Chapter Ten
Dahlia
Ihad every intention of waking early to meet with Sita. But my body, finally allowed to relax in a safe space, betrays me.
When I roll over, stretching the knots from my neck, my room is flooded with the warm amber glow of the sun. Dust motes swirl in the golden light, defying gravity as they dance through the air.
I follow the path of one as it loops and whirls in beautiful chaos—so at odds with my rigid world of science and research. How I long to be like that dust mote, free from the laws of physics, from the constraints that bind me to reality—dancing to my own tune.
The tiny speck drifts along the sunbeam, pulling my gaze toward my travel clock. The amber glow shifts from mesmerizing to alarming as realization sets in. I slept the entire day away.
A wave of frustration crashes through me. My timeline is already razor-thin, and I’ve just lost precious hours. Each passing day feels like grains of sand slipping through my fingers—each one bringing me closer to the inevitable.
“Damn it, Dahlia,” I curse myself out loud and throw back the heavy quilt, shivering as the cool mountain air seeps into my sleep-warmed skin. I jerk on another layer, grab my jacket, and hastily lace up my boots before hurrying out the door.
I rush to the lounge to look for Sita and apologize for my lateness, but Tenzig directs me to the outdoor fire pit. I step onto the stone pathway, my breath curling in the crisp evening air as I head in search of my friend.
A new group of travelers has gathered around the fire, likely the last of the season before winter locks the mountains in ice and snow. They huddle close to the fire’s flickering warmth, steaming cups of chai cradled in their hands, soaking in the final days of tolerable weather.
Sita moves among them, effortless and friendly, refilling cups and exchanging easy conversation.
I curse my timing. The fire pit isn’t the place for private conversations, but I’ve already wasted an entire day, and every lost hour stretches like an eternity—each one stealing precious daylight, each one bringing the snowline lower down the mountain.
Anxiety simmers beneath my skin as I hover at the edge of the firelight, waiting for a chance to speak with her. As if sensing my impatience, Sita finishes serving and takes a seat, beckoning to me to join her.
Sitting down, I say, “Sita, I’m so sorry I slept the day away.”
Her brown eyes glimmer with quiet understanding as she waves off my apology.
Lips curving into a soft smile, she says, “Please, do not apologize for the rest you so clearly needed. I didn’t think to ever see you again, didi.
I was thrilled when my father said you had returned but also worried that you were back so soon. ”
The word didi, or sister, eases some of the tension in my chest. Sita has been more than a guide.
She’s been my friend, supporting me through the relentless cycle of hope and disappointment—each lead turning into a dead end, every inch of the rugged mountain terrain yielding nothing—she has been there, helping me weather it all.
Still, I can’t shake my urgency. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to be back ever, much less in a few days. But here I am. We must find the plant, Sita.”
Her smile dims slightly as she locks her warm brown eyes on mine, sympathy bleeding through her gaze.
She knows—she’s always known. I had confided in her why I was so desperate, and she had matched it with relentless determination, scouring the mountains by my side, chasing every lead, no matter how thin.
She had been just as crushed as I was when I left for home empty-handed.
Sita is steady, unwavering—a force as certain as the sunrise over these peaks. But I hadn’t missed the unshed tears shimmering in her eyes when she hugged me goodbye. She had believed it was for the last time.
I glance toward the river and the darkened stretch of forest beyond. “I feel like we need to search there,” I point. “Across the river.”
The change in her expression is instant. Her hand lifts automatically, catching mine and lowering it. Then, with a swift flick of her fingers, she traces a small symbol in the air. A gesture I don’t recognize.
“Dahlia,” she says carefully. “I know how badly you need this plant. But we must not cross the sacred waters of Migaia.”
I frown. “Why not? We’ve searched everywhere else.”
She shakes her head slowly, her fingers curling in her lap. “It is not…safe.”
Sita has guided me through treacherous terrain before, fearlessly scaling ridges and navigating dense brush without hesitation. She is not someone who scares easily.
But this—this is something else. This seems more like reverence. A deep, abiding caution rather than fear.
It’s not the first time she’s held back information from me, either.
While we searched, she often translated when speaking with locals—yogis, elders, people whose wisdom was passed down through generations.
They shared ancestral knowledge, pointed us toward possibilities, helped us rule out false leads.
But there were times—like now—when their answers had been too vague, or Sita had hesitated before passing along their words.
Not because she didn’t want to help—she did.
She wanted me to find the plant just as much as I did.
But more than that, I think she wanted to protect me. Even if it was from myself.
I don’t push her. Not yet. Instead, we sit in silence, watching the fire burn down to embers until the cold creeps in, chasing away the last traces of heat.
The night settles in around us, the warmth of the dying fire no longer enough to hold back the mountain chill.
One by one, the travelers retreat to their rooms, until only one man remains.
Sita excuses herself to place hot water bottles in my bed, extra warmth against the chill of the night. The thick quilts and insulation will help keep the room warm enough, but I’m not going to say no to the added comfort.
Left alone, I offer a shy smile at the man which he takes as an invitation to join me. While he starts up some small talk in a delightful British accent, I find myself unable to focus on what he is saying, distracted by the weight of eyes on my back again.
Instead of the hot caress of a lingering gaze I experienced the last time I was here, tonight a different kind of heated look emanates from the woods behind me. Not sensual but watchful and possessive. Territorial even.
I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see someone from the guesthouse—but there’s nothing. My eyes search the rapidly darkening night, but there is no movement in the trees. Not even luminous eyes in the darkness.
Despite not finding a source of the sensation, my skin still prickles with awareness. Shrugging off the feeling as lingering stress from Ben, I try to politely direct my attention back to the fellow traveler.
“Something wrong?” the man asks, tilting his head at my clear distraction.
“I thought I heard something,” I murmur in excuse.
He leans around me to look, balancing with a hand on my knee, saying, “I didn’t hear anything.”
I freeze. Not because I feel threatened, but because I don’t know how to read this casual touch.
I’ve been with Ben for so long that I can’t tell if this man is flirting or just friendly.
I look down at his hand on my knee and then back up to meet his eyes.
He leans in, flashing a teasing smile—and the forest explodes.
A thunderous crash shatters the quiet night. Branches snap and the fire shoots sparks into the sky with a crackle as if it, too, is alarmed. The sudden noise is followed by an even more unnerving silence. Even the river has hushed its rushing waters.
We lurch to our feet, the man stumbling back in alarm as I step closer to scan across the river, eyes roving over the darkened woods where the sound came from. My heart hammers against my ribs as I search the darkness. I can’t see anything, but my heart tells me—something is out there.
“Well, I definitely heard that,” he chuckles nervously, rubbing his arms. “Probably just a monkey or something, yeah?” He offers a lopsided grin, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “Anyway, I think that’s my cue for bed.”
“Yes,” I choke out, throat dry, unable to tear my eyes away from the search. “I think you’re right.”
He hesitates for half a second, glancing toward the tree line. Then, with a stiff nod at me and then at Sita as she approaches, he turns and heads toward his room, quickening his pace the farther he gets from the fire.
“Everything okay?” Sita asks, watching him retreat. When he disappears into the guesthouse, she turns back to me, her gaze flicking between my face and the darkened tree line.
“Sita, there was a huge crash over there,” I explain, pointing off in the direction the sound had come from.
Her reaction is immediate. She grabs my hand and all but drags me toward my room. Once inside, she closes the door and leans against it, her expression unreadable.
“Sita, what is going on?” I ask, heart pounding at her reaction on the heels of the night’s events.
She gestures to the bed, and we sit together. Her gaze flicks to the small window overlooking the forest, her expression solemn. “Didi, there is a reason we have not searched those woods. What you heard—it’s not unusual here.”
A chill skates down my spine. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, then lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The mountains have their own secrets, Dahlia. We call it the Migoi.”
“I heard that myth around the campfire. We call them Yetis back home, or Bigfoot.”
I can’t help the slight chuckle over the Bigfoot memes and car stickers back home, but the memory of that strange heat prickling my back, followed by the crash in the woods when that man touched my knee and leaned in, has my nerves still on edge.
Sita presses her palms together, her expression turning solemn as she looks at me over her steepled fingers.
“The Migoi is not like the stories you hear in the West. It is not just a beast that wanders the mountains. It is a spirit, too. A guardian.” Her voice lowers. “Sometimes, they help. Sometimes, they send warnings. Other times…” Her voice trails off as she averts her eyes.
She glances toward the window again. “The crash you heard—it may have been a warning.”
Her words settle deep in my chest. I glance toward the window and out at the forest beyond. If the Migoi is real—what was tonight? A warning for what?
I chew my bottom lip thoughtfully and reply, “Or just an animal.”
“Maybe,” she allows. “But the forest you pointed to—it’s not a good idea.”
I lean forward. “So, you believe they’re real?”
She meets my gaze again, her voice dropping back to a whisper.
“When winter comes, almost everyone leaves. But my family has always stayed. We’ve seen the tracks in the snow, the broken branches—signs of something too big to be a man.
When we have enough, we leave offerings.
When we have no choice, we enter the woods with caution. ”
With a far off look in her eyes, she turns her face to the window and continues.
“One year, an early storm swept in—stronger than anything we had seen before. It buried the roads, sealed us inside, and lasted so long we burned through what little firewood we had. We thought we would freeze to death. The day we ran out, we opened the door to find wood stacked in a huge pile.”
She blinks away the memories and meets my eyes again intently. “No mere man could have stacked that much wood overnight. I listen to the mountains, to the earth. And I respect the Migoi.”
Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, I think back to the crash we heard, the strange tension I felt. “But why would it warn us—or worse?”
She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of concern in her expression.
“Maybe it wasn’t a warning. Maybe it was just passing through.
But the forest you pointed to—it's still not a good idea even without the Migoi. There are other dangers—the harsh terrain, unpredictable weather, wild animals, and sometimes avalanches. I can’t guide you over there like I have here. ”
I swallow hard, realizing the weight of her words and say softly, “Sita, it’s the only place we haven’t searched. And you know I can’t leave again without that plant.”
She watches me for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, she pats my hand. “We will go up to the ashram before the snows come. We will speak with the elders again. We will listen to the mountain.” She squeezes my fingers. “Now, sleep. We’ll leave at first light.”
I nod, but as she slips out the door, a strange restlessness clings to me.
I should be exhausted, but sleep doesn’t come easily.
The room is warm, safe, wrapped in thick walls and heavy quilts.
But my thoughts are still outside, in the dark, tangled somewhere between the firepit and the shadowed tree line.
Listening. Waiting. For what, I’m not sure. But I can’t shake the feeling that something out there is waiting for me, too.