Perusina, Perusino, and Franz in Huancabamba

The herb pouch disappeared at the exact moment the fog swallowed the lagoon.

Before that, everything had still been there: the narrow path of wet grass, the cold air biting Perusino's ears, the dark surface of Laguna Shimbe, and the old man with the white hat standing on the shore, saying: "In Huancabamba, you must listen to the water."

Perusino had whispered: "Mostly, I hear my teeth chattering."

Then the fog came. Dense. White. Wet.

When it lifted again, the small cloth pouch was gone. The boy next to the old man turned pale. His name was Yaku, and he carried a bundle of plants over his shoulder.

"The pouch was for my grandfather's mesa," he said. "Without it, he can't prepare anything today."

Perusina looked at the ground. Water droplets glistened in the páramo grass. No footprints. No impressions. Only a thin line leading to the shore.

Franz sniffed. "Herbs. Smoke. Wet stone. And something sharp."

Yaku bent down. "Mishquilla. My grandfather uses it for cleansing. But it doesn't grow directly by the lagoon."

Then something splashed. A green leaf floated on the water. It spun once, then slowly glided away from them.

A shadow moved on the opposite bank. Briefly. Then gone.

Franz sprang up. "There!"

Too late, he realized how slippery the grass was. He slid directly towards the lagoon. Perusino lunged after him and grabbed his bag. Yaku rammed his trekking pole into the ground. Perusina grabbed it. For a moment, Franz and Perusino hung halfway over the black water.

They pulled themselves back. A second leaf lay on the bank. A thread from the missing pouch stuck to it.

The trail didn't lead along the path, but to a stream flowing out of the lagoon. The water rushed between stones and disappeared downhill into the fog.

"If the pouch got in there," Yaku said, "it'll end up at the waterfall."

Perusina nodded. "Then we have to be faster than the water."

They ran. The stream was narrow but wild. It leaped over stones, disappeared under clumps of grass, and reappeared elsewhere. Perusino slipped three times; on the fourth, he cried: "I'm doing this on purpose now!"

Then they heard the thunder.

El Sitan waterfall plunged over dark rock. Spray misted into the air. A narrow path led alongside, slippery and steep.

Something dark hung between two stones.

The pouch.

It was wedged in a root directly above the waterfall.

Yaku jumped forward. "I'll get it!"

"No," Perusina said. "The rock is wet. We'll get it properly then."

Perusino pulled his string from his backpack. Franz found a bent branch. Perusina tied the string to it.

The first attempt hit the rock. The second attempt hit Perusino on the knee. The third attempt caught the pouch's loop.

"Pull!"

Everyone pulled. The pouch came loose. And shot away with the water.

"Not good!" Perusino cried.

Franz leaped down the path, past them. Below the waterfall, a flat stone lay in the stream. Franz jumped onto it, opened his mouth, and caught the pouch by its string.

The water almost swept him off his paws. Perusina threw himself on his stomach and grabbed his bag. Perusino grabbed Perusina. Yaku grabbed Perusino.

Another chain. Again wet. Again close call.

With a final tug, they pulled Franz and the pouch out of the stream.

Yaku opened the pouch.

Empty.

Perusina took the cloth. Tiny black grains stuck inside. They smelled of smoke. And of the same sharp plant Franz had noticed.

"Someone took out the contents," she said. "And threw the pouch into the water as a false trail."

Then a sound came from the fog. Not a cry. Not an animal. A soft clattering. Stone on stone.

They followed the sound uphill, not back to Laguna Shimbe, but further to a darker lagoon between rocks.

Yaku stopped. "Laguna Negra."

The water was almost black. No wind stirred the surface. A girl in a hood stood on the shore. Before her lay plants, a small clay cup, and Yaku's missing herbs.

"Hey!" Perusino cried.

The figure turned around. It wasn't a thief with an evil glare. It was a girl, perhaps twelve years old. Her hands trembled.

"I didn't want to steal anything," she said. "My mother is sick. I thought if I took the plants, it would help faster."

Yaku stepped forward. "You should have asked."

Then the fog moved over the lagoon. For a moment, Perusina saw in the water not just the rocks and the girl. She saw something behind her that was hidden on the shore: a narrow opening between two stones, clearly visible in the reflection.

"The lagoon shows what we overlook," she whispered.

Behind the opening was a small, dry space. Inside: several empty plant bundles, old strings, and a second clay cup.

An old man crawled out of the opening with a sack on his back. The sack was full of herbs.

"The lagoons don't belong to anyone alone," Yaku said softly. "But you don't take everything. Otherwise, nothing will be left for those who truly seek help."

Later, on the shore of Laguna Shimbe, Yaku's grandfather showed them which leaves could be taken, which had to be left, and why some plants were only strong enough after the rain.

Perusina looked at the calm water. "The lagoon didn't speak. But it reflected."