in tenebris est veritas.
The small hog’s limp head knocks against the back of Chaele’s legs as they carry their half slowly through the underbrush, blood painting her skirts and leaving a negligent trail behind them. But they know that the two cannot move fast together, and they are prepared to defend themself and the girl from scavengers. The camp is perhaps a five minute walk from the river, doubled by their slow progress.
Zamara might smell it before she sees it: the smoky odor of a cold campfire, the acridity of drying tannins, the faint perimeter of piss. The clearing is small, the dirt barely visible between the machete-cut shrubs, and Chaele gives the largest space to the dead thing. A small ring of stones encircles a pile of ash just beside it, and a crude wooden structure holds a few hanging furs just opposite. With a huff they dust their hands, then gesture an invitation toward a low, knotted root that is the closest thing to a chair.
“Now.” Their pack is shrugged off and set aside, their hunting knife retrieved and wiped clean with a rag. After a long moment in examination of their new burden, Chaele turns toward their kill and kneels beside it. “You have nowhere to go, no one looking for you, and you are not prepared to live in the wilds.” The knife cuts into the carcass with little ceremony as Chaele begins to lift the skin from the muscle.
There is a soft curiosity in their voice as they inquire, “Tell me what happened.”
Zamara might smell it before she sees it: the smoky odor of a cold campfire, the acridity of drying tannins, the faint perimeter of piss. The clearing is small, the dirt barely visible between the machete-cut shrubs, and Chaele gives the largest space to the dead thing. A small ring of stones encircles a pile of ash just beside it, and a crude wooden structure holds a few hanging furs just opposite. With a huff they dust their hands, then gesture an invitation toward a low, knotted root that is the closest thing to a chair.
“Now.” Their pack is shrugged off and set aside, their hunting knife retrieved and wiped clean with a rag. After a long moment in examination of their new burden, Chaele turns toward their kill and kneels beside it. “You have nowhere to go, no one looking for you, and you are not prepared to live in the wilds.” The knife cuts into the carcass with little ceremony as Chaele begins to lift the skin from the muscle.
There is a soft curiosity in their voice as they inquire, “Tell me what happened.”
