I set up camp for the night, realizing that returning to the village would take too long before nightfall. With that in mind, I hoped everyone would understand my reasoning. First, I took the horse from the cart to ensure she was fed. I’ll get her water set up later.
The dominus had unlocked my slave seal, allowing me to use my magic; I sparked a fire and arranged some prepared wood to get it going. As I looked around for branches to break, I noted that I would need to ask Hugh to chop some logs and set a sleep delay schedule to keep it heated and to be on the lookout.
Next, I needed to assemble the Dominus tent. I could prepare the assembly and assemble the pieces after he finished his meal. We had already discussed what to eat on our late return, so I went ahead and prepared the food first.
I set up the stew pot, throwing in all the meat and vegetables. Then, I ground the herbs with my pestle and mortar, poured some oil into the pestle from a metal flask, and added them to the mix. Finally, I untied and grabbed the Amphorae of water from the cart and poured it into the stew, ready to let it simmer.
I stabbed the Amphorae into the hay through the wooden grate on the empty side of the cart and tied it in place. I grabbed the flask, the bags I stored the meat and veggies inside, and the remaining herbs into the front of the cart.
As I stirred the pot, I saw Dominus Aeneas and Hugh returning, but I saw someone over Hugh's shoulder. He looked to be fit but was dressed minimally. He had no tunic and wore braccae, which is uncommon in Ruma or Shi. At a distance, I thought he wore Caligae like we all were wearing, but that is also untrue.
When Hugh put him down, a chill ran down my spine. His clothing was unlike any culture I knew, and the horns protruding from his head were mesmerizing and terrifying—I couldn't tear my eyes away. A sense of dread settled in my stomach; everything about this man warned me to keep my distance. He wore a makeshift cast of black cloth on his arm, adding to his mysterious aura.
My duties tethered me to the campsite, forcing me to navigate around him despite my apprehension. Gathering my composure, I reminded myself of my role and prepared to offer a welcoming greeting.
“Welcome back, Dominus Aeneas and Vir Hugh.”
“Talay, can you prepare an ointment for blight burns?”
Dominus Aeneas wanted to help this stranger for reasons I couldn't fathom. A sharp knot twisted in my stomach as if a cold blade had sliced through me. My hands felt clammy, and I clasped them tightly to hide their trembling. Seeing Hugh laying the man near our fire only intensified my unease. Part of me wanted to protest, to voice my concerns, but I bit my tongue. It wasn't my place to question the dominus; slaves didn't have that luxury. Even as every instinct screamed at me to avoid this unsettling presence, I focused on my duties, hoping my apprehension wasn't evident.
“Meh.” The man groaned when he was set down; it seemed he had sustained blunt trauma across his backside as well. Yet, he appeared to be rubbing his sides.
Before I got the medicine, I knelt beside him, taking in his odd appearance. His minimalist footwear looked unexpectedly high quality, and his strange, tight braccae didn’t seem suited for the cold of Fogoth. I couldn't have made anything close to that well-stitched.
He had a tunic, which was pure black and had the exact seaming as his braccae. He used it as a makeshift cast to support his arm. It didn’t seem ruined by this use, but it did have holes.
His blight burns were also unusual. Most blight burns tend to be very red from coagulated blood, often showing yellow or brown spots in the affected areas. In contrast, his wounds were even whiter than his already pale skin and had a slimy texture.
“Pour ploga.” The man tried to say, “from blight,” but his pronunciation was so poor that he could have been mocking Dominus Aeneas.
I went to the cart to retrieve the appropriate medicine. Even though this wasn't a typical case of blight, starting with the standard treatment might be wise. As I rummaged through the cart, the horse nudged me insistently with her muzzle, nearly knocking me off balance.
“Whoa, girl, what do you want?” I said to her in a disappointed tone.
The horse licked its lips and pawed impatiently at the ground—she was thirsty. A wave of anxiety washed away for a moment, giving me a moment to compile my remaining duties. My duties seemed to be rapidly approaching their deadlines: tending to an injured stranger, setting up camp, caring for the horse. The encroaching shadows of dusk pressed in on me, each a reminder of unfinished tasks. I felt pulled in every direction like a thread stretched too thin.
I couldn't burden the dominus with these responsibilities, and Hugh was preoccupied with his wounds. A tightness gripped my chest, and my breaths became shallow. But I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, and pushed the panic aside. I had to prioritize and carry on; failure was not an option.
The medicine was already pre-ground, so I only needed to mix it with oil and apply it to his right arm and left hand.
I returned to the camp, knelt by the strange man, removed the tunic from his arm, and applied the ointment. He and Dominus tried to communicate with each other. He pointed at objects, and the Dominus would name them aloud, albeit with poor pronunciation. He kept inserting “the” between words and often mixed the masculine and feminine forms.
He looked at me curiously as I applied the ointment, then pointed to his hand and the ointment, repeatedly prompting Dominus to identify them.
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"The ointment," Aeneas explained patiently, pointing. "Arm. Hand."
"He is almost able to speak coherent sentences," I observed quietly, watching the stranger's earnest attempts at communication. I wanted to walk away from their exchange, but healing took priority.
Kneeling beside him, I added, "This ointment is all I know for healing blight. If it doesn’t work, we might need to take him to a doctor."
Aeneas nodded thoughtfully. "I already noticed the blight burns are different from normal ones. It doesn't seem to cause him significant pain. We'll work with what we have on hand for now."
The stranger perked up. "The hand we have on hand. We have on the hand?" he repeated, his brow furrowing as he tried to grasp the phrase.
Hugh grabbed a bag and held it up with a smirk. "This is in my hand," he said, emphasizing each word. "It is in my hand, and I have it on hand."
"Hugh, you're not helping," Aeneas admonished, shaking his head. "He's a rapid learner but can't understand if you don’t contextualize your words."
The stranger furrowed his brow deeper. "Rapid, contextualize. That sounds a bit familiar to what I know," he murmured, a hint of recognition in his eyes breaking into his native language at the end.
I finished applying the medicine. However, he looked at me, pointed at his tunic, and said, “Shirt back, please.” I was perplexed by what he had said. I didn’t recognize a language in Ruma or Shi that uses the “Sh” sound he just made. He slowly reached for his tunic, and I realized what he wanted. I handed the tunic back, and he then put it back on. He put the arms through first, then each horn on his head, and then pulled it down on his body.
It was bizarre to feel the smoothness of his tunic. The craftsmanship was unparalleled, with stitching so precise and fabric so pure that it must have cost a fortune. I traced a finger over the material, marveling at its quality despite the holes. Compared to my coarse garments, this was a luxury beyond my reach. A pang of envy mixed with curiosity. Who was this man to possess such finery? Handling his clothing reminded me of the vast gulf between our worlds, deepening the mystery surrounding him.
“Dominus, are you able to tell where he is from?”
“I have no clue. Everything about him is unknown.”
Hugh glared at the stranger. “I can tell you that he is a dumbass,” he said confidently.
“He appears to be quite intelligent if he can speak sentences of a language he doesn’t know in a matter of minutes,” I retort, forgetting my dominus is right next to us. “Ah, sorry, I mean to say he seems to have potential.”
“I agree with you, Talay, but Hugh is talking more from what he saw him do other than he has shown here.”
“Did he do something to drive Vir Hugh’s ire?”
“When I was…”
“You can talk about that later. You two still have duties to attend to before sleep. This man is about to pass out; he won't be useful tonight.”
“I’ll help you finish your task now that I've patched myself up.”
“Thank you”
Hugh and I returned to the cart to prepare the dominus’ tent; while Hugh laid out all the parts, I set up the horse's water barrel and poured water from some amphorae into it. I returned to where Hugh was and asked.
"What happened on the hunt?" I asked, glancing at Hugh as we worked.
He sighed heavily, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "The trap Aeneas created to kill the Lake Stalker," he began. "When it was about to go into the trap, that dumbass started screaming and pounding his chest like some child."
I raised an eyebrow. "He did that?"
"Yes," Hugh replied, annoyance evident in his clenched jaw. "The trap would have killed it in one shot, but he made it target him by alerting it to his presence. I left our position to chase after him, following the creature to where he was. Honestly, I would have let it kill him, but when it dropped him, Aeneas asked me to help."
"Does that battle explain how you got those cuts?" I asked, nodding toward the bandages on his arms.
"Yes," he confirmed, flexing his fingers gingerly. "But he was the one who did most of the damage to my arms when I covered my face. He yelled something in a foreign language, and that’s when I noticed he had set up a light magic trap on the stalker. While I was able to get away, the explosion was more powerful than I could escape with a single fire step." He clenched his fists, his frustration evident. "I got so pissed at him," Hugh continued, his eyes narrowing, "I was going to walk over and stab him in his dying ass. But before I could, Aeneas stopped me and said we'd bring him back to the village."
"So, he is coming with us?" I said, feeling a sense of defeat wash over me.
This man seemed like the kind who would disrupt everything, inserting himself where he didn't belong. My life had finally found a fragile stability—I performed my duties without pain, without unexpected demands. The mere thought of that balance being upset made my heart race, a cold sweat dampening my brow. No one expected too much from me, and I preferred it that way. Change was a dangerous thing; I'd learned that the hard way. After years of being valued only for what I could provide, I wasn't ready to let anything jeopardize the modest peace I'd carved out. I clung to the life I had, the best a slave like me could hope for.
“He will do something, and Aeneas is banking on that. But I am not worried I can stab him in the back at any moment.”
Hugh would do anything to protect the village; he'd lost his parents, his brothers, and his wife. The weight of his grief was something I often glimpsed in his eyes—a guarded pain that fueled his fierce dedication. He wouldn't let this stranger endanger the only thing he had left: his son. I understood that a desperate need to hold onto what little comfort remained in a world of uncertainties. Having once been valued solely for what I could produce, I knew the hollow ache of loss and the fear of it happening again. I cherished the fragile peace of our daily lives even more because of it. His resolve mirrored my desire to preserve the stability we both desperately needed.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Can you cut some wood for the night?”
“I grabbed some while you were watering the horse.”
We finished setting up the tent and headed back to the campfire. When we got back, he surprised us.
"Hello, good evening," the stranger said fluidly.
"Hello," I replied, surprised by his sudden grasp of our language. Beside me, Hugh remained silent, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
I returned to the pot and stirred it. I had been away too long; the stew had begun to stick to the bottom, making it challenging to stir.
"Hugh, sit down," Aeneas instructed. "I'm going to do introductions."
With a reluctant sigh, Hugh and I found a log to sit on. Aeneas pointed to himself. "My name is Aeneas," he said clearly.
The stranger nodded attentively.
Aeneas then pointed at me. "Your name is?"
"My name is Talay," I answered.
"Hello, Talay," the stranger said, smiling. If he had addressed me now, he must have already greeted Aeneas.
Aeneas pointed at Hugh. "Your name is?"
Hugh sat there, glaring silently at the stranger.
Aeneas repeated more firmly, "Your name is?"
"Hugh," he finally muttered, his tone curt.
"Hello, Hugh," the stranger echoed, seemingly unfazed by Hugh's hostility.
Aeneas then pointed at the stranger. "Your name is?"
The stranger hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "My name..." he began, his gaze dropping. "It's..." He struggled for a moment before lapsing back into his native language.
"My name is Bernard," he finally said, the unfamiliar word rolling off his tongue.