Femi woke to a blow to his head, the impact jarring him from sleep.. He sat up unsteadily, his whiskers twitching as he glanced around. He found himself on the edge of Varga's campsite. Through his confusion, he noticed the Krags' camp buzzing with activity warriors lifting crates and moving weapons to waiting wagons, their boots crunching through the icy crust that covered the ground.
The side of his head throbbed where he'd been struck. As he raised a hand to soothe the pain,he froze when he noticed her.
Varga towered over him, her fur-lined boots planted firmly in the snow as she cast a long shadow across his small frame.
"Get up, rat!" Varga barked.
Femi looked up. "Ow! What's wrong with you? Can't you wake someone normally?"
Varga stared down at him as if he'd spoken complete nonsense, then yanked him to his feet. Once she had his attention, she spoke.
"We need to start preparing," she said, her gaze locking onto his. "We're going scouting."
Femi's confusion and anger were palpable. "Scouting? What does that even mean? Hunting, or...?"
Varga's glare could have frozen the already icy ground beneath them. "The camp is moving," she explained, gesturing to the organized chaos around them. "As hunters, it is our responsibility to assess the terrain and watch for danger."
"So while I do that, you will be learning how to perform the basic activity of a Hunter."
Femi's expression shifted from confusion to reluctant understanding as he began packing his meager belongings."That would explain why they're moving the human prisoners."
The human prisoners were being hauled from their primitive cages, their bare feet leaving dark prints in the snow as they were bound to the wagons. Some looked ready to collapse from the cold.
Femi's gaze flicked back to Varga as she packed, then to his own possessions, his Nika, a skinny knife and an axe looped to his belt.
"So this is how it feels to be poor," he sighed.
He unwrapped the bandage around his chest, the fabric stiff with dry blood. To his surprise, the wound had healed, leaving only pink scars that stood .
As he stared at them, he silently hoped he would never suffer such injuries again. The memory of losing his arm flashed in his mind, and he reflexively glanced at it.
The thought of venturing into the cold wilderness with Varga filled him with unease.
"I hope I don't end up a victim in that forest".
--------
It took a while to load everything from her tent onto one of the wagons, the snow making every movement more laborious. Femi's clawed hands were getting tried as he worked, but he had to help her, otherwise, he wouldn't get food.
Femi exhaled sharply, watching his breath plume in the air as he considered his helpless situation. But food mattered more than pride in this freezing wilderness.
When they finished, Varga left him with an order, "Meet me at the camp's entrance when you're done eating. I'll be speaking with the other hunters."
With that, she strode off through the chaos of the departing camp.
At least she'd left him warm water and a steaming meal. The hard bread had to be softened in the broth, but the hot soup sent welcome warmth through his chilled body as he devoured it.
As he ate, he watched the Krags finish breaking camp, their efficiency terrifying. They'd packed everything before the twin suns had fully risen, their breath creating a misty cloud above the bustling activity.
Once done, Femi trudged through the snow to the entrance. Some Krags paused in their work to eye him curiously, their faces half-hidden in fur-lined hoods; others glared with looks that promised violence. He quickened his pace, his claws slipping slightly on the icy ground.
Varga stood finishing a conversation near one of the supply sleds. She spotted him and barked, "Come here, ratling."
Femi sighed. This woman is a slave driver, he thougt. "I believe you know my name is Femi. Could you use it instead of 'rat' or 'ratling'?"
She stared at him as if he was smoking weed. the cold apparently having no effect on her piercing gaze. One day, I go do her strong thing for this, her nonsense character,he grumbled inwardly.
"When you've done something worthwhile, instead of stealing meat,I might." Her green eyes drilled into him until he looked away in shame, focusing instead on the snow at his feet.
I took meat once, now am a thief for life". How is that fair?
Varga snorted, then began checking her gear, her movements brisk.
Femi gazed around at the other hunters busily preparing for their journey. Their rugged faces and weathered gear spoke of experience in the wilderness. Some sharpened blades while others checked their bows, their practiced movements revealing years of familiarity with such tasks.
"Catch." Varga's voice snapped his attention back just in time to see a bag flying toward him.
Femi barely had time to react as she tossed him a bag. He fumbled but caught it mid-air. Opening it, he found plant fibers inside.
"What's this for?" he asked, uncertainty coloring his tone. "You're not expecting me to...smoke this, are you?"
Varga's frowned. "You'll learn to make rope. While the others hunt or scout, you'll weave." Femi stared at the fibers, his mind racing at the prospect of this new skill.
Her instructions were clear, practice rope making while she scouted ahead, then meet at the checkpoint tomorrow. As she demonstrated , twisting fibers between calloused hands. Femi watched intently. It looked simple enough, like braiding hair. This won't be so hard, he thought with growing optimism.
When she handed him the fibers, his fingers moved awkwardly at first, struggling to mimic her deft motions. Yet as he continued under her watchful eye, the rhythm began to feel more natural.
"I'll leave you to it. Keep practicing," Varga said before turning away to join the other hunters, her stride spoke of quiet confident.
Femi watched her go, then shrugged. "More work for me, I suppose," he muttered, focusing on the fibers as the sound of departing footsteps faded. The solitude wasn't unwelcome.
This will be a good distraction, for this road trip,he thought, settling into his designated wagon. The familiar scents of canvas and leather surrounded him as he worked amidst Varga's stacked gear. His fingers moved methodically, the fibers gradually taking shape into something resembling rope.
"Finally done," he said with a satisfied grin, holding up his creation. The rope looked thick and sturdy, a decent first attempt.
Looking up, he realized how much time had passed. The twin suns, those floating orbs of gas were beginning their descent. He'd been so engrossed he hadn't noticed the wagons were already moving along the snow-free road.
Scanning the caravan, he noted Krags marching behind wagons, human prisoners sandwiched between them. Another wagon held mostly women huddled together, the claimed, he guessed.
Dangling his legs off the wagon's edge, Femi found himself enjoying the ride despite the cold wind nipping at his face. The passing trees wore thick mantles of snow, their branches occasionally releasing powdery showers as they brushed against the moving wagons. Far better than walking like the others.
The road, despite its discomforts, was infinitely preferable to that evil forest where it's shade probably hid even greater dangers beneath its deceptively pure surface.
But after an hour or so, the monotony started to wear on him. The initial novelty of the wagon travel had faded, leaving him bored and weary.
He was so bored! It was time to take a nap.
He climbed deeper into the wagon, his clawed feet, scraping across the wooden planks, and found a relatively comfortable place among the furs and supplies. Wrapping himself in one of the thicker pelts, its musky animal smell a small price to pay for warmth, he tried to sleep. The wagon's rocking and the muffled sounds of travel through snow made it easy to drift off, his breath slowing down as he dozed off.
-----
A sharp, jarring movement woke him later. The sky outside was already dark, but he could hear activity continuing despite the late hour.
"It seems the wagon has stopped," he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Peering out, he saw the Krags had finished setting up the night's campsite, their fires creating orange halos in the night. Figures moved between the tents, their shadows distorted by the flames.
After the Krags got a fire going and supper was cooking, a line formed for supper and his stomach growled with enough force to echo off the wagon sides. The sound propelled him into motion , he grabbed a bowl and jumped down the wagon's edge and dropped to the ground, the wooden bowl gripped tightly as he shuffled toward the food line.
His steps slowed as he joined the queue. The other figures in line , mostly Krag warriors , they didn't so much as glance his way. Femi's fingers tightened around the bowl's rim. Would they even let him eat with them? Now that varga is not around and remembering those hostile looks from some of the Krags, he couldn't help but wonder.
His gaze darted from face to indifferent face, searching for any flicker of hostily or welcome. Nothing.
At least talon is not around to assault him.
The line moved kept moving till it was his turn. The same Krag from yesterday, the one who seemed to be in charge of food distribution, eyed Femi as he approached with his bowl. Femi gave him a nervous smile, the bowl trembling slightly in his paws. Varga must had vouched for him, because the Krag just dumped a portion of steaming stew into his bowl without comment.
The soup had a meaty smell that cut through the crisp air, its surface shimmering with pieces of meat.
"Oh what I would do for a plate of jollof rice right now," he sighed as he retreated to the wagon with Varga's things. Climbing up to sit at the edge, he drank his soup while staring at the sky, the warm liquid helping to drive the chill from his core.
As evening gave way to night, the stars appeared intermittently between clouds, their light twinkling above. The nocturnal sounds were different here, owls and other creatures he couldn't identify called through the night, their cries carrying strangely in the crisp air.
"owls singing in the night na bad omen, I hope witches aren't flying out tonight," he murmured to himself, watching his breath fog the air with each word. "What am I saying, it wouldn't shock me if there are actually witches flying about." The thought made him glance nervously at the dark spaces between trees where the firelight didn't reach.
But eventually, bundled in furs and lulled by the muffled sounds of the camp, Femi managed to slip asleep despite his nervousness, his body curled tightly against the cold, his breath slowing to steady, visible puffs in the frigid air.