The next one week passed in a blur of labor and restless anticipation, each day bleeding into the next under the ever-lovely twin suns and iron-gray skies of the White Wilds. The land here as unforgiving. Truly a vast expanse of jagged trees and frozen earth, where even the deadliest creatures tread carefully.
The biting wind carried whispers of the coming cold season, a season Varga warned would turn the land into a frozen wasteland where even the hardiest Krags huddled close to their fires.
Femi, wrapped tightly in his ragged but precious fur-lined cloak a crude improvement he had stitched together during his second week in the camp from scraps of rabbit pelts and the remnants of his previous cloak and old garment, he borrowed from varga.
He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened to him without it. The cold here was truly demolic, gnawing at his flesh, bypassing fur and bone to torment him. Without the cloak, he'd have long succumbed to the merciless chill, his body left to bleach in the snow like some nameless, homeless holigan, forgotten by the world.
Luckily, though the long awaited wagons arrived at last
The creak of wooden wheels and the grunts of weary travelers announced their approach long before they emerged from the mist-shrouded tree line. The camp stirred to life as Krags and human "helpers" alike gathered to witness the procession.
The wagons, weather-beaten and splattered with mud from days of travel, rolled in like wounded beasts, their axles groaning under the weight of supplies, stolen goods and exhausted Krags. Some bore fresh scars, while others limped.
The wagon also bore deep gouges in the wood, as though something with claws had tested their durability, leaving behind jagged marks that told silent stories of close calls and foolish endeavors.
Femi lingered near Varga, watching as the newcomers trudged forward, their boots crunching in the snow, their breaths puffing in the frigid air. Many were caked in grime, their leathers and furs clothes soaked through from relentless travel. A few cast curious glances his way, some wary, others sizing him up like a cut of meat at a butcher's stall. One scarred Krag, his face a map of old battles with a missing tusk and a nose twisted from multiple breaks, sneered at him, fingers twitching toward the axe at his belt. Femi forced himself to hold the stare, refusing to flinch despite the way his pulse hammered in his throat.
Can't be showing fear to these savage beasts, or they'll eat you alive.
At the rear of the caravan, Areius stood like a monolith of muscle and menace, overseeing the salvage of a broken-down wagon. One of its wheels had shattered, leaving the vehicle slumped in the snow like a fallen beast, its cargo half-spilled onto the frozen ground. Krags worked swiftly under his command, unloading crates and barrels, some hoisting them onto their backs while others lashed them to the draft horses. The beasts snorted, their breath steaming in the cold, their flanks streaked with sweat despite the chill, their eyes rolling white with exhaustion.
Areius was as imposing as ever, his massive frame draped in the snow-white pelt of the mutant dire wolf he had slain a month ago, a trophy that marked him as a capable hunter, a warrior who had faced death and laughed in its face. This people are truly mad.
The fur swayed with his movements, lending him an air of savage nobility, the beast's empty eye sockets seeming to glare at those who dared meet its gaze. Femi couldn't help but admire it, though his own cloak was little more than a threadbare thirdhand castoff, stitched together with desperation and a few strips of rabbit fur for warmth.
This is not the designer I wanted.
Varga approached with measured steps, stopping just within Areius's line of sight. Femi lingered beside her, his fingers absently tracing the hilt of the dagger at his belt while his mind wandered to thoughts of rabbit meat, something to fill Victim's bottomless stomach, his only rare comfort in this strange camp full of bulging, muscular Krags who could snap him in half without breaking a sweat.
What a life.
After a moment, Areius turned his gaze toward them, his tusked mouth splitting into a grin.
"I heard you slew a beast from the welp's tales," he rumbled, his voice thick with amusement.
Varga remained impassive, her expression unreadable. "We barely survived. And it wasn't I who struck the killing blow."
Areius's dark eyes flicked to Femi, glinting with something between amusement and appraisal. "Ah, so the stories are true. The rat brought down a giant."
Before Femi could react, a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder, the grip firm enough to make his bones protest. Oh boy, don't break my shoulder, he thought, forcing a stiff smile.
"You did well, rat. Very well," Areius said, his voice a low growl of approval. "Proved you're not a waste after all."
"Th..thank you," Femi managed, unsure whether to bask in the praise or brace for a backhanded blow.
But Areius's grin faded as he turned back to Varga, his expression hardening into something colder, more calculating. "Status report."
"Camp is secure. Food stores are stocked, enough salted meat and hardtack to last two moons if rationed. Firewood is stacked, and shelters have been reinforced. The old house has been repaired for your use, with fresh pelts on the floor and a new hearthstone."
"And the roads?"
"Scouts report no movement on the path ahead. We've had eyes on the main route to Novus City, no patrols. It seems the city is also battening down for the cold season.The way is clear… at least until the deep cold sets in."
She hesitated, her jaw tightening slightly before she continued. "But there's another problem. We've seen signs of creatures from the deeper woods moving this far out, too close to the edge. Strange claw marks on trees, half-eaten carcasses too large to be dire wolves. And while on the subject of dire wolves, their tracks have been spotted this far south. It could mean trouble brewing in the heart of the forest."
Areius's grin returned, slow and savage, like a predator scenting blood. "Good."
He turned to leave, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Clear your duties. Gather the other hands at the house for strategy. And…" His eyes locked onto Femi, that same dark amusement flickering in his gaze. "Bring the ratling. I think I can find something… interesting for him in my plans."
The way he said it made Femi's stomach twist. Yeah. Interesting like how a lamb finds a butcher's knife interesting.
This guy, thinks I'm a fool.
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As Femi and Varga left the warlord, who was already directing his warriors. Femi couldn't help but replay the last part of their conversation in his head.
"Even though you used a tricks to win, you did defeat the Eri. You brought it down," Areius had said, his voice a low. "So I'll be expecting your best. You just better be good enough."
The words didn't sound, like a complement they sounded like a warning, sharp as a blade laid against my furry neck.
Varga noticed the tension in Femi's shoulders, the way his tail kept twitching and brushing against his legs in restless agitation. "You don't need to be so scared of him, Femi," she said, her voice calm.
"Easy for you to say," Femi muttered under his breath. "He didn't just give you an indirect warning to be 'good enough' for some demonic plan of his."
Varga exhaled, her breath misting in the cold air as she scanned the tree line. "The plan may be dangerous, yes. He's never been one to fret over death tolls, only victory. No plan is ever foolproof. Battle is chaotic. Yet his strategies haven't failed us yet. He always uses the most reckless plans, but he has always won. That's why we follow him. Areius the Blood-Seeker."
Femi didn't feel reassured. Something in Areius's gaze had promised nothing good. If this 'meeting' goes sideways, I'm grabbing Victim and running. I cannot become a victim in another man's story.
"We'll wait and see what he has planned," Varga said, her voice steady. "Till then, let's keep busy. We can track along the ridge, wolves were spotted near there. If we're lucky, we'll catch one separated from the pack. If not, then we'll kill the pack."
Femi grimaced. "Please, calm down. I'm not interested in testing myself against any wild animals. We can hunt rabbits, fresh meat is worth more , especially with cold season teeths sinking deeper every day."
They moved in silence after that, their footsteps muffled by the snow. As they neared the encampment, a voice cut through the quiet.
Who knows when I'll eat meat again with Victim around? That vacuum, that bottomless pit, that can strips a carcass cleaner than vultures.
"Varga."
They both turned.
Femi's raised a brow.
A female Krag stood a dozen paces away, tall for a human but small for her kind, just shy of 5'8". Her light green skin looked almost gray in the cloud-covered sunlight, and a bow was strapped across her back, the fletching of her arrows dyed a faded red.
"Dana."
Varga's voice echoed in the void between them.
He didn't need Varga's sharp inhale to recognize her. The resemblance was there, the same stubborn set of the jaw, the same sharp cheekbones, though Dana lacked Ova's brutish bulk. Her frame was leaner, looked to be honed for speed rather than raw power. But her eyes… those were different. A piercing blue, like shards of ice over a deep ocean.
She was Ova's sister.
Varga didn't move. She could still feel the phantom weight of an axe resting on her back,' his' axe. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"Dana," she said, the name rough in her throat.
The Krag woman didn't answer at first. Her gaze flicked between them, lingering on Femi just long enough to make his tail twitch. Then, finally, back to Varga. The silence stretched until it was suffocating.
"Varga," Dana replied at last, her voice flat.
Femi stood slightly off to the side, anticipating what was about to happen, his mind racing.
This is… This is... This is super story.