A new day brought back the sun. Something I had missed throughout the night along with fresh trails of clean, white smoke from fireplaces that had burnt out during the early hours of the morning.

I took a quick look around to set my bearings and then dug my foot into the first of many footholds meandering down the cliff face.

Walking through the undergrowth grew easier after my descent, and I didn’t have to scorch the underbrush around me to fight off curious critters who wanted to nibble on me. There were no overgrown bugs here, and the air was dryer, carrying the sound of birdsong and the grunts and footfalls of different creatures nosing their way between the trees. I saw more of the timid little plant creatures, but they were calmer, and simply watched from a distance before moving off into the forest. It was hard to call the place a jungle anymore. It was sparser, and grass grew in places rather than the constant melange of fallen leaves covering the ground.

I liked it, and I found myself relaxing without the constant hum and chitter of bugs sending shivers up my spine.

That feeling of comfort ended as I came to a stop before a waist-height stone fence. It marked the edge of the forest and ran along the perimeter of a large, heavily grazed field of grass. trees dotted the open land every couple of hundred metres and a herd of yak-like bovines hid lounged beneath their shade.

The fence was stout and filled with a fine gravel mix, held up by wooden posts every few metres and was obviously well cared for. The black stones were stacked well enough, although I’d seen nicer jobs done with grout, and they were pleasantly warm to the touch in the sunlight.

Fighting my unease, I placed a hand amidst the gravelly centre and vaulted the fence. Delaying wouldn’t solve any of the problems I’d face. I eyed the hairy, short-legged animals grazing near the centre of the field, but they didn’t so much as glance in my direction.

They got bigger the closer I walked. The humps of their broad backs came to my shoulder height as we passed one another, and I blew out a surprised breath. I could see why they were so unworried. They looked as though they could stomp a dog into the ground with ease.

Those are some big boys.

I vaulted the next fence as well and took in the buildings nestled at the farm’s centre. Amidst the paddocks were two large, wooden sheds. They were tall and solidly built, with thick structural beams connected with clay and straw-sealed boards to keep out as much of the outside world as they could. A well crouched low to the ground between them and a flock of ostrich-like birds dipped and drank from troughs leaning against their sides. While they were as large as their white-and-black brethren, these birds were fatter and wandered about as docilely as chickens. They meandered aimlessly about, picking at the grass to bugs and who-knows-what-else.

Across from the sheds, encircled by a packed-earth veranda, was a homestead. In front of it lay several tools surrounding a sprawling vegetable garden, in which I had already spotted at least ten plants I had never seen before.

Meat hung from posts a dozen metres from the house, drying, and I curled my lip in disgust when I caught the sound of flies buzzing around the leathery treat.

Apart from the wheezing screeches of the huge chickens near the sheds and the distant bellows of yaks in the surrounding fields, the homestead and barns were eerily quiet. I found it strange that I had crossed so much of the farm uninterrupted. In the middle of the day. But to be standing in the centre of the yard, outside of the main homestead without being approached by its owners… something wasn’t right.

I approached the homestead carefully, watching it for any movement as I continued to listen for any sounds of life coming from inside. The building was unlike the two barns nearby, its entire first floor was built with rough, black bricks. Dark brown grout held the messily cut stone together and smooth, black river-stones capped each of its corners. The roof overhung the walls by a few feet, and two comfortable-looking wooden chairs sat in the packed dirt beneath the overhanging eave.

I found the front door, or at least a door, and stepped through a sparse curtain of water droplets. They fell from the thatched roof and dug tiny holes in the dirt at my feet. The water hissed and burst into vapour as it splashed against my hair.

I wrung my fingers around my pen. The house was doused, the people were gone or hiding, and the animals were unsecured. They obviously had some idea I was coming and weren’t happy about it.

Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my fear and rapped on the centre of the door, then took a quick step back.

I waited with bated breath…

…

…

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Nothing.

The animals continued to screech and bellow in the background, and not a peep came from inside the house, not even the shuffle of feet or shifting of fabric.

“Hello-!” I called, cutting myself off as my voice hissed and cracked violently from between my teeth. It was not the same voice I’d grown used to over the years and it crackled and popped like a wildfire.

I took a deep breath.

It’s what I’ve got now.

I swallowed then called out again. I knocked a little harder on the door and it rattled on its hinges. A small smudge of ash stuck to its damp surface.

There was no answer, and with a huff of frustration, I decided to circle the house and check the back for signs of where the farmers might have gone. It would probably be best to leave them alone, but if not these people then who. If I avoided contact out of fear, I might wander around in the wilderness until I’m old and grey… greyer.

The space beneath the eaves was cramped. Especially with water dripping off the thatched roof everywhere. I bumped my way past the seats I’d noticed earlier, then almost knocked over a short coatrack and a trough sitting flush against the homestead wall.

On the ‘back’ side of the house, I quickly found out why nobody was answering from the front door.

Down a short set of stairs set into the ground, a pair of black stone doors lay sealed against a frame of poorly cut black-stone bricks. It looked like an American cyclone shelter if the people who built it wanted to keep out a bear as well as hunker down for a storm.

Knocking didn’t do very much. The doors were thick and heavy and didn’t make more than a quiet pat when I tried to knock on them. All I achieved was a light dusting of ash across the door’s surface and missing skin over my knuckles.

“Hello!”, I called.

…

…

“Who is it!?”

I gasped, surprised I’d gotten an answer at all, even if the language was incomprehensible.

“Hello, I…” – What did I want from this? – “I’m looking for help!”

“What!?... I can’t hear a thing through this bloody door…”

The voice wavered off into grumbles, and I heard the hinges groan as the heavy doors swung suddenly open.

“I didn’t expect ya ta come ‘ere so quick. I’d ha’ though it-it-it…”

I watched as the man revealed by the stone doors lost all the colour in his face. Shorter than me by almost a foot, and stockily built, his surprise was evident as every drop of blood inside of his body drained to his feet, leaving his tanned skin unhealthily pale. I was apparently not who he’d been expecting to find outside of his bunker-thick doors and the horror quickly twisting his features suggested finding me there wasn’t a welcome surprise.

Not good. Not good at all.

I raised my hands placatingly, taking a quick step back up the stairs. A few kids were peeking out from behind the doorframe, and I knew threatening them any more than I likely already had wouldn’t help things.

“Please, hear me out, I just need help finding -GAH!”

I flopped back onto the stairs as something slammed into my chest over my heart with a dense thump.

Before I could so much begin another plea, the farmer slammed closed his double doors. Showcasing in a few moments more strength than should be physically possible for a human being.

I looked down.

“Ah Fuck my life.”

A crossbow bolt stuck out of my chest where my heart should be. It was already smoking where it met my flesh, and a little bit of vented heat had it falling from me in two smouldering halves. They quickly crumbled to ash, leaving nothing but a shiny metal quarrel sitting on the farmer’s steps. The wound didn’t hurt, in fact, it didn’t even feel like a wound. Looking at it, it was just a new hole. A new hole that was already half-filled with fresh ash.

Fuck talking to these people, maybe there’ll be someone without a fucking crossbow pointed at me down the road.

I decided to leave the quarrel where it was as I got up. They could find it and know they hadn’t put a dent in me.

Assholes.

I circled back to the front of the homestead, more than happy to give up on talking to the farmers. I’m sure my heart would have been pounding in my chest if it still beat. My breaths, however unnecessary, were panicked, even if my body knew I wasn’t in any real danger. Watching the quarrel fly closer and being completely unable to do anything without incinerating the farmer as well left me feeling distinctly vulnerable.

I can’t believe this is how these people live…

I slipped a long, leather coat-cloak-thing off their coat rack and held it up for inspection. It would come down around my ankles so it must have come down almost to the farmer’s feet. Made from tough leather, it looked like the least flammable thing I’d find on the little rack. With a tentative sniff to make sure the leather was properly tanned; I threw it over my shoulders. if the farmer’s reaction was anything to go by, I would need to be properly covered next time I ran into someone.

A sickly bubble of anger ballooned in my stomach for a moment at the unfairness of it all, but I pushed it back down. I already knew the feeling. At least this time the hatred was external.

The heavy leather settled around my shoulders solidly, and I pulled the hood up over my head. It was stiff, but I was sure it would soften up after some wear.

I glanced back at the sheds, with their wood and straw walls and felt my fingers just itching to set them ablaze. Watching them go up would be so cathartic now that my breathing had subsided, but I knew from experience that hatred only begets more hatred, and there was probably a reason I’d been shot on sight. To these people, I wasn’t just a severe burn victim. There were things I didn’t know about this place, and I would have to have my guard up if I wanted to stay hole-free after my next encounter.

Turning away from the farm and trying to push my abysmal attempt at first contact out of my mind, I took the first step down a long, overgrown path that led in the general direction of the plateau city crouching on the horizon. There were bound to be more farmers along the way, and I didn’t want to meet whoever the farmers had called for help. Hiding didn’t solve problems, so there was likely a problem solver on the way. And as the problem of the day, I wanted to be as far away as I could be when they arrived.