Kitanda wanted to get going as soon as possible, but he wasn’t stupid. He stayed the night—even if the image of the bird-headed giant wasn’t a very comforting thought to go to bed with.

At the break of dawn, his eyes slammed open. Understandably, he hadn’t been at peace during the night even though the dense grass was a much softer bed than he’d had in a while.

He attempted to sneak—shuffle—away without drawing attention to himself. Like most birds, the Raven slept with one eye open. It just so happened to be the one pointing in his direction. As he was about to clear the rim of the garden, the Raven’s voice made him jump.

“Leaving so soon?” He had forgotten quite how dissonant his voice was in his sleep.

“I have to get back. Don’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t. But I’d hate to see you die, see. Most people have a very misinformed view of me: as much as I kidnap children, I don’t want them hurt. Why would I heal them in the first place, right?” After not obtaining approval, he carried on. “Anyways, if the journey gets too hard, just jump in the water. I’ll make sure to come help.” He gestured towards the fish in the pond. His idea of help seemed to not be very conventional.

“I won’t. Thank you for healing me.” He dragged himself away.

* * *

His initial drive actually lasted him a lot more than he thought. He only stopped when the sun beamed down from the highest point in its trajectory, and not because he was tired, but because he was hungry.

He looked around, but the plains were barren. Grass and occasional trees littered the landscape, but there was little that seemed edible. He reached down to the river and drank some water. He usually wouldn’t drink water straight from a river, but he knew where this one originated. There probably wasn’t cleaner water around for miles.

He was still hungry, but he resolved to drink some more until he drowned the growling of his stomach.

Sitting up, he looked at himself. His hands were scratched and bloodied. They had started hurting after only about five minutes from departure. However, he had powered through the pain until he had learned to ignore it. Now, they were a mess of dried blood and mud. He could barely see the skin.

His legs, however, were in an even worse state. He had been dragging them behind him for hours, and somewhere along the way they had started to accumulate injuries that didn’t look very good. The tears and scratches didn’t seem life-threatening, but there was a long gash down his right leg that, by the looks of it, had bled profusely until recently. Maybe that was why he was so hungry.

He had to find a solution to that problem. Not being able to feel his legs was not only a disadvantage in that he couldn’t use them, but also because he couldn’t sense what happened to them.

Looking at the riverbed, he didn’t find the piece of driftwood he was hoping to find. Instead, canes half as tall as a man densely populated the bank. He tried ripping them out, but they were surprisingly stable—that, and his hands were too damaged to grip anything with the necessary strength.

He grabbed a somewhat large pebble and got to hitting the base with it. It wasn’t terribly sharp, so it didn’t do a great job; his hands, however, were grateful for the smooth rock.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

After a few hours, he had gotten enough canes to get to work. The leaves were very fibrous, so he split them apart into thin strips and braided them into somewhat decent rope. He wasn’t used to the process, so it took him a few tries to make something workable.

With the canes and the makeshift rope, he managed to make himself a stretcher of sorts. It didn’t look too comfortable, but at least that way his legs wouldn’t be in direct contact with the ground. Plus, it’s not like he could feel it anyway. The stretcher reached just shy of his waist, and that’s where he tied it with some extra rope.

When he was done, the sun was already turning the skies orange. He felt hungry once again. All he had eaten that day was water, and that didn’t even count towards eating, he was pretty sure. He took the last remaining cane and looked out at the water.

There was nothing that he could see, and the dimming light did not help things. However, he stood still. He had nothing better to do until sunset and moving would be an energy expense. When the sun was finally dying on the horizon, he saw it. A fish—well, a ripple. But there was no wind, so it had to be something in the water that caused it. It was much too dark to see anything anymore, but he risked a thrust.

Water went everywhere, and he himself almost fell in, but he regained balance at the last second. He reached out to recover his cane and see the spoils.

A crab. Not even a big one, as well. When alive it must’ve been around half the size of his palm. The cane had gone through the thing, blasting a hole in its right side and taking with it most of the meat.

He didn’t have the energy to be disappointed. In fact, it was so in line with everything that was happening to him lately that he was more angry at himself for being hopeful than at the crab.

He looked around—maybe he could engineer a fire? There was nothing there but wet rocks and wet canes. Kitanda laid down defeated and cracked open his dinner. His meal was done with one bite, although he had tried to make it last as much as he could.

Kitanda thanked Chakula, as was proper. In his heart, however, he thought it would be great if Chakula wasn’t so stingy next time.

When night came, he hid under a dense patch of cane and slept thinking of what would come.

Kitanda woke up with a start. There was some rustling in the canes near him. Under regular circumstances, he would’ve noticed it before it got so close, but he had slept very intermittently that night. He had been kept awake by hunger and ended up crashing in the early morning.

Kitanda didn’t move too quickly: whatever that thing was, in the best-case scenario it would be breakfast. Worst-case, he would be. And a famished thirteen-year-old cripple probably wasn’t too high up the food chain. Not being noticed would play to his advantage regardless.

He finished turning his head just in time to see it. It was a bird, but none he had ever seen before. The thing was about as big as a basket, with long legs and an even longer neck. It had a slim beak that ended on a point. It was staring right at him, too.

Kitanda decided it was breakfast.

Risking a peck in the eye, he launched his hand and reached for its neck. The feathery thing, however, reacted quickly and backed away. Instead of the neck, Kitanda’s hand found purchase on its leg. He grabbed tightly, and the avian foe immediately turned into a mess of feathers that pecked and kicked.

Closing his eyes to protect them from the beast’s sharp appendages, he reached for something with his right hand. Eventually, he grabbed onto a heavy, round rock and swung it blindly over his head, attempting to hit the flailing bird.

He missed. And missed again. And again. With his eyes closed, trying to hit a head that was as big as a fist and moving at least twice as fast as he wasn’t easy. Instead of keeping at it and risking even more injuries, he changed target. If the head was too small, aim for the body. He hit his foe on the chest with the rock and felt the characteristic thump of a solid object meeting flesh.

However, one hit wasn’t enough. The bird was certainly hurt, but that seemed to only have spurred it on instead of deflating it. Kitanda hit it again, the rock landing squarely on the chest this time. He heard a crunch and the bird went limp. It still moved, but it was mostly twitching.

One eye open, he observed without letting the leg go. It didn’t seem like it, but the animal might be playing dead. You never know with wild things.

Kitanda watched it struggle until it finally died. He had tried to build up the courage to finish it off, but he couldn’t. Hitting an enemy that wasn't fighting back was completely different.

At least today was looking better, even if it had a bit of a rough start. He started plucking the bird while inwardly thanking Chakula. The goddess of meals had heard him yesterday, apparently.

The places where the bird had attacked him hurt, but he found the pain invigorating.

Things were looking up for the first time in a while.