and used this to scrub the accumulated grime from his poor body. The water of the falls pounded over his crown and shoulders and he laughed in spite of himself, so relieved to be clean again. But he knew his time was limited and he still had his clothing to attend to. He trotted dripping back to where he had left it and drew his clothes back into the pool with him where he made a hasty attempt to remove some of the grime and stench with a thorough drenching and more sand.

By the time he was done, he sensed the approach of his captors. Mog made no attempt to hide as he donned his sodden trousers and wrung out the rest of his clothes before laying them out to dry in the dappled sunlight at the water’s edge. He lay on his back on the warm sand beside them, his hands folded behind his head as he looked at the dance of the forest canopy against the clear blue sky. They could do what they liked, he decided. Anything was better than smelling like a raft of carcasses.

“Don’t move!” came Joshaat’s voice. Mog continued to gaze upon the sky although he could see the pale-haired ranger slipping toward him as if he were stalking a wild beast. He had nocked an arrow to his bowstring and was aiming it threateningly toward Mog’s chest.

“If I intended to escape do you think I would bother to have a bath first?” Mog scoffed, “Put that down before you hurt me for no good reason.”

“You should not have left the camp!” Joshaat barked with a scowl, then calling back over his shoulder, “I have found him. He did not get far.”

Mog yawned and crossed his ankles with an attitude of languid ease moments before Maziba stormed to the water’s edge and glared down at him.

“You are not to leave our sight.”

“Can I help it if I am shy around the ladies?” Mog grumbled. He saw Laela and Kathir emerge from the forest.

“We should follow his example, we stink like pigs,” Laela chuckled upon seeing Mog, “He didn’t run away after all.”

“He disregarded my orders,” Maziba growled menacingly, “He will be bound.”

“Pfah,” Laela mused, “He didn’t run away because he had no intention of doing so. Leave him be, you big bully. Also, I’m having a bath. If you’re not having one as well, kindly give me some privacy. I don’t like the idea of a man in a dress staring at me while I’m naked.”

Maziba’s eyes bulged and the blush of rage and humiliation darkened his features. With a snort of disdain he turned away from Laela, his long robes flickering in his wake. Joshaat cracked a thin smile but regained his composure a moment later. He put away his arrow and unstrung his bow as Kathir and Laela began peeling off their outer layer of pungent clothing.

“Ladies first, I guess,” Joshaat said, smirking at Mog as he turned to leave.

“We’ll fetch the stinky men when we’re done,” Laela said to the ranger’s retreating back, “And you can go back to the camp as well, Mog Ruith. Stay out of trouble this time.”

“I will,” he said, rising stiffly from his comfortable patch of sand, “I think Maziba’s dress makes him look fat. Shall I point that out to him?”

Laela and Kathir exploded with laughter and Mog beamed rakishly at them.

“Off with you,” Laela insisted.

“Aye. Thanks for standing up for me.”