Ginger stopped abruptly, one hand on her hip, and the other pressed against her left eye. She let out a deep sigh, a sound of profound weariness that was entirely human, devoid of any crow-like rasp. The faint crimson in her eye seemed to throb subtly under her touch.
The sudden pause, so unlike her usual driven demeanor, spoke volumes about the toll the last few minutes had taken. She wasn't just in pain; she was exhausted.
I stopped beside her, concern washing over me. "Are you okay, Ginger?" I asked, my voice softer now. "We can take a break. The map isn't going anywhere.”
Ginger looked at a nearby clock and then her hand, which was trembling just a bit “Yeah,” she mumbled, her gaze fixed on the slight tremor in her fingers. The crimson in her left eye, though faint, seemed to pulse on its own. She didn’t meet my eyes. “ It’s not… It’s not the map,” she murmured, her voice a low whisper, barely audible over the distant city hum.
The usual sharpness in her posture had given way to a noticeable slump, and her shoulders, usually so squared, seemed to curve inward. It was as if the invisible weight she carried had suddenly become visible, pressing down on her. The rhythmic ticking of the nearby clock seemed to amplify the strained silence between us. I noticed the faint, almost iridescent shimmer that sometimes accompanied her more intense moments was gone, replaced by a duller, more terrestrial glow.
"What is it, then?" I pressed gently, my concern deepening with each passing second. I reached out, my hand hovering uncertainly near her arm, unsure if a touch would be a comfort or an intrusion. The vibrant, almost frantic energy that usually propelled Ginger forward had completely dissipated, leaving behind a stillness that felt heavier than any storm. The air around us, usually crackling with her barely contained power, was now just... still.
Ginger finally looked up, her gaze finally meeting mine, and for the first time, I saw not just weariness, but a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes. "It's... It's getting harder," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "To keep it... contained.”
She breathed out, putting both hands on her face, then setting them on her hips. She looked up at me sharply, a wry smile playing on her lips. "We have to get to Professor Milway," she stated, her voice suddenly regaining a hint of its usual determination, though the underlying weariness was still palpable. The fear that had flickered in her eyes moments ago was now replaced by a familiar resolve, albeit a more desperate one.
"Professor Milway?" I echoed, trying to piece together the sudden change in her priorities. "Why, Professor Milway, Ginger? What's going on?"
"The map," Ginger said, her voice a little stronger as she stretched, a slight crack echoing from her back. "Technically, my tail that was cut off is the way to Professor Milway." She raised a finger, standing straighter now. "He'd be the person to explain the way to the Isle."
Her words hung in the air, a whirlwind of unexpected information. My mind raced, trying to connect the dots: her cut tail, a map, Professor Milway, and finally, the Isle. It was a lot to take in, but the directness in her tone, the way she was now fully focused on this new objective, left no room for doubt. The weary pain was still etched on her face, but a fierce determination had replaced the earlier fear. This was more than a simple change of plans; it was a desperate realignment.
"So, the map isn't just a guide," I clarified, trying to keep up. "It's part of you, and it leads to someone who can tell us how to get to the Isle?" The implication was clear: the map was a key, and Professor Milway was the key to something even bigger. The urgency in her voice had intensified, leaving me no choice but to follow her lead.
