It was not a coincidence, then. Anna had few choices. She could run. The other person could follow. She could hide. The other might find her, and she’d be worse off. She could set a trap. A wary person might sense it and attack her instead of falling into the trap. In any of those situations, she could lose the encounter. In addition to any of them, the stranger following her might catch up while she slept tonight if she did nothing.
But she still had another option, one more suited to her training and skills. The rolling lay of the land, the broken cracks, and crevasses, and the sparse vegetation provided more than enough cover if one knew how to make use of it. She slipped off to one side, and when out of sight she stood and ran at an angle to the stranger, all the while keeping low where he couldn’t see her. When she determined she had gone far enough, she paused. Instead of turning away, she turned towards where she’d last seen the movement.
She used the natural cover and a small split of a canyon until she was sure she had circled around behind the follower. As Grandma Emma said, most people do not look behind. She found another small rise that provided a good view and waited.
It didn’t take long. She was closer to him than expected, but from the tan dust of the desert floor, a male figure stood and stumbled ahead, before pausing and shielding his eyes with the palm of his hand. He searched for her. There was no mistaking the action. He was moving carefully and searching.
There was only one reason to follow behind. He wanted something from her. She didn’t know what he wanted, but it made no difference. He was following her with malicious intent. She liked that word, malicious. She reached for her short bow. Whatever happened was his fault.
He was not too far off, but she wanted to be ready in case he turned and spotted her. Then was not the time to fumble for a bow that might get tangled in her backpack. The quiver at her hip provided an arrow. One quick and familiar move brought it from the quiver to the bow. She strung the bow and fitted an arrow before creeping forward.
The sand crunched under her feet, and she was sure he’d hear her, but the idea was silly. He was too far away to hear her footsteps unless she stumbled. Besides the constant wind made enough sound to shield any she made. But the idea jarred her. She was stalking another person without a single glance behind to see who stalked her. Only a short time ago she’d criticized the man out there for the same mistake.
She paused as if examining a footprint in the sand. As she bent, she peered back and found nobody there. Someone back there may have ducked when she stopped walking. She spun and looked behind. Nobody there. She would have to do better in the future, but her nerves were on edge. It was not the last time she turned to examine her back trail.
She moved quicker now, concentrating on being quiet but adding some speed to her stealth. Closing the distance, she moved to within twenty steps before he heard her. He turned, surprise clear on his dirt-streaked face. If his expression was any gauge, his surprise was quickly followed by a flash of fear as he found the bow in her hands.
His eyes darted around, looking for a way out. But he stood in the open with no adequate cover close enough to reach before she could release her arrow. His options were to run in any unprotected direction. Or, he could charge right at her. The latter would earn him an arrow, or two.
Anna saw the indecision cross his mind, the slump of his shoulders, the giving up. She motioned with the tip of the arrow fitted to the bowstring for him to sit. He shook his head vigorously and pointed to one side, then moved a few steps before sitting, but not so far that it might concern her. She eased closer, careful to stay out of range if he should decide to rush her.
The ground near where he sat had a red ant pile, the little beasts swarming and moving closer to him. That was why he’d refused to sit at first. She motioned again, “Move further away before they get you.”
She examined the man as he scooted away from the ants. He was tall and thin enough to be ill. His cheeks were sunken, his hands mostly long, skinny fingers. Desert dirt coated him from head to foot. No, it was more than dirt, it was mud, she realized. Intentionally applied to his face, neck, ears, and hands. His clothing was ragged, also covered in brown mud that appeared more clay than sand.
“Who are you trying to hide from?” she asked, turning her nose up at the mud.
“People.”
“So you cover yourself in mud to hide?”
“Bugs.” The words came slowly, after a slight hesitation.
Two individual sentences of one word each. Conversation with him would be scant if he kept that up. She realized he was a little older than her. He was probably less than twenty, but with the mud caked on him, the filthy hair, and untrimmed beard, it was hard to tell.
“Bugs?”
“Keeps bugs away.”
The mud helped keep night bugs like mosquitoes and black flies away. She understood and approved. “Who are you?”
He shrugged.
“A name. What do people call you?”
“Thief.”
“No, not what you do. What’s your name?”
“Thief.”
Anna relaxed on the pull of the bow, but kept the arrow seated and ready to release in an instant. “People call you ‘Thief’ because you steal from them, I understand that. But you must have a name.”
He shook his head.
“What do you do out here?”
He looked away as if he didn’t understand the question. He inhaled and let the breath out slowly, looking off into the distance.
Anna took three steps back and sat on a small boulder. She kept a close watch on him. “Why were you following me?”
“Food.”
“What else?”
He gave her a questioning glance before turning away again. He either didn’t want to answer or had none.
“Were you going to hurt me or steal my things?”
“Food.”
He answered too slowly, after a short pause each time she asked him a question as if considering each answer and being careful only to answer what she asked. His responses were those of a young child who got caught dipping a finger into the honey jar without permission. Now that she paid attention, she realized he didn’t scare her. Despite him being so much taller that her head wouldn’t reach higher than his chest, there was a calmness about him. A certain serenity.
“Are you hungry?” She asked. “That’s why you wanted food?”
“Yes.”
“So you were going to steal my food but not hurt me?”
“No.”
The single word of the answer could mean several things. Earlier, he’d said he followed her because of food. From his answer, he might not steal her food, and might not hurt her, or neither—or both. Was that all he wanted? “What else were you going to do?”
“Watch.”
Watch? She considered the single word again and thought she might be beginning to understand. “You were going to watch me and see where and how I found my food?”
He nodded.
That was smart. By watching her, he might learn a new skill to help him survive. A fly landed on his arm. It looked like a horsefly, one that would take a bite of his flesh and leave blood dripping from a wound. The boy didn’t slap at it to kill it. He brushed it off with the side of his hand. She liked that. Killing is necessary at times, but the needless killing of anything, even a horsefly caused her to cringe.
On impulse, she slipped her backpack off and removed a small leather sack with a drawstring. It contained a mixture of dried grapes, nuts, grains, and smoked venison, her favorite food for traveling. It was light to carry, and in a small bag, it would last for days. She tossed it to him.