Wild Tiger Chase | Book #2 (Complete)

18: in comes the Bear

— Léon — 

Léon's head hurt as much as his sore muscles, and that cryptic line the old woman gave him wasn't helping one bit. He studied her profile as she walked away. White, long, and thick hair locked in a braid, dark brown skin, black eyes, thin lips. Her clothes were bright, though. Yellow, orange, red, and embellished by many feathers, seeds, and flowers. She had tattoos, too. Many, many tattoos.

She reminded him of Rob and Anhangá.

The old woman crossed the curtains and Léon followed. He grimaced and closed his eyes—the sun was too bright outside. Once he opened them and his sight adjusted, his jaw slacked. The old woman's cottage was the only building he could see; Léon was in the middle of what looked like a real garden, the sky above him so bright and so blue, he felt as if he was inside an old photograph of the 2000s.

Where was all the green, gray, and orange from the pollution and the ever-wafting fallout?

"It's the atmosphere here," the old woman said. She smiled and shook her head as if Léon's arched eyebrows and parted lips were a leaflet to his thoughts. "Less pollution and a decent amount of the original atmosphere leaves the sky looking like this." She pointed up; her smile widened. "Beautiful, don't you think?"

Léon nodded. He couldn't answer for a solid minute—when he was ready to, the woman was already taking a left and disappearing behind the corner of the cottage. Léon rushed to catch up to her. "How do you know my na—"

"Look who's here!" Phillip cut in with a wide smile.

"Phillip?" Léon's heartbeat sped up. "You look...." He stopped.

The old woman raised her eyebrows and hummed. "So that's your name, huh."

"Hey! I introduced myself, unlike some other less polite people around here. Right, Caicai?" Phillip and the teenager were sitting side by side on a wooden bench, each one of them eating a porridge-like, semi-transparent paste doused in milk and topped with sugar.

The old woman scoffed and sat down beside the teen. "Stop calling me that. Both of you." She pointed her spoon at the teenager. "I'm way too old for nicknames."

"What's... happening here?" Léon mumbled. He looked at Phillip and let his eyes linger on the beautiful shade of tanned-red on his cheeks. His nose, the naked part of his chest, and even that silly smile of his made Léon think Phillip was... cured.

Maybe noticing the sheer intensity of Léon's gaze, Phillip turned around. "Remember to breathe, partner." He smirked and pointed at the old woman. "This is Caidara. Caicai, this is the man I was talking about." He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you'd tell him everything."

Caidara mouthed an overflowing spoon of porridge and milk. "I will. After breakfast."

Phillip perched on his seat. "Can I tell him?"

She shrugged. "Go ahead."

Under Caidara's curious gaze, Léon took a step forward and placed his free hand on Phillip's forehead. His fever was gone.

"Hey—" Phillip frowned and tried to push his hand away, but Léon took his wrist instead. "Stop worrying so much." Phillip scoffed. "Calm down, partner. I won't run away."

"Shut up," Léon mumbled.

There weren't black veins on Phillip's face anymore, and his long, slender fingers were back to their rosy, calloused normal. He was clean, his face shaved, and his hair gelled back as they should be. Léon ran his fingers through Phillip's blond locks. They were soft and strong, unlike the dried mess of a few hours ago. Not knowing what to do with the building relief in his chest, Léon hugged him. A long, tight, and warm hug that felt as comfortable as a nap in the sun. Phillip tensed at first—but the longer Léon held him, caressing the fine hairs on the back of his neck, the more Phillip melted against his arms.