And should they? Dark like obsidian would make the matter simple: to ask Xiao Xingchen, perennial uncertain arms the blind with courage. But here, they see, scraps of silhouettes and lines, they hear the breeze of movement. Leaves turn, and Lan Wangji wonders if it's for the step of a great hunting creature or the simple descent of a night owl in aborted flight. How things slot together. How dangers rearrange themselves in mundanity.

He cannot guarantee their safety. Hesitates, and peers briskly through the scant vantage offered where the rich foliage of shrubs goes threadbare — blinks, tips his head. Hears. Listens.

And decides, all at once, to hunt the residue of stones on the forest floor, to choose the thickest, the weightiest piece, and cast it out. Silence, at first, shivered. Then, he throws another stone in the distance. No howls, no shift, no plunge. No creature playing fetch. He thinks, We are in safe territory.

...then catapults another stone, hard, and realises, "We do not hear it land in water."

Spell work. Illusion. Something amiss.