Once on flat terrain, the hikers picked up their pace and, although she had almost closed the gap on the incline, Faye lagged again. She was still fifty metres or so behind when, little over an hour later, the trees rose up from the earth ahead like a legion of leafy warriors. Faye was breathless and hoped the group would stop for a moment. They didn’t. Instead, they slid under the trees, single-file behind Derek. She followed into the shade but, hot and irritated, stopped a few metres in, slid her bag from her shoulders and took her sweatshirt off.

Instead of the calm she’d experienced among the trees the previous day, Faye was tense. Surely the others were curious about Derek’s pace? His militant marching? Or had he disclosed the ranger’s warning by now? That might explain their collaborative haste.

She looked around, hoping to find something to distract and soothe her. Her eyes fell on the bark of a large yellowwood tree, peeling and flaking in dark purplish-brown chunks to expose its lighter and younger red-brown under-bark. A butterfly with black dots on its orange wings flitted through a grove of tangled climbers and then flew out of the forest as if it had taken a wrong turn and arrived there by mistake. Like brollies on a fairy beach, a cluster of cream-coloured toadstools grew in a sandy patch of soil. It was a pretty place, but Faye’s prickliness prevailed.

She looked through the trees to where the others were shrinking in the distance and was about to follow when she heard a barking sound.

“Kow-kow-kow-kow.”

A pair of medium-sized green and blue birds bounded from branch to branch in the canopy. She watched as, with a flash of crimson, the Knysna loeries spread their wings and launched themselves into the air, mewling like uptight tomcats at full moon. Faye tried to track their flight but they disappeared together.

Together.

That was why she was bothered. It wasn’t just that she was having trouble keeping up with today’s advanced pace. It was also because they should not have left Clare alone. They were breaking the first rule of hiking—stay together—and it bothered her.

It didn’t matter that Clare was in the cabin rather than on the trail. Or that the rangers would transport her to the overnight stop in their vehicle. What if she didn’t feel better? Illness doesn’t follow the same pattern time and again. What if something happened to the rangers and she wasn’t collected? What if they arrived, took the bags and supplies from the lapa and didn’t notice Clare sleeping on the bed? What if they, too, left her alone?

“Faye!”