Hunted and People

Chapter 3
Part 1 - Hunted

Four days, I think. Hard to tell with the fever I’ve had. The very thing that nearly killed me kept me alive. Without the beast's meat, I don’t think I would have recovered. Water was the biggest challenge. A man groaning in pain as he licks a dirty puddle is not the most glorious sight. Nights were long and humid. In the beginning I needed to put pressure on my wound. Now, it’s almost completely healed—surprisingly. This body is not so bad after all.

I had a lot of time to think. Mostly to distract myself from my misery. That knee I drove into the beast, the burning of my tattoos, the strength I felt—I swear it has something to do with the memory of the white-haired woman. I don't know why. It carried the same anger. The fever brought wild dreams—another world, my world. My friends, my home, my Ara. Things and people who are not here. Only then did I realize—I am no longer of that world.

This body. This power. They must have been given to me for a reason. That white-haired woman is a part of that reason. More than ever, I am ready to move on. The brink of death sharpened my resolve. This time I will find the people of this world. I will figure out who I am, and why I’m here.
But first, I need to hunt.

“Hellooo!!!!” I shout into the valleys from atop of the trees.

“I’ll be right there!!”

Nobody will hear me. I did it for myself, a victory shout. With my stomach full and a new scar across my side, I will take on the world.

I put Toe-breaker to rest, burying it next to where I killed the beast. I have a new companion—a knife carved from the beast's tusk, the one that was in my ribs. I name it Hunter.



I’m following the cliffside from the top. Even if they were from thousands of years ago, those drawings are the only clue of civilization that I’ve found.
The landscape is starting to change. Jungle thinning to forest, the air gets drier. Unfamiliar fruits on trees, strange creatures. Plenty of odd ones in the jungle, to be fair.

As I look upon a yellow ball-shaped fruit hanging from a grey tree, I tell it:
“Na, I’m okay…”

Different, but just as beautiful as the jungle. More open, letting me see farther. Mountains in the far distance with white peaks. Small lakes where yellow fluffy tails stick up. Open grass fields, glowing in the sun. Sometimes I climb down the cliff to lie on them. It makes me feel connected to the land. Truly a part of this world.



A smell reaches me: dust, stone, smoke, and more. A smell that I recognize, something I’m looking for. The sound is faint but complex, shifting in volume. Joy fills my heart, my feet move faster. Soon I’m sprinting at full speed along the cliff's edge. The noise grows louder, the smell stronger. Hope turns to certainty.

At a sudden turn of the cliff, I stop at the edge. In the valley between this cliff and another just like it, there is a big open space. This time it isn’t an empty grass field.

Man-made structures, made of white stone. Pillars holding heavy roofs. Homes and shops with orange tops. Stalls covered in fabric. Smoke from chimneys and torches. Squares with steps, fountains, and benches.
Most importantly—the movement and bustle of people.



For hours I watch, the sky already darkening. I lie on my stomach at the cliff edge, feet dangling. Children run around carriages, enraging the working riders. A father carries his child on his shoulders while holding the mother’s hand. Merchants yell about their low prices. An old couple sits together on a bench.

Still, a smile of grief twists on my face. Sadness within my chest. Even from here, I see children, men, women and elders, snowy white hair. All I can think about is the white-haired woman in my memories, dying in my arms. Hatred fills me, guilt twists inside—I cannot truly smile.

Other things concern me as well. Walls around the town, protecting from more than beasts. Soldiers in armor patrol and stand guard. Strangely, almost none carry weapons. Among the people, some stand out from the mass. Grey-skinned with black hair, riding carriages or standing at stalls. I see others, towering over the rest with orange hair. Thinking that I’m seeing things, I rub my eyes. Still I see… their limbs… bound in chains.



Excitement turns to caution. At first, I wanted to announce myself from the cliff. Now I don’t know how they’d react to my appearance. No one looked like me. Not to mention—I have a unique jungle look… and probably smell.

Some buildings lie outside the walls among fields. I’ll start there, find some clothes to “borrow.” Stealing may not be the best first impression, but better than being attacked on sight. I begin climbing into the valley, with the sun disappearing at my back.

Part 2 - People

Sneaking through the wheat, I head for a tiny shack. Sometimes peeking my head up—no one around. At the door I see an old rusty lock. After a moment of doubt, I force it open. It doesn't take much.
Inside, it’s pretty dark. Not darker than the jungle. Some sort of storage—crates, tools, scraps. I rummage until I find a green hooded cloak. Holes and scratches tell me it’s seen better days. Hopefully the owner won’t miss it. I put it on, hiding Hunter underneath. At the door I turn and whisper:
“Thank you for your kindness.”

Earlier, I’d seen the guards patrolling the walls. Not everywhere and they move around. So I wait in a bush until they pass. Closing my eyes, I listen. Their heavy boots thud against stone. When they pass, I make my move. Only six meters, nothing compared to the jungle trees. Hands and feet grip the rubble surface, and I climb fast. I reach the top, then slide down the other side. Behind houses and through the alley, I see people walking down a street.

My heart pounds as I hide under the hood. Laughing, arguments, voices from all around me. The street is busy even in the dark. Only torches and hanging chandeliers are lighting up the street. Pulses of the living from all directions, a sensory overload. I don’t dare to look up to see their faces. My instincts say not to. Needing a break, I slip into another alley. Breathing slowly, I calm myself. A ladder leans on the wall—I decide to climb up.



White beautiful hair, emerald eyes. Short, strong builds. Light brown skin, like mine. Sleek faces, healthy. Men wear robes draped from their sides. Women wear dresses dropping from their shoulders, mostly white and red. I feel connected to them. With kinship—and with fear.
All this time, I’ve wanted to find them—to ask questions, to tell my story. But I can barely walk among them. My instincts tell me to flee—or fight.

Not so far away, there is a bigger gathering. Accumulated noise and heat of the many. One voice reaches further than the rest. Curious, I sneak down the roof. I’ll stick to small streets and alleys this time.



The crowd grows denser. Harder to avoid being swept up by the flow. Looking around for a place to hide, I eventually give in. The mass gives me anonymity, but still I hide my face from glares.

We gathered at a square. A large wooden stage. On it, a massive grey-skinned man. One eye blind and scarred white, the other hazel. Black hair slicked back. A round stomach under fine clothes.
White-haired bodyguards at his side.

The chatter settles as he announces:
“Greetings, good people of Mir! I, Erich Balovic, have the honor of presenting you the best of the best. Some of you will walk away tonight with rare Danar slaves, perfect as guards! Others may take Avi—better described as watchdogs!”

The crowd chuckles.

Cold travels on my skin, escaping the rising heat from within. It doesn't seem real.

Erich continues: “Make your lives easier with Avi laborers. Invest wisely!”

Guards come out, dragging prisoners tied to a rope.
Two tall, pale, muscular men with long orange hair. Three shorter men, black-haired, purple-eyed, markings across their bodies.

I shiver in despair. My eyes sting in frustration. But I cannot look away.

Erich’s voice booms:
“Two Danar warriors, who took many of our men's lives before capture. But do not worry! They have been properly educated on their behavior since. And three strong Avi with years of labor in them!”

Completely black eyes, once fierce. Sparkling purple, which now stand still. All looking into the void. Tears start to spill from under my hood, as the bids get shouted out.

“Sold! To a fine man—you won’t regret it!” Erich shouts. Then: “Last, a pair of Avi siblings. Still young, but strong as animals.”

A guard shoves a young man to his knees. About my age. Big forehead with six lines down, one at each cheek. Oval shaped eyes and thin eyebrows. Same deep purple eyes. Lanky with a longer neck and limbs. Drool runs from his open mouth, head tilted.

The crowd murmurs, with the young man sitting on the stage in a vegetable state.

Two guards follow, carrying a cage. Inside, a young woman thrashes, kicking and snarling. Giving out furious growls. She has no markings on her face, only her body. Instead, she has a scar down her cheek. Thin eyes, sleek eyebrows. Short hair… pretty, but scary. As the guards put down the cage, she falls. I can’t keep my stare away.
She sits back up and headbutts the cage…

They look just like me. Only I see her sadness.

The crowd bursts into laughter. Erich laughs with them, strained.

“Heh… a unique pair indeed! Trainable for cheap! Both for the price of one!”

No bids. Only giggles, whispers, mockery.
Someone yells from the crowd:
“That’s definitely a watchdog alright!”

The laughter roars. Erich is visibly flustered.

Erich throws up his hands.
“They can’t all be winners. Until next time, friends!” He says, hurrying off stage.

I stand still in the scattering crowd, still watching the stage. The siblings are being taken away.
Sweating, my teeth grind.
Flicking my eyes down to the ground, I whisper:
“I have to go.”

As I turn with the crowd, my legs nail me down. Sweat drops from my forehead, dripping along the markings. I want to save them… But how? Looking back one more time, I see the siblings getting further away. My legs move on their own.



Keeping my distance I follow them. I wait around corners, listening until I can safely move again.

“You're useless! Do I have to let you rot before you sell??” Erich yells, slapping the back of the boy's head.

He turns to the two bodyguards that were with him on stage and commands:
“Take them to the cell!”

“Yes sir!” They salute.

Erich splits off and the bodyguards head down some stairs. They open a door and disappear down into a basement.

“Oh no…” I whisper, realizing I might have lost them.

I need to find another way in, so I start looking around the building. As I walk by a small window with bars across, I hear them again. Sitting next to the window, I listen to one of the bodyguards:
“Get in there!” The bodyguard says, while throwing them in the cell, their bodies hit the stone floor.

“I bet this piss smell must really bother you dogs,” he insults and laughs, locking the cell door.

One of the bodyguards leaves, the other with the key sits down on a stool outside the cell.

I lean my head against the wall, putting my hands on my face.

“How will I do this… why am I doing this?” I whisper to myself, sitting outside the tiny window.