“Get the carts over there! And you, make sure the kids know now to drink that! It’s sea water! It’s not delicious!” Aralt called out to his people, getting all the tents ready for what he hoped was the last time. He knew the travel had taken a toll out of him and his people; exhaustion was evident in their eyes and body posture. Some of them wrapped their Berber blankets around them to keep warm because of the constant coastal breeze that came in. As they pitched their tents up, most have started to consider the ‘roofing’ and the ‘walls’ of their tents, making sure it doesn’t get blown away.
The hellhound children got close to the sea water, touching and splashing around. Some even got the sea water in their mouths, gagging from the extreme saltiness. Despite the revolted reaction, the kids ran around without a care at the beach. Aralt considered having the kids stay, but he decided to let it go since some teenage hellhounds also went to check the place. With the supervision, the leader could focus on the more important stuff. As he rubbed his hands together, he contemplated what else they needed to do.
Then he had an idea: “Faizan!”
“Yes?” The intended person called, taking in the poles being heaved by his husband. When the intended person noticed, Aralt continued, “I need you to do me a favor. Once you’re done with that.” He held out his hand, giving an ‘at ease’ expression as he didn’t want his friend-now-advisor to drop everything just yet. So patiently, he waited as Faizan got the tent set up with Malik’s help and their son. Once the hard-work was done, Faizan dismissed himself and trudged to Aralt. “Yes? What is it?”
“Like I said: a favor. I need you to record what kind of food and drink these Draconic Elves usually have. Especially what kind of fish. This kind of diet will be something the rest will have to adjust to; if not just the weather and climate.” He eyed his surroundings once more, noting the cold and how cloudy the skies were. “Record the stuff for me so I can see. I am the only one who lived outside the clans and had foreign food. I can probably help the people ease their way into it.”
“As you say,” Faizan nodded. “I’ll get the necessary stuff to do all this. Let’s just hope they are more ‘friendlier’ company than Paradeisos was.”
“Oh trust me, I don’t think they can get ‘that worse’.” Aralt chuckled, but his eyes held a dark intent as if indeed the Draconic Elves proved to be a threat to the rest. He remembered the various bounty hunters who chased after them through the rocky mountains, the vast pastures, and the villages known for their taciturn presence. How Aralt repeatedly screamed at his people to run and not look back, wielding his axe and slicing through enemies like pigs. How many...? He felt like he lost count, but he could’ve sworn it was no more than a dozen times. Enough times to keep him awake all night, silently vigilant; watching out for any bastard that might’ve planned to ambush them in the dark.
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Let’s hope it’s all over now.
Aralt nodded to his advisor as he returned to his tent to grab the stuff. By examining the local food and drink habits, Aralt can determine the viability of crops and the impact of the climate. With their food being primarily drought-resistant and sun-dependent, it was going to be a challenge. Speaking of that, they needed to set aside some land to start growing their crops, and also where the remaining of their livestock animals to graze. “What do we have? Some cows... sheep, and goats. They will need to be separated because of the climate; the ones that survived anyway.”
Instinctively, he wandered through the now rising camp. His green eyes scanned every area, searching for any anomalies. Ever was his routine to make sure everything ran smoothly. He hoped this would be the last time, or until they know they’ll stay permanently. Leadership came to question as well: Is Aralt still in charge, or does Trevor Havon have authority over everyone? He was aware it would arise and be worrisome. However, it wouldn’t surprise many of them, as while the Hellhounds had a leader... they still had to answer to the royal family back at Inbar-Jamal.
I wonder what they thought when they ordered our extermination? Was it out of pressure? Or with great pleasure? And are they happy about our departure?
His mind recollected a person he left, but he had to dismiss it; and hope to forget him. Now, he needed to focus on the present. Perhaps the opportunity for a second chance with someone; a human. But he wanted to be careful, especially if their unpleasant history and reputation comes to his ears. And when it did, how would he address it?
Without perceiving any problems at the camp, Aralt resolved to ready his home. He viewed it as a chance to plan the upcoming actions carefully. And what kind of future awaited them? Humans, Draconic Elves, and Hellhounds. Three races that lost their homes and came together to make one. It almost seemed a bit ironic, at least to him. Their histories appeared similar, yet distinct. But that kind of thing will be their greatest advantage: a common ground, and a common goal of keeping their new home protected.
And the Hellhounds would rather return to Hell than lose their brand new home again.