“Ana!”

“Blake!”

Allen and Jenna circle the small clearing, calling out their younger siblings' names until their voices are hoarse. A distant bird chirps and something else scurries away, but beyond the usual forest sounds, there's no response.

They're alone.

They walk back to the centre of the clearing, frowning with a newfound worry. Allen shivers, and Jenna zips the front of her half-jacket shut, not that it does much to protect her exposed midriff from the cold.

They exchange a concerned glance.

"I don’t think we should stay here," Jenna grunts, trying to rub some warmth into her arms. Something trills in the nearby foliage—her head snaps towards the sound, “We need to spread out.”

"And go where? We're not exactly at the bottom of a cave right now," Allen retorts, gesturing at the dense foliage around them, "This is not a small forest—there's nothing but trees for miles in every direction! We're just as likely to find the kids as we are to lose them if we go the wrong way. It's too risky—"

"Then what would you suggest?!" Jenna snaps, "We just stay here and hope they're looking for us too? What if they hit their head, or got seriously hurt on the way down? It's a damn miracle that we can even walk right now—just look at yourself!” She gestures at the dark red forming along the hem of his left trouser leg, “You really think the kids escaped falling from up there,” she points up, “without a single scratch or bruise? You really think not a single one of us drew the short straw?”

"Maybe!" Allen snaps back, "For all we know, they could already be looking for us! What if they heard us fall and are heading this way as we speak? If we abandon the crash site, who’s to say we won’t lose them completely?”

"Don't you think they would’ve said something by now?" Jenna retorts, gesturing at the clearing around them, "Either they’ve already gone the wrong way or they can’t move, Allen. You know I’m right about this. We need to spread out."

Allen stares at her for a long beat.

He looks away with a deep sigh.

"Alright, fine. You have a point," he replies, folding his arms close to his chest, "But we can't just leave without doing something—do you still have that stupid knife of yours?"

"It's not stupid, it's a limited edition—"

"Stupid knife—do you still have it?" he cuts her off, brows raised, "If we're going to spread out, we'll need something sharp to mark the trees. Unless you want to spend the foreseeable future running in circles?"

Jenna flips him the middle-fingered salute before digging through her pockets for the knife—she curses.

"Must've left it in my pack," she grumbles under her breath, revealing her spoils to be nothing more than a half-used kohl pencil and a crumpled up receipt, "Will eyeliner do the trick?"

Allen glances at the thin layer of fog curling around her ankles and the small dew droplets covering the off-coloured leaves. He frowns.

"It's only a matter of time before it washes off," he says—he takes a moment to think, "Actually, give me one of your spiked cuffs."

"Seriously?" Jenna asks, her tone skeptical as she shows him one of her black wrist cuffs, "They're not exactly made to cut into stuff."

"You got any better ideas?"

Jenna's silent for a long beat. 

She removes her right cuff.

"Here you go," she replies, tossing it at Allen's open arms.

He jerks forward, fumbling it in the air before catching it between his wrists. His ankle jolts from the sudden movement, and his knee buckles. He yelps—flails his arms like a pinwheel if it were glued together at the wrists.

Allen rights himself with a grimace. Bloody stupid—he takes a deep breath and takes the spiked cuff between his palms. He presses his thumb onto the tip of one of the spikes—it’s dull. Not ideal. It'll take a bit of effort to mark the trees with it, but it is better than nothing. 

Something rustles the foliage behind them as he fiddles with the cuff—their heads snap towards the sound. The leaves stop still for a beat before the rustling picks up again.

Allen and Jenna share a wide-eyed look.

There's something in that bush.

The leaves rustle again before a small purple skink-like head pops out of the bush. It stares at Allen with its bright yellow eyes, flicking its little tongue in the air like a snake. It watches Allen watching it—tilts its head and makes a trill-like noise.

It disappears back into the bush.

“Never seen a purple lizard before,” Jenna says in a careful tone, her eyes glued to the strange bush the creature disappeared into. Another bush rustles nearby—she turns towards the sound.

“Nature works in mysterious ways, I guess—”

The lizard makes a deeper trill-like noise and reappears from behind a nearby tree. It’s closer this time—it appears to be curious.

Its thin, fan-like tail trails behind it as it hops a step towards them on its hind legs. Allen blinks in surprise—he’s never seen a feathered lizard before. The creature’s dark purple and blue feathers seem to shimmer in the light with every step. 

The forest debris shifts and Jenna moves out of his peripheral vision—she’s taken a cautious step back. He’s tempted to do the same, but the creature’s done nothing to harm them or even nip at their heels. It genuinely seems curious.

It trills again and tilts its head, the bright orange underside of its folded frill fluttering against the sleek feathers lining its neck. If Allen didn't know any better, he'd think he was looking at some kind of... tiny, feathered dinosaur. 

The thought alone is absurd—he shakes his head. It seems to hop a step closer in response.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Jenna mumbles, her fingers flexing out of the corner of Allen’s eye, “Al, we gotta scare it off.”

Allen swallows against the dryness of his throat. His hand slips into his pocket to fiddle with the smooth back of his phone case, “What if it’s friendly?”

“You think everything’s friendly.”

He… doesn’t have a response to that.

The lizard trills again, hopping yet another step towards them, slowly closing the gap one hop at a time. Allen shivers through the thin fabric of his collared shirt and short-sleeved sweater—he glances at Jenna.

She’s too focused on the creature to notice the cold.

He returns his gaze to the little animal watching him with bright, unblinking yellow eyes. It trills again, hops again and scents the air with its little tongue.

Allen’s fingers twitch—he hesitates.

He begins slowly crouching down to his knees.

"Al—what are you doing?" Jenna hisses.

Allen holds his hand up in the universal signal for ‘please shut up, I’m trying to focus here’. She grumbles to herself in frustration, but doesn't say anything else. Good. She understood the message.

The creature trills and tilts its head again, now less than three feet away from Allen’s crouched knee. He mirrors the motion. It tilts its head in the opposite direction—Allen copies it again.

It trills and hops another foot closer. A small part of him wants to try and pet the creature, but he knows Jenna would tear him a new one for ‘dancing with rabies’ again. Still, there’s no harm in letting it scent his hand… right? 

He cautiously extends his right hand towards the creature, making sure to keep his movements measured and slow.

“Seriously?” Jenna says with a tone so flat that it could host a billboard, “You’re trying to pat that thing? Are you kidding me?”

Allen shooshes her.

Her eye twitches.

He turns back to the lizard creature.

"Hello there," Allen says to the creature in the gentlest tone that he has. 

It trills in response, snapping its jaw in what Allen can only interpret as a sign of excitement.

The creature leans forward to inspect Allen's outstretched hand, scenting the air around it with its tongue. It makes a series of clicking noises from the back of its throat. Its orange-lined frill vibrates with every sound.

Up close, the dinosaur comparison feels even more uncanny—its head is that of a skink with a feathered crest, and its mouth is filled with an array of tiny, razor sharp teeth. He's no zoologist, but something about this creature feels... wrong.

A sharp hiss and an open jaw is all the warning Allen gets before—snap! He yanks his hand out of the way as the lizard's jaw snaps shut around the air where his palm had been.

It rears back with a sharp hiss, followed by a series of deep coos—the bright orange frill around its neck snaps up like a furious frillneck lizard as it continues to repeat the sound over and over.

“I told you,” Jenna barks, yanking Allen to his feet by the back of his sweater as the surrounding leaves begin to quake, “I told you it wasn’t friendly!”

“No, you told me that I think everything friendly—”

The leaves, the trees, the underbrush begins to rustle violently as one, two, four—far too many little feathered lizards start popping up all over the place like acne on a teenager. 

Jenna curses something fierce enough to make an Australian blush.

“Have you never heard of reading between the lines?” she snaps, circling around Allen like his very own personal 5’3” bodyguard. More and more of the little lizards keep popping up like baited beach worms—she growls, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Allen watches her fingers twitch before she starts clapping her hands together to scare the creatures off.

"Back off—get out of here!"

The calls only get louder as the feathered lizards begin closing in from the front, the sides—Allen turns around and blanches, pressing his back against Jenna’s. 

They’re surrounded.

"Not good," she says, her back stiff as she takes in the horde surrounding them on all sides, "We've gotta run."

“But what about the kids?” Allen balks, clutching the spiked cuff to his chest.

“I already told you, they’re not here!” Jenna snaps—she grabs Allen’s wrist and yanks him close enough to reveal the furious tint in her amber eyes, “We’re no use to Blake and Annie dead. Now shut up and run.”

One of the creatures lunges for Jenna—she spins on her heel and roundhouse kicks it right back into the tree it leapt from. 

Allen rears back as bright orange frills and hisses fill the clearing—his grip on her cuff slips, falling into the dirt. He balks.

“Wait–”

"Run!" Jenna shouts, and Allen—he hesitates for a beat until Jenna is yanking at his wrist to move and he can’t—they’re out of time, he can’t think anymore. He pushes through the pain of his screaming ankle and just runs from the horde of enraged tiny dinosaurs swarming after them.

He desperately hopes that the kids aren’t going through anything similar right now.