The Woods haven't changed since Paris was saved from it.

Fallen twigs and dried grass crunched with each of her heavy footsteps, earning stern looks from her companions. After departing from the colony, she learned Reimer was the guy with a beard and dark hair while Wharton sported orange locks whose curls were nowhere as rigid and wild as Paris's. Still, judging from the frustrated tongue clicking, he couldn't get it to follow his whim either.

How long has it been since they left? How far had they journeyed? To Paris, the mass of thorns and branches looked uniform and part of the same collective—the Woods. Everything around her was just that. The Woods. Plural yet somehow still staying singular. A complete entity on its own. To her, everything was just "the Woods".

According to what she gleaned from the numerous reports she heard from Joyce and a couple of others, it seemed like the colony had developed names for some places in the Woods. There was the Michfried area where Paris first met Joyce. After asking around, she learned it was originally a place with a minimal number of demons. Even in that regard, Paris had been lucky the cart she was being brought in randomly entered through that area.

Michfried was also the thinnest part of the Woods so the Council was brave enough to send its own people in. If she ever planned on running away from the colony, it was her best and only bet. The other areas were thicker and more infested with demons. Like, say, the Guidstrange area.

"Hey," Paris elbowed Wharton. The man might be a bit lankier and smaller than Reimer but he still packed enough muscle to wrestle an infant Zor'karyen to the ground. He glanced at her from the side of his eyes. She tilted her head to one side. "Where are we? Why don't we just take the wood from the lip of the camp?"

Wharton opened his mouth but a different voice bled out. "Hearpont," Remier said in his friend's stead, stepping closer to Paris as if to drive a point. "Stay close now."

Paris wanted to roll her eyes but refrained. Even in the colony, brainless men who wanted to impress a lady still existed. And promulgated, as it appeared. Even Wharton had been making moves at her that would be known to thrill a local lady. Both of them would push protruding branches out of the way, point at fallen logs, or even clear the way themselves.

For all she knew, they've been leading her in circles since a while ago and actually just planned on wooing her with pointless chivalry. And for all she knew, the rest of the colony was already curling in their sleep against the cold.

Paris strode to the nearest tree she could find. "I don't see why we don't just take this," she grasped one branch and snapped it. The sound was a satisfying melody in her ears. "And make big bunches and carry it back to the colony? We don't need to chop a tree down this evening. We just need enough to get the colony through the night."

Remier looked at her like she had just described her marvelous wings. "Miss, I'm not making the same journey twice in a row," he said. "I don't get why Balwyn agreed to this reckless and apparently thoughtless plan. It's too dangerous and, frankly, we can always do away one night without fire."

Wharton drew closer to his friend and gave him a light tap on the shoulder. Then, he turned to Paris. "What Remi is trying to say is that the type of wood we are looking for lies in the heart of Hearpont," he jerked his chin at the branch Paris held. "Those sticks wouldn't last a minute against a full blaze. The ones we're after can last a little while longer. That's what's going to get us through the night."

It occurred to her that Wharton's tone was actually patronizing, like he felt the need to explain things to a toddler. Offense bubbled in her gut. "Fine," she crossed her arms and jutted her chin. "Tell me what the trees looked like so I can be on the lookout too."

Remier clicked his tongue and began walking again. More crunches and snaps followed him. Paris felt like clicking her own tongue too. For all the acidic looks the man gave her, he sure couldn't stick to his own rules.

The other man gave her an apologetic shrug and followed his dark-haired friend. Paris huffed. Fine. Be that way. She'd skewer them with her blade if push came to shove. Just like that, Paris was treated like an outsider again. Like a burden. Like someone who needed to be watched over or put into place. Was it because she was a woman? Or was it something else, something she wouldn't be able to change any time soon?

Paris frowned and sulked all the way through as she tore after the two men walking a few steps ahead. None of them bothered to push errant branches away from her face now. Great. Now that they're certain she wasn't a girl who would fall into their arms (or dicks, for that matter) with the barest show of kindness and care, they've gone their merry, patriarchal way.

Men. They're all the same.

She craned her neck to the canopies, noting how little of the actual night sky she was able to see through them. The stars would have been a welcome distraction to her worries and frustrations but, as it was, their absence seemed to dampen her mood further.

The dark trunks told her there was a single tree populating all of the Woods like an out of control weed. Now, as she became bored out of her mind, she noticed that some have different types of growth, of leaf size, and even the thickness of their branches. Mind, they still looked brittle and dry, like they'd snap at the slightest brush of the wind, but the sight proved there were more than one type of tree in this place.

What in Idis's name were these assheads looking for?

She let her eyes leave the small point in Wharton's tunic and trained them to a tree with faint white rings on its trunk. That's a pretty pattern. Could this be the tree that could provide lumber which would burn the slowest?

"Hey, guys?" she called, drawing closer to the tree and running a hand on its surface. "Do you think this is the tree we're looking for? We have been in Hearpont for a while now. Surely we must be in the 'heart' or whatever it is?"

Nobody answered. Just a silent whizz of wind replaced her annoying companions.

"Guys?" Paris called again

Silence.

She turned, readying the outburst of her anger. What she found was a space void of humans.

"Where did you go?" Paris asked no one. She stepped away from the tree and scanned the immediate surroundings. The trees have started looking the same once more. This was the Woods for a reason. It sure knew how to play tricks on her eyes and mess with her head.

Don't go out alone at night. Joyce's voice played again and again in her head. She shook it to make the warning cease. Oh, come on. She knew that! They didn't have an idea how much it was drilled into Paris's head. But against all odds, here she was—inside the woods. Alone. She didn't need to glance at the sky to see it's night.

Just great.

"Come on," Paris strode away from the tree and plunged into the direction she last caught a whiff of Wharton's off-white tunic. "If you're playing a prank, it's not funny. Where did you guys go?"

As expected, nobody snickered from behind the line of dried bushes. No shadows danced against the faint moonlight, scampering through the trees to avoid her eyes. There was simply no sign of her companions.

Paris exhaled, a shaky breath rattling her chest. Her hands rested on the familiar hilt of her dagger. Her boots scratched against the carpet of grass. She turned around again, narrowing her eyes to at least get a grip of where her companions had gone. Hadn't they noticed she wasn't with them? Would they turn around and look for her?

Would they have already forgotten about her and forged ahead? Worse, did they think of her as annoying and have left her on purpose? Did she drive them up the wrong wall and was now paying the price for it? Did she make a mistake of being an ass to the only people who could save her in this twisted forest?

Well, whatever. Paris clenched her jaw. She didn't need saving. Not now. Not ever. She would save herself. Lead herself back to camp. Should be easy enough.

Walk. She sent the message to her mind, forcing it to order her limbs to start moving. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time.

She has to move.

So, she whipped and tackled the direction she and her companions had gone. At this point, she'd just return to the colony empty-handed and tell the Elders she got lost. On and on, she walked, her footsteps getting louder and louder. If there was a patrol party nearby, they might hear her desperate attempt at not being eaten. Or, perhaps her luck would run out and she would succeed in alluring a demon instead.

"Fuck this," Paris cursed, tucking her hands closer to herself. Even the long sleeves of her tunic did nothing to ward off the Woods' cold. She trudged forward, following the only direction she knew they had tackled upon leaving the camp. Never mind the different trees. This was the only way Paris knew.

After a while, no sign of the colony's familiar trellises nor a whiff of the freshly-gutted lamb showed up on the horizon. How long did it take for them to reach the point where she got lost? An hour? Two? How long has she been walking back? More than that?

She craned her neck, eyeing the branches a few feet from the ground. Should she climb one and scout the camp from there? There should be visible columns of smoke from furnaces burning all night climbing up in groups.

Forget that. The branches could crumble under her weight and deliver her to the ground with a merciless slap. If she was to encounter a demon, she needed to have all her limbs functioning. Unlike the last time.

Because at this moment, there was no guarantee of Joyce showing up and saving her. Like the last time she faced off with a demon, she shouldn't be hoping for a chance of salvation either. How much of Paris's luck would work in her favor today?

Something cracked and rustled behind her. A bitter laugh shook her shoulders. She didn't need to turn and see to know it was a demon. Claws scratched the grass. Something bony and sharp clicked against each other in sharp chk-chk-chk noises. Paris drew her blade and lowered her hand to her sides. The triangular dagger glinted against the faint forest light.

She turned. True enough, something dark and hulking emerged from the shadows, shaking and snapping low-lying branches as it went. Then, it showed its true form.

Paris cracked a manic grin. A Jezer'thokth. Ant.

"I've been waiting for you," she said aloud even though she knew the demon wouldn't understand it. She lowered her body to a stance and angled her dagger. "Let's dance, shall we?"

Before the ant could hiss or do things that were ant-like in expressing aggression, Paris shot forward.