Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

The air changed after the last marked path disappeared.

The mountain’s cool dampness remained behind them, held close to stone and runoff. Ahead, warmth rose from the ground itself. It gathered beneath the trees, carrying the scents of wet bark, new leaves, and dark earth that had never fully hardened through winter.

Nia rested one palm against Shen’s scales.

She no longer needed both hands for every turn. His magic still kept her centered behind his head, but she had begun to recognize his movement before his body curved. A tightening near her right knee meant he would pass around an obstacle. A slower rise beneath both legs warned that he was climbing.

Shen slid between two old trees and crossed a patch of moss-streaked stone.

“You have stopped gripping the scales I showed you,” he said.

Nia looked down. One hand remained curled around the raised edge in front of her. The other had drifted farther back and lay flat against his neck.

“I am not falling.”

“No.”

“Then I must be learning.”

A low vibration moved through the scales beneath her. “You may also have decided that I am comfortable.”

Nia shifted deliberately and settled more fully against the broad curve of his body.

“You are.”

Shen turned enough for one silver eye to come into view.

“I had noticed.”

He faced forward again and carried her through the next curve so smoothly that she nearly laughed.

The ground continued to soften as they traveled. Clear water showed between exposed roots in narrow channels. In several places, faint steam rose where it crossed dark stone warmed from below, though the air had not yet become heavy with heat.

A small brown river bird darted from beneath a fern. It skimmed the water, struck at something between two stones, and vanished into the leaves with a pale grub twisting in its beak.

Shen slowed beside a shallow runnel.

The water moved over flat black rock and disappeared beneath a bank of broad leaves. Their upper surfaces were deep green, while the undersides showed pale branching veins.

“Here,” Shen said.

He lowered his head and the section carrying Nia until his neck rested along a dry shelf beside the water.

Nia released the scale and swung one leg over. Shen’s magic supported her descent until her boots reached the stone.

She removed the gathering basket from her back and set it away from the wet edge. Shen waited until she had taken out his folded clothing before returning to his human form.

His immense length drew inward across the clearing. White and silver folded closer until the trees no longer seemed crowded by him. His arms formed, his features returned, and the last visible scales receded as he stood before her.

Nia held out his inner wrap.

Shen took it, though his gaze remained on her.

“What?” she asked.

“You watched the entire change.”

“You watched me stare at you before.”

“I was considerably larger then.”

“You are still worth looking at.”

His hands paused on the tie at his waist.

Nia bent over the basket before the warmth in her face could spread. “You said there was something here.”

“There is.”

Shen finished dressing and crouched beside the basket. One of its broad straps had twisted beneath the cover. He drew it straight, smoothing the cloth between his fingers.

Nia looked down at him. “The basket is on the ground.”

“The strap will still be twisted when you put it on again.”

His fingers lingered against the cloth for another breath.

They approached the bank of broad leaves.

Shen touched the nearest stem. “Riverfold. Healers use the leaves to keep warm pastes against a joint or wound.”

Nia knelt beside him. The largest leaves were wider than both of her hands and thick enough that their edges did not sag beneath their own weight.

“Does the sap irritate the skin?”

“Only from older stems, and only if it remains there. The leaf itself is safe.”

“Do people eat it?”

“I have never seen anyone do so. Small river grazers chew the youngest leaves.”

Nia rubbed the surface between her fingers. It was smooth but strong, with enough flexibility to fold without immediately cracking.

“How do healers prepare it?”

“They remove the older stem, pass the leaf through steam until it bends, spread the paste inside, and tie it around the body while it remains warm.”

Nia looked from the leaf to the runnel.

“So it survives steam without tearing.”

“Yes.”

“And healers trust the steamed leaf against the skin?”

“Even around wounds, once the older stem is removed. Its sap is the part they keep away from broken skin.”

Nia pinched off the end of one young leaf and smelled the torn edge. The scent was mild and green, without the heavy bitterness she had expected.

“You do not intend to eat the wrapping,” Shen said.

“Not necessarily. Food inside it would still take on some of the scent. If the leaf becomes bitter under heat, the meat or roots may become bitter too.”

Shen bent one mature leaf carefully along its central vein. It curved without splitting.

“It would hold around meat?”

“It should. Meat, greens, sliced roots, perhaps grain if the fold closes tightly enough. It might keep food moist near the fire or let us steam separate portions without dropping them directly into a basket.”

“Separate because they may finish at different times?”

Nia smiled. “Exactly.”

She selected three mature leaves and cut each stem cleanly, leaving the center growth untouched. Shen opened a cloth sample pouch while she folded them.

He reached behind her and freed the edge of her wrap from beneath her braid.

Nia looked over her shoulder. “You keep finding reasons to touch me whenever I start explaining.”

Shen tied the pouch and placed it in the basket. “I listen equally well without touching you.”

Nia waited.

“The touching is separate.”

She laughed and pushed lightly at his shoulder.

Shen caught her wrist before her hand fell and brushed his mouth over the inside of it. The kiss was brief, but his eyes remained on hers when he released her.

They followed the warm runnel farther through the trees.

Shen moved ahead whenever the ground narrowed, testing dark patches before Nia crossed them. He did not keep hold of her hand, but his fingers returned often enough to guide her around a slick root or lift a hanging vine from her shoulder.

The next plant grew in scattered clusters between the rocks.

Its leaves were narrow and bright, with red coloring near the tips. Several young shoots had been chewed down close to the stem.

Shen stopped Nia before she reached for one.

“Emberleaf,” he said. “Do not touch a cut edge.”

She drew back. “The sap?”

“Healers mix a little into warming paste when cold settles into the fingers. Too much raises blisters.”

“What eats the new shoots?”

“Burrow grazers. They leave the mature leaves alone.”

“Does it grow stronger with age?”

“Yes, and again after the first long rains.”

Shen used the knife to remove one young tip. He placed it on a flat stone with the cut end turned away from Nia.

She leaned close enough to smell it.

The leaf carried a clean sharpness that reached the back of her nose.

“What happens when healers dry it?” she asked.

“The scent weakens. They need more leaves to make the same paste.”

“And when it is heated?”

“I have seen it steeped for cloths. The water smells sharp at first, then loses most of it.”

Nia studied the tip. “Heat may change it enough to become useful, but we are not tasting it yet.”

Shen glanced toward her.

“Burrow grazers and medicinal cloths do not prove it is safe to swallow,” she continued. “I want to see what water and fat draw out of it. Those test batches should be discarded afterward until we know more.”

“Then this remains separate from everything meant for the pot.”

“Yes. We need two young tips. One for hot water and one for warmed fat.”

Shen cut a second young tip.

He placed both leaves together on a strip of bark, folded the cut ends inward, and wrapped the packet tightly before opening the covered container inside the basket. The emberleaf went at the bottom. He secured the lid and returned the container beneath the cover.

“You want the sharpness,” he said.

“I want to understand it. Mild and sharp do not taste the same. Sometimes food needs something that bites, but you have to teach it where to stop.”

His gaze shifted toward her mouth.

Nia noticed. “What?”

“You speak as though difficult ingredients require discipline.”

“They do.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Are you calling yourself difficult?”

“No.”

“Kael?”

“No.”

Nia folded her arms. “Me?”

Shen kept the blade angled away from both of them. “I would not describe you while standing beside a plant that causes blisters.”

Her laughter carried over the water.

Shen’s mouth curved.

He carried the open knife to the runnel and held it beneath the current, downstream from where they had gathered the riverfold. He rinsed the blade until no trace of sap remained, washed the fingers that had handled the leaves, and kept the knife angled over the stone until the water drained before returning it to its sheath.

They climbed from the runnel where the soil became drier. Sunlight reached through the upper branches in broken patches, warming the moss and the exposed side of Shen’s face.

Nia noticed a cluster of hanging pods before he did.

They grew from a low tree with dark, waxy leaves. Most were green and narrow, but one older pod had dried brown and split along the side. Round black seeds showed through the opening.

“What are those?”

Shen followed her gaze. “Blackpod. Healers press oil from the mature seeds.”

“For medicine?”

“Skin salves and cracked hands. The settled oil has little scent. Old oil becomes bitter and is not used on broken skin.”

“Do they heat it?”

“Only enough to loosen it during pressing.”

Nia reached toward the split pod, then paused. “Safe to touch?”

“Yes.”

She removed it from the branch and shook the seeds into her palm. They were smooth, heavy for their size, and left a faint shine on her skin when she pressed one with her thumbnail.

A river bird landed on a nearby root with another seed in its beak. It struck the shell twice against the wood, swallowed something from inside, and flew away when Shen shifted.

“Has anyone tasted the oil?” Nia asked.

“Possibly. Healers do not record every poor decision made near their worktables.”

“Would you know if it were poisonous?”

“I know the oil is safe on skin and that birds eat the seed. Neither tells me what repeated use inside a beastman would do.”

“Agreed.”

Nia smelled the seed she had cracked. The scent was faintly earthy and less bitter than the mountain oils she had tested before the market.

“If it is safe, this could matter more than a single herb.”

“Because it may carry other flavors?” Shen asked.

“Yes. Fat spreads flavor through a dish and keeps some scents from disappearing too quickly. We also need dependable cooking fat that does not always come from rendered meat.”

“One pod will not give enough oil to test properly.”

“No, but it can tell us whether the scent changes when crushed or warmed. If that is promising, we can return when the mature pods fall.”

Shen looked through the branches. “After the heavier spring rain.”

They collected the loose seeds from the split pod and placed them in a clean pouch, separate from the covered container holding the emberleaf.

No other pods were ready, so they left the green ones untouched.

The land sloped toward water again.

Several shallow pools lay between the roots, joined by thin, shining streams. Small white flowers grew along their edges, each bloom held just above the surface.

Nia crouched to examine one but kept her hands away.

“These resemble the white flowers sold near the market greens.”

“They are silverline blooms,” Shen said. “Do not touch the stem.”

A pale bead of sap shone where an insect had damaged one.

“What does it do?”

“The sap numbs skin. Healers use a small amount for tooth pain. Swallowing too much causes vomiting, weakness, and difficulty standing.”

“The flowers too?”

“The entire plant carries it. The roots hold the most.”

Nia studied the thicker leaves and the narrow silver line running through each center.

“Someone could mistake them for the edible kind.”

“The market flower has soft stems, no silver line, and grows away from warm water.”

Nia stood. “Then we leave these where they are.”

“You do not want a sample?”

“Not in a basket carrying food or possible ingredients. We can bring Mari or one of the older gatherers here if anyone needs to learn the difference.”

“You did not ask whether cooking would make it safe.”

“You described a medicinal plant that can weaken someone. That is not a cooking question.”

Shen watched her for a moment.

“What?” Nia asked.

“You separate possibility from stubbornness more quickly than many healers.”

“That sounded like praise.”

“It was.”

“Almost.”

He took her hand and drew her one step closer.

“I can repeat it more clearly.”

Shen kissed her before she answered.

His mouth was warm and unhurried, one hand holding hers while the other settled against her waist. Nia leaned into him and tightened her fingers around his hand.

When he drew back, his breath remained warm against her cheek.

“That was not clearer praise,” she said.

“No.”

“It was better.”

“Yes.”

They stopped on a broad stone above the water when the sun had climbed high enough to reach it.

Heat rose through the dark surface. Shen tested it with his palm before sitting and allowing his white tail to emerge behind him. The thick scaled length curved across the stone, gathering warmth until its silver edges shone.

Before opening the basket, Shen led Nia to the nearest clear channel. They washed the oil from her fingers, rinsed their hands, and dried them on a clean cloth kept with the meal bundles.

Shen spread the damp cloth across the warm stone to dry.

Nia lowered herself beside him and leaned against the broad coil.

Shen lifted the two sealed meal bundles from the top of the basket, then closed the cover over the samples again. He passed one bundle to Nia and kept the other.

Inside were slices of smoked meat, a thick grain cake, and softened dried fruit.

“You have ridden me, climbed over me, and now made a seat of my tail,” he said.

Nia settled more comfortably against the coil. “Are you objecting?”

His tail shifted behind her, fitting more closely along her back.

“No.”

“That is what I thought.”

They ate while water moved below the stone.

Nia broke her grain cake in half and held one piece toward him. Shen accepted it from her fingers, though his own portion remained in his hand.

“You already have one.”

“You offered yours.”

“That does not explain why you took it.”

“You offered yours,” he repeated.

Nia shook her head and ate the remaining half.

Shen’s tail curled loosely around her hip.

After a while, he looked toward the basket.

“The leaf can change the food even if the leaf itself is discarded.”

“Yes.”

“Then wrapping is not only a way to contain something. The wrapping becomes part of the flavor.”

Nia turned toward him. “That is the important part.”

Shen nodded once.

A breeze moved through the trees and crossed the water.

Nia lowered the dried fruit in her hand.

The scent came again—fresh, warm, and sharp beneath the wet smell of the stream. It resembled the market root Shen had identified, but this was brighter and more layered. Something almost sweet moved beneath the sharpness before disappearing.

Nia sat forward.

Shen’s tail loosened at once.

“You smell it,” he said.

She turned toward the bend where the warm water disappeared beneath hanging growth.

“It is stronger than the market root.”

“And fresher.”

The breeze crossed the stream again.

This time the scent held long enough for Nia to separate damp peel, sharp inner root, and something deeper that heat might draw out.

Shen rose beside her.

Across the water, broad leaves stirred beyond the bend.

The warm scent came from somewhere beyond the moving leaves.

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