Morning in the rainforest was far from refreshing; the humidity was so thick you could wring water from your clothes.
The four of them busied themselves in the jungle for an entire morning.
They overturned countless lichen-covered rocks, disturbed three nests of colorful scorpions, and even got into a tussle with a pack of bad-tempered Fire Salamanders.
Yet the legendary Eastern beast seemed to have dissolved into this vast sea of green, leaving not a single trace behind.
Dick suddenly froze, tilting his head to listen, his body as stiff as a stone statue.
“What is it, Dick?” Newt asked with concern, pushing up his spectacles.
“Listen…” Dick pointed toward the sky.
A shrill, low cry pierced through the forest canopy.
Frey looked up to see a dark-blue bird circling slowly.
It resembled a malnourished vulture.
“That’s an Augurey,” Newt explained.
“In Britain, they call it the Irish Phoenix. They are very shy, and only cry like that when they sense rain is coming…”
“It is foretelling death,” Dick interrupted.
“In Shuar legends, when an Augurey circles overhead and refuses to leave, it means the Grim Reaper has chosen its sacrifice. Mr. Scamander, this forest is weeping.”
“If a mere cry meant death, the London Banshees would have shut the Ministry of Magic down long ago,” Frey scoffed.
Frey patted Dick on the shoulder.
He could feel that this Shuar warrior, who feared not even dragons, was trembling slightly.
Frey turned to Newt.
“Grandfather, we’ve delayed for too long. If we can’t find the Taowu, we can’t just search forever. It’s time to move on.”
Newt glanced up at the circling bird of ill omen, then at his stubborn grandson, and finally nodded.
“Let’s go. Back to the boat.”
The canoe cut through the calm river once more, but the atmosphere had shifted entirely.
Around noon, the river’s current suddenly quickened.
A deafening roar echoed from the distance.
“Pull over! Waterfall ahead, we need to detour!” the navigator shouted.
They pulled the boat onto a gravel beach.
Less than fifty meters ahead, the wide riverbed suddenly dropped off.
The water poured down the vertical cliffside, crashing into the deep pool below and kicking up a thick shroud of mist.
“This is as far as I can take you,” Dick said, standing on a rock at the top of the waterfall and looking down at the pristine jungle shrouded in white mist.
“Down there is the forbidden land of the Shuar. Our ancestors stopped here. Past this point, even the river flows in the opposite direction of what our elders taught us.”
He turned and pulled an amulet carved from a crocodile tooth from his shirt, pressing it into Frey’s hand.
“Take this, young Scamander. You are a benefactor to the Shuar. The spirits of our ancestors will protect you.” This story is hosted at g.com.
“Thanks, brother,” Frey said, dropping his usual cynical expression for once.
Newt stepped forward and gave Dick’s hand a firm squeeze.
“Be careful on your way back. Those people might be looking for you as well.”
“Don’t worry, I was born in this forest. I can get back to the village with my eyes closed in three to five days. Next time you visit, or whenever you need a hand, come find me.”
Dick grinned, then looked at Hermione.
“Little girl, don’t cry anymore. This forest doesn’t believe in tears.”
Hermione blushed, nodded, and murmured a quiet thank-you.
The three of them navigated around the steep slope, carefully picking their way down the rock piles next to the waterfall to reach the lower river.
As they pushed the canoe back into the water, Frey looked back.
Dick stood at the top of the massive white torrent, waving frantically.
The Shuar warrior’s figure was quickly swallowed by the thick mist, vanishing from sight.
The man who knew the jungle best was gone, leaving behind a magizoologist and two rookies visiting the rainforest for the first time.
“Alright, children, let’s set off.” Newt wiped the water droplets from his face, pulled a thick stack of parchment and a quill from his bag, and handed them to Hermione.
“From here on out, we are entering truly uncharted territory. Hermione, why don’t you start drawing the map and writing the expedition log right from this waterfall?”
Hermione blinked, taking the parchment and quill.
“Professor, does this waterfall have a name?”
Newt smiled and turned to look at Frey, who was adjusting his wooden paddle.
“Name it whatever you like. The International Confederation of Wizards rules that the right to name a discovery goes to the finder.”
Frey replied offhandedly, “Since Dick parted ways with us here, let’s call it Dick Falls. Simple, memorable, and a nice way to honor a guy brave enough to eat giant pythons like chicken.”
“Dick Falls?” Hermione frowned, her quill hovering indecisively over the parchment.
“Can’t you think of something more serious and academic? Like Scamander Observation Point One, or the South American Great Rift Waterfall?”
“Don’t be so rigid. Neither Gellert Grindelwald nor Voldemort could force this rainforest to change its name, so let’s keep things as simple as possible. Dick saved our lives; his name is worthy of this curtain of water. Start drawing, great cartographer. If you draw it wrong, next year’s expedition might walk right into the mouth of a Phantasmal Python.”
Hermione mumbled under her breath, “What if my drawings aren’t accurate… I hope not…”
Newt comforted her, “It’s alright, a rough sketch is fine. Guided by our report, the American exploration teams can bring their alchemical instruments to draft an accurate map.”
“Do us a favor, Hermione.” Frey turned his head to speak, nearly steering the canoe straight into the riverbank.
“Oh, blast it. What I wanted to say was, if you do draw it wrong, please just guide them into the stomach of some beast. After all, dead men can’t sue us for damages.”
Hermione rolled her eyes hard at him, then began sketching the first curve onto the paper, carefully using the sun’s position and the flow of the river as a guide.
The changing width and depth of the river were noted down one by one, alongside the characteristics of the various rapids.
Every time they spotted a hill or mountain, Hermione sketched it onto the map and recorded its estimated height. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Beside these, she noted the locations and names of wand woods, magical beasts, and herbs they discovered.
Newt looked at the busy Hermione and then at his grandson rowing the boat, a hint of gratification flashing in his eyes.
Without realizing it, both his student and his grandson were growing up fast.
The canoe drifted downstream as the river deepened into a bottomless, emerald-green expanse.
A day slipped silently away.
That evening, instead of camping on an open beach, they chose a small island in the middle of the river.
The island was only a few hundred square meters, its shores choked with knee-deep mud and thorny brambles.
In Newt’s words: “No matter what tries to set foot on this island, we’ll see it coming.”
Dinner was once again roasted fish and potatoes, but everyone ate with preoccupied minds.
Frey handed Hermione a skewer of fish.
Without looking at him, she gave a brief grunt, took it, and bit into it fiercely.
Frey mumbled, “Bizarre.”
Just then, a faint rustling broke the silence of the opposite bank.
Frey reacted instantly, his wand emitting a red glow almost immediately.
“Who’s there!”
A massive dark silhouette leapt out from the shadows across the water.
It was a beast shaped like a tiger, yet trailing a long tail behind it.
It stopped at the edge of the firelight and dropped a heavy object with a wet thud into the mud of the shallows.
Before anyone could react, the silhouette slipped back into the darkness, vanishing without a trace.
“Was that… the Taowu?” Hermione held her breath, clutching the hem of Frey’s coat tightly.
Frey waved his wand, muttering under his breath, “*Accio tapir!*”
A massive, lifeless tapir was pulled over to the campfire.
Newt walked over to examine the two puncture wounds on the tapir’s neck.
“The wounds are identical.”
“It seems this Taowu bears us no ill will.” Frey knelt down, touching the still-warm wound with his finger.
Amid the warm blood, he caught a faint scent of sandalwood.
Frey turned and flashed Newt a bright smile.
“Grandfather, looks like we have tonight’s meat for the dragon and the Mimic Turtle. This Taowu is surprisingly professional at delivery.”
He subconsciously spun the Gold Galleon he was playing with, his eyes drifting into the deep darkness.
He added in his mind: *The delivery is here.
That girl probably isn’t far behind.*