A Leap Of Faith

Fanta's heart hammered in her chest as she and Mike hurried through the dense undergrowth of Okiya Forest. Behind them, the voices of Ogamba's warriors still echoed, calling her name with chilling determination. We can't let them catch us. Each step felt like it might be her last, adrenaline surging through her limbs.

The previous evening's revelation—that she spoke English fluently—had brought them closer. For the first time, they conversed openly, sharing glimpses of each other's worlds. But any sense of newfound intimacy was shattered by the imminent threat: Ogamba's men had tracked them here, determined to bring Fanta back. Possibly for a grim fate under Mojono's orders.

Mike led the way with tense resolve, glancing over his shoulder at Fanta, who kept pace beside him. His camera dangled precariously from his neck, occasionally hitting his chest with each lurch. He'd stowed his more delicate gear but kept the camera close. Even in danger, he apparently couldn't bear to lose it.

Fanta's breath came in ragged bursts. Her heightened senses—the same ones that made her an outcast—helped her spot twisting roots and low branches before she tripped, but fear still constricted her lungs. She clutched a small pouch of herbs she'd gathered earlier, though she wasn't sure if they'd be of any use against armed pursuers.

"Fanta!" The warriors' voices were louder now, echoing in the humid air. She caught glimpses of spears and the flash of metal behind the thick foliage. Her pulse throbbed. They're close. Mike grabbed her hand, guiding her through a thick cluster of vines. His palm was warm, steady—a reassuring presence in a world gone hostile.

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They emerged onto a narrow trail that wound alongside a roaring river, the water churning with recent rainfall. Mike's eyes flicked around, searching for an escape route. In the distance, through the trees, Fanta glimpsed a sheer cliff where the river dropped—a waterfall. She felt a jolt of both awe and dread.

Mike pointed ahead, raising his voice above the rushing water. "We go—there!" His accent was still thick, but now that Fanta allowed herself to show her fluency, she understood perfectly. The path seemed to ascend slightly, hugging the edge of a ravine.

She nodded, lips pressed tight. The idea of heading toward a waterfall seemed insane, but anywhere was better than letting Ogamba's men corner them. Her mind spun with the memory of Handuza's cruelty, the near drowning at the village river. She refused to face such torment again. We have to keep going.

Behind them, voices broke through the brush:

"Over here! Their footprints!"

Mike exchanged a single determined look with Fanta. They broke into a sprint.

The forest floor turned slick from the river's spray, each footstep precarious on mossy rocks. Fanta's heart pounded, memories of jumping logs during childhood hunts surfacing in her mind. She prayed her surefootedness would hold. Mike, meanwhile, clutched her hand, yanking her forward whenever she stumbled on a slippery patch.

A warrior burst into view to their left, spear brandished. Fanta stifled a scream, half pulling Mike in the opposite direction. Another warrior shouted from above, perched on a rocky ledge, attempting to flank them. The tension soared. They have us pinned.

But Mike found a narrow route along the ravine's edge. He swerved, pulling Fanta behind him, ignoring the shouted threats. She glimpsed a flash of terror in his eyes—he was no warrior—yet he braved it, focusing on each step. The raging river thundered just below the rocky path. If they slipped, the current might claim them. If they turned back, the warriors certainly would.

The path twisted, leading them closer to the waterfall's roar. Mist billowed in the air, dampening their clothes. The pounding water grew louder, drowning out the warriors' yells. Fanta's ankle twinged again, but she pressed on, adrenaline banishing the pain. We can't stop now.

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Rounding a bend, they reached the cliff's brink. The waterfall plunged downward in a majestic torrent, crashing into a foaming pool below. Fanta's heart lurched at the dizzying height. Mike skidded to a halt, scanning the ravine for a possible safe descent. The drop looked lethal.

"Fanta!" a warrior's voice bellowed from behind. She glanced back: half a dozen men, spears raised, slowly closing in. Their expressions grim with purpose.

"Mike… we can't fight them," she breathed in flawless English, the fear raw in her eyes. "They'll take me back. Or kill you. Or both."

He nodded, swallowing hard. Then, with surprising calm, he squeezed her hand. "We jump," he said, gesturing to the waterfall.

Her eyes widened. The drop was easily a few stories. The churning waters below looked violent. But the warriors were only heartbeats away, spears rattling. She recalled all the humiliations, the near drownings, the label of "demon." This was their last chance.

"On three," Mike whispered, voice trembling. Fanta glanced at the warriors—they paused, uncertain if they dared approach the cliff's edge. She realized they might try to capture her alive. But captivity was worse than any fall.

Mike tightened his grip, meeting her gaze with fierce determination. She drew a shaky breath, heart thundering. We either do this or surrender.

"One," Mike said, stepping closer to the precipice.

"Two," Fanta echoed, tears burning her eyes from fear and heartbreak—leaving Ogamba behind again.

"Three!" they both shouted, and leapt into the void.