Three days passed in a flurry of preparation, training, and learning. In what felt like no time at all, a grey dawn rose on the third day and the System timer showed no more than an hour before the quest started.
George had set a series of snare traps in the woods outside the wall, leaving only two safe approaches to the settlement. He’d also spent time out in the woods, hunting with Nimbus and levelling up his classes. With bundles of arrows in strategic places around the wall, he was as ready as he could be, even if he still hadn’t returned permanently. Even now, he was out ranging the surrounding forest.
George Lopez
Human (F)
Ranger/Cook
Level 11
Sarah had been healing everything she could over the past week, and had managed to level up as well. Spending some time each morning with the mule that had come with Jack, she got both of her classes some experience. As the group of largely illiterate peasants had arrived over the next couple of days, she’d checked them over and healed a few long-standing ailments. Because of this, she was often the one that their Aspirants came to when they were in need.
Sarah Forrest
Human (F)
Healer/Animal Handler
Level 10
Miriam had secluded herself away in her room and emerged on the second morning with a triumphant smile, though she refused to tell anyone what she’d created. That second day was spent going to each and every log in the wall and casting a spell on it that didn’t appear to have any effect, at least until one tried to damage it - with the clang of ringing steel, even axes would bounce off the hard bark of the trees. Her second class came late, but not too late to be useful.
Miriam Agnello
Human (F)
Arcane Acolyte/Enchanter
Level 8
Mitchell had largely stayed within the clan house, coming each morning to meet the new arrivals and getting them set up in a growing camp by the downstream edge of the river. It wasn’t much, but John had erected a small gazebo that was currently keeping the settlers belongings out of the weather, which had stayed overcast and grey and only just now began to spit rain. Beyond that, he’d regularly bought and provided them with simple meals, and between that and the planning of the town, had gained his own small amount of experience.
Mitchell LeFluer
Human (F)
Page of the March/Aspiring Clan Leader
Level 10
John hadn’t stopped working once. Wether he was fortifying the wall, finding coyotes to train his skills against, or building up a supply of gear, John didn’t stop. He’d begun training the settlers in the use of a spear, though it seemed they were less than proficient. They’d be stationed by the clan house, along with Mitchell, to act as a final line of defence if anything slipped through the walls. He dug trenches around the wall, he built a scaffolding so George could shoot over the wall without being on the structure itself, and spent his nights carving away at planks and binding them into basic wooden shields.
John Forrest
Human (F)
Centurion/Carpenter Apprentice
Level 12
John had also accepted and started to wear his class armour, which he had to admit did show off his legs quite nicely. Mitchell was granted the plate armour, though he only wore that while training. The rest of the time was in the breastplate, and even John had to admit it looked more leader-like than a faceless man in full plate.
Too soon, the morning had come, and the rain cast a pall on the growing group. John stepped out of the dryness of the Clan house and awaited the rest of their meagre population to trickle into the impromptu meeting area by the new gazebo. The peasants looked grim and miserable, though Jack stood with a straight back and a determined look in his eyes.
Mitchell stood apart from the group and John sidled up to his left side, seeing the Page’s shield and sword buckled on and breastplate polished. John slipped his own helm over his head, grateful that the design still kept his head dry despite the antiquity. Miriam and Sarah stood near the back, as discussed, to watch over the small group of 11 settlers. George was still gone dealing with the other camp and the outer defences. He’d returned now and again to assist with the building, but largely had been out ranging.
John and Mitchell shared a look, and then they began.
“Old Mill Town is under attack.” Mitchell declared, and the muttering in the crowd stopped.
“Our home, what little slice of peace we have carved out for ourselves, is under a terrible burden.” John continued. “The core members have trained and prepared, and we have seen the effort of our clan. Jack, Gunther, Aleks, step forward and receive your commission!”
The ex-warehouser and two other smaller but still strong looking men stepped forwards after a furtive, shared glance. They wore nothing in the way of armour, and carried nothing in the name of weapons. John kicked open the small trunk he had made for this occasion, and pulled out a nicked and slightly rusted but functional gladius sword. “Jack! For your efforts in training and consistent push towards excellency, I award you with the title of Optio. Serve as my second, distinguish yourself well, and you shall be afforded the opportunity to join the Inner members of the Clan.”
“Yes, Centurion!” Jack shouted out with fervour as he fell to a knee with a hand clenched in a fist across his chest. A faint golden light surrounded him, and the Core members locked their gazes on him as one, even as John continued on.
“Gunther, Aleks! You have achieved the minimum standard required for me to call you Tiro, my recruits. I grant you the rights and responsibilities of Outer members. Serve underneath myself and my Optio, and further opportunity will open to you.”
“Yes Centurion!” The two shouted, dropping to their knees and saluting as well. As with Jack, faint golden glows surrounded them, and as one John bid them rise. He took a step forward, performed an about-face, and clasped his own fist against his chest, his recruits tall and saluting behind him..
“We are few, but we stand ready to defend Old Mill Town, Patriarch!”
Mitchell had insisted on this little bit of pageantry, even if there were only 3 that were sufficiently skilled enough to ensure they wouldn’t do more harm than good. He cleared his throat, and returned their salute. “Every tradition starts somewhere, at some time, for some reason. So I present this tradition to you now - stand, my warriors.” Mitchell moved forwards, a small bundle in his hands. “I grant you food from my table, water from my well, and a coin from my purse. May these gifts aid you in the battle ahead, and in all your endeavours forever after.” He pressed this small package into John’s hands, then retrieved a larger pouch from his belt. “This is your reward, should you and your men return to us. Guard it well.”
John had originally disagreed with the concept. This, right here, would be what caused the most desertion - but then, they realised that standard desertion did not really apply after the System hit. Now, John’s Legio Primus stood ready and with a significant morale boost to the entire unit, something that John had said would fade slowly with time. So long as morale stayed up, deserters remained a caution, not a problem. John assured him that he had his own menus to track these things, and would bring it up if military morale became an issue.
Thus, giving the soldiers their pay before the battle. It was a relatively paltry sum of 100 wooden F-grade coins split between all of them, but for these people who had come with nothing, it would kick-start trade and economy. Basic goods were available through the System Store, so in the time honoured tradition of soldiers everywhere, Mitchell fully expected at least some of their pay to go towards food and drink after the battle, and he would not blame them.
“Your faith is well placed, Patriarch. Men, to your stations!”
John led his small group out to the first gate, the mud deep enough to dirty the soles of their shoes but steadily growing worse as the rain picked up. Mitchell smiled at the remaining people, the groups of peasants - Aspirants, now - who looked to him for security. “Our time comes. In the next day, Old Mill Town will either fall as a fledgeling village, or endure and come through stronger on the other side of battle. We fight - not for glory, or honour, or gold, but for survival. This System wishes to test our mettle, to ensure we deserve this place. I say we show our worth, for our courage is not in question! In the coming hours, we will face adversity, and push through. We will face doubt, and darkness, and we will push through. When the mud is deep, the rain heavy, and blood leaks from your body, remember our creed - Another Step Forwards! We will push through!”
A few scattered whoops came from the villagers, and Miriam gave some polite applause. Mitchells ears burned, but the effect was enough. “Surgeon General, please organise the non-combatants into a support corps. Court Wizard, with me.” Mitchell turned into the rain and began walking back towards the clan house. Quick footfalls caught up to him, and Miriam waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke.
“Everything okay?” She asked, concern clear in her voice. “I thought you did well.”
Mitchell let out a choked laugh. “I bloody hate speaking in front of crowds, and now I have to do it as part of both of my classes. Yea, I’m just fine.”
Miriam hummed in acknowledgement. “Yes, but you didn’t have to speak in the first place. I doubt the President of the US spoke to every squad before they defended every outpost. Even so, it was a good speech.”
He sighed and pushed his way into the warm, dry house. “I appreciate it.” He removed the breastplate and began walking up to their room. She followed. “This is where we make our mark. It’s less the President talking to the Army, and more Columbus addressing his crew, all misadventures aside. We’re setting out on an endeavour unheard of in our history, and from my class, this System wants me at the forefront of the effort.”
Miriam scoffed. “Did you want to put that quest up on the board again? You don’t know what the system wants, because we aren’t even sure if it wants anything or even can want anything. Didn’t you say yourself that your class was a result of the dungeon? Or how you acted or something like that?”
He pushed his hand through his hair, and Miriam noticed as he smiled at the regrown appendage. “Something like that.”
She smiled as she watched him pull the many pieces of the plate armour out from under the bed. “There you go. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself.”
Mitchell laughed, strapping the first pieces on. “Stop? Besides the public speaking, I’m loving it. Turns out, pressure does wonders for me.”
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John looked over the edge of the wall, once again praising the thought of creating the scaffolding. The area around the wall had been dug with pits and trenches to slow attackers and funnel them towards the clear land of the northern and southern roads - or at least, where he planned to put roads and where trails were slowly coming into existence by their continued usage. The east was covered by the wall, and the west by the river, which was starting to flow faster than the calm burbling he’d grown used to. All of which he could see from up on the admittedly rickety structure.
Rain pattered down over his helmet, a light misting now but it had only grown in intensity since dawn. The smell of the rain was almost hidden beneath the smell of Jake’s mule, but the dank sweetness was still present. The Centurion’s eyes pierced through the rain, anxious to get a glimpse of what sort of attackers they would need to fight off.
He was just lucky he had unlocked his next skill for his class when he hit the tenth level. The new Testudo skill would come in handy… once he could give his men shields, that is. His attempts to make wooden shields had gone poorly, but just last night he’d finally gone through enough to have the shields added to his list of Carpenter recipes. Schematics? Blueprints? The System called them recipes.
As the timer ran out and the Quest screen changed, John looked to either side at the spear-wielding Tiros and his sword-and-shield bearing Optio and set his gaze on the information he was given. It didn’t say much, but it said enough.
Incoming Wave of Enemies!
Wave 1:
10x Raccan Skirmisher
“Legion! Prepare to repel invaders! Optio, leave a man on watch here, then form up the men to depart for the north gate.”
Jack looked at him oddly, but John didn’t falter. “Aleks, up on the tower, Gunther, you’re with me and the Centurion.” The men didn’t exactly leap to their tasks, John noted with disappointment, but they did shuffle to it. He would need more training sessions with them, not on fighting but on following orders. It was important, from what he knew of history, that the army act as a whole under one command.
With Mitchell and Miriam at the clan house ready to repel any enemies they could see from their vantage over the south gate, George still outside the walls, and himself and the two men for the north gate, John realised very quickly that they were outnumbered. From the information he had, this would be the first and easiest encounter of the quest.
“Double time, men!”
There was no time to waste.
Boots splashed through mud, rain fell in spattering sheets, and John pushed for the north gate, running through troop numbers quickly in his head. Even if the skirmishers split their attention evenly between the northern and southern gates, it would still come to a 5 versus three at his gate, not to mention the 5 versus 2 that Mitchell would have to deal with. Sarah might be able to even those odds, but it would also put their healer in danger.
John finally made it around the wall and got his first glimpse of these Raccans.
They were short, limber creatures covered in black and white fur in an odd spotted pattern that made it difficult to see in the dappled shadows of the surrounding forest. Standing as tall as John’s chest, they were shorter as a whole, but John could still see lengthy claws protruding from hands - paws, really, though the size and location of their fifth digit ensured they were able to wield tools as if they had thumbs. True to this, the skirmishers each carried a sling and a bulging pouch, no doubt full of ammunition for the slings. As they too saw John, the lead one let out a screech, and John’s quick count placed all ten of them here. “Tiro! Quick run through the village, get everyone here as soon as possible.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
The only spear-wielder John had left, and as the ten raccoon-like monsters started fitting globs of something into their slings, Gunther tore off as if his life depended on it. It very much might have, as John turned to see Jack deflect some sort of projectile with his shield, the hard thwack of contact the first signs of starting combat. He raised his own shield in time to protect against the slung ammo.
Rapid thunks on his shield peppered a bruise into his arm, and he marvelled at the sheer power that these little guys were putting into their slings. Even with only one other person nearby, John activated his Testudo skill in response
His shield shimmered, and its weight doubled, no tripled, but the result was staggering. Glowing red copies of his shield had formed up to either side of his own, as if he had a man on either side as a part of a shield wall, and even as he staggered, those shields moved with him. The impacts of the slings ammo still travelled down his original shield into his arm, but tripling the effective surface of his protection was still more than great. With his high Strength, it was the surprise that sent him staggering, more so than the weight.
He ignored that he’d thought it was just to make an actual Testudo formation more effective. With this size of shield, they could actually start pushing forwards, maybe get into javelin range. “Optio! Let’s go take care of these little guys.”
----------------------------------------
George sighed, retrieving his arrows from the small creatures who’d had no idea he was there. They seemed to have claws, and some sort of sling, but none had gotten a shot off so it was largely irrelevant information. In the camp, Kyla leaned against a tree, still recovering and Ezekiel stood guard over her, bow drawn and now pointed at George.
The ranger scoffed. His Agility and Reflexes were much too high - the very moment the Archer’s fingers left the string, he would be able to activate his new Dodge skill and return fire before anyone else could react. To even attempt to injure George would mean leaving Kyla to her fate as the waves got larger and worse, but Ezekiel was being stubborn. At least he lowered his bow before he spoke.
“Why are you still here?”
George finished picking the bits of fur off one of his arrows. “Told you. You need to come help us defend our town.”
“Why would we do that? You still haven’t given us Singh back.”
George shooks his head, tired of repeating the same argument. “Nope, and we won’t but if you help with the attack, we will consider it.”
“How is this any sort of fair? You assholes killed Jacob, Singh doesn’t even kill anyone, yet he’s the one locked up? That’s fucked.” Kyla spat from the ground.
The Ranger resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s also not fair that you’re still alive. We should only have two of you left to deal with, but us assholes just couldn’t help but healing your injuries. Which, might I add, would also be something regular in our town.”
“By you making us slaves?”
“Aspirants are not slaves!” George shouted out, finally letting some of his building temper show. “They can leave at any time! Nobody had to come join us! You know what? Screw this. You see the timer, right?”
Both Kyla and Derrick glanced into middle distance, looking at the same screen that George had floating in front of himself.
Wave 1 complete!
Wave 2 starts in: 03:53:26
“We have four hours. I’ll be back in three. When I come back, you better either be gone or packed and ready to come along. Either way, that’s our last offer. I need to help with the defence.”
Saying no more, George let out a quick whistle for Nimbus to follow, and hopped back up into a tree. The camp was a solid 15 minute hike through the woods, but he was finding it almost easy to navigate the branches and trunks of the trees. He knew - these would not have been the same trees that were in the same spot Before - these trees were large, and their canopies spread far. There were large spaces between the trunks, almost like a redwood forest, but the white trunks of birch and the hardy oaks fought with space against the mighty maple, and so there wasn’t a tree shorter than 10 feet, or younger than a hundred years.
He could make the trip in 10 if he stuck to the branchways, as he began to call them. They were even starting to get easier as he travelled, as stray twigs were broken off and the trail became worn down. He doubted anyone else in his group could travel this way, as it was his stats that allowed him to place each foot with surety and speed, but it could still be useful to mark out the path.
George arrived back at Old Mill Town in time to see John and his soldiers policing the bodies of their invaders. They were worked over for any valuables, and one of the Tiros was digging a pit for a mass grave. They’d pushed the tree line back during their reinforcing of the wall over the last few days, so he exited the branchways by the northern path that led further up the escarpment.
Sarah met him at the gate.
George waited idly while she pored over him for any sign of injury, ignoring his insistence that he was fine. “I don’t see why you do this every time I go out.”
She continued searching as she answered. “Every scratch I heal is experience. Every bruise I soothe is experience.” A tingling feeling crept over his body. “Every harmful bacteria I purge is experience. You hunt, I heal. Not hard to get.”
George hummed. “Still. I’d tell you if I was injured.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I would if it was serious.”
She paused, considering, then shrugged. “That may be so, but I’m not letting my XP slip away so easily. You’re clear, by the way.”
The ranger began walking towards the clan-house, mildly annoyed when Sarah jogged quickly to catch up and fell into step beside him. “Was there something else?”
The healer nodded. “You weren’t here for the fight.” Her accusation went unspoked, but George still heard it.
“I was guarding Kyla and Ezekiel. They had to fight off ten of those little raccoon guys.”
“Raccans.” Sarah corrected. “We were talking after the fight, and they’re just as much raccoons as we are apes. I’d be offended if something called me ‘a little monkey’, and Mitchell agreed. It’s part of our culture now, to use proper names for things.”
“So… I am now legally obligated to call them rake-uns?”
“Raccans.” She stressed. “And no. Core members will have a less stringent set of laws but our culture stresses noblesse oblique.”
“What now?”
Sarah pushed open the door, and George finally got out of the rain for the first time since he’d stepped out that morning. Even though it was spring, a smoky fire crackled in the longpit.
“George!” He heard a voice call, and once his eyes adjusted he saw John sitting on a bench, Sarah already on her way over to join him. On the other side of the longpit, there was another bench, and at the head, a pair of wooden chairs sat unassuming. With the shutters open, a nice breeze came through the room, occasionally dispersing the smoke.
“Nice dress.” He commented, sitting across from the pair on his own bench.
John scoffed, though from his smile, George could tell it was friendly. “You’d wear it too if you had legs like mine.”
“We’d all be enskirted if we had legs like yours.” Mitchell said, coming down the stairs from the upper floor. “Shame we don’t.” Miriam followed behind, her class robes a grey-blue that was very muted in the current light.
John smiled. “Hey, guys gotta have a place in the world. Don’t judge.”
Mitchell walked to the head of the pit and looked awkwardly at the seat, though it wasn’t long until Miriam pushed him towards it. Mitchell turned, and sat. “So. Debrief on the first wave. As this is the first of these, keep in mind that how we do it now will be how we do it moving forwards, so please just humour me and play along.”
Mitchell cleared his throat, sat up in his chair, then carefully removed his sword from his waist and placed it lengthwise across his lap. “The Core Clan comes to meet. For the record, those present declare your attendance.”
Miriam spoke up, clearly and as if waiting for this. “Court Wizard, present.” The group caught on quickly.
“Master of Law and Order, here and ready.”
“Surgeon General, here.”
George sighed. “Master Hunter, present.”
Mitchell nodded. “Patriarch, present. With the baring of steel, I call this meeting into motion.” The rasp of his sword cut through the faint crackling of the fire in the pit, and the blade glinted with orange light. He carefully placed the sword tip-down against the wooden riser, and leaned forwards to lace his hands together over the pommel. “Master Hunter, your absence during the attack calls for explanation. I’ll let you begin.”
George sighed again. This was getting too formal for his tastes. “Well, I figured it would be a little cruel to leave Kyla and Ezekiel injured and alone in the woods, so I went to go help them out. Without me, they would likely have fallen to the racco- Sorry, the Raccans. I’ve determined that above all, these enemies are gross.”
“Gross?” Sarah asked, confused but quieting down when John elbowed her in the side.
“I second the question of the Surgeon General. Please elaborate on your meaning.” Mitchell’s voice was slow and considered, a welcome change. The Ranger and the Page were not consistently on the best terms in the Before.
George scratched his cat’s back. “We fought a group of 10 skirmishers. They lacked magic, thankfully, and their claws are short, but they carry diseased ammunition for their slings. Each has about 30 shots of ammunition before they switch to melee fighting. No sense of tactics or strategy, though they are capable of learning. After I’d killed two, they circumvented my killzone, and we fought the rest in melee. They are slow, weak, and their only real advantage was in numbers. They attempted to bring down their shelter - however, the distraction proved enough for us to shoot the rest. The battle was easy.”
MItchell nodded, clearly holding back interest. “Master of Law and Order, do you have any further insights on these creatures?”
John sat up straight. “None, Patriarch. The Master Hunter’s account is largely what I observed. They did not appear to change tactics when we blocked their sling attacks, and we used that to sally out and defeat them. Even just with myself and the Optio, it was a difficult battle but not one I’d have a chance of losing, even without the backup. They just weren’t strong enough to deplete my health fast enough.”
“Damn, Jack went out there to fight? Attaboy.”
Mitchell glared at George for his outburst, but quickly moved on. “Very well. Any additions to the matter of the Raccan attack? Yes, Master Wizard?”
“I would like to recap what we know currently and posit a couple of theories I had, which might be useful to keep in mind for the rest of the meeting. Firstly, we know that the Raccan Skirmishers approached our wall, and immediately made for the north gate. This either implies that they had some scouting force we didn’t see, or that they were given some extranatural method of finding our gates - with all of the further implications that entails. We cannot discount luck, but I would like to avoid making any theories based on our enemies' good fortune.”
John frowned. He hadn’t made that leap.
When nobody interrupted, Miriam continued. “My second theory is one that has potential ramifications if Ge- sorry, if our Master Hunter succeeds in his plan to procure reinforcements. We know that we were attacked by ten enemies, and so too was the other group. Should we gain their assistance with our own defence, we need to be aware of the fact that we could be doubling the number of assailants that come to our own settlement.”
Mitchell nodded. “Let’s still not dismiss it. In the most callous of situations, we would gain double the experience, and even splitting it with them, we’d end up better off than if we each deal with this alone. Further, if they do manage to hold off these attacks, they will be gaining experience at a faster rate than us, which would open us up to retribution of a higher scale than we could possibly deal with. On a more personal level, I don’t feel right leaving them out there to die. Finally, on a technical level, if I let them die out there without attempting to help, I will be penalised by my class. Considering the lack of limits we’ve seen from the System so far, I don’t feel comfortable testing that. Thus, I would like to open the floor to opinions, after which we will have a vote.”
It took them an hour to come to a consensus, and by the end all were frustrated, both at the situation and the clear formality everyone was struggling to uphold, but in the end the vote came out unanimous, and George was pleased. They would keep the invitation open to relocate - wether into the settlement itself or just nearby - until the end of the second wave. After that, they would either be dead, fleeing, or clear enemies.
As the second vote passed, Miriam almost skipped her way over to the town’s namesake, the old mill, with a thong of leather in her hands. Moments later, she left, and the town finally knew silence from the psychological torture of Singh’s voice.
She wasn’t cruel, though. She left him a small bowl of water and a single apple.
----------------------------------------
“We’ve gotta take it, don’t we?” Kyla asked weakly. She was no longer getting worse and the infection had been purged by that Healer woman, but the level of injury she’d taken still needed her to rest and recuperate. Without steady food and water, she was having issues getting back to full strength. “Fuck if I don’t wanna, though.”
Ezekiel hummed, having heard this line of thought, or those like it, ever since George had left them. He let her vent, though. Despite having known her for years, Kyla was still a mystery to him. They’d shared an apartment building, and occasionally made small talk in the lobby or the elevator, but he really had no idea what she was like. When he’d first moved to the city, he’d developed a hopeless crush on her.
Years of consistency and cowardice had robbed him of the chance to make anything more with her, and the two had fallen into an odd friendship. She, with her high-pressure position at a business she’d never named, provided her with many reasons to seek the bottom of a bottle of alcohol. Him, with his flame burned down to a stubborn ember, never said no when she showed up needing distraction. Their distraction was more of the drinking and playing card games, and soon enough she’d brought her cousin Jacob by. It was only natural, with him living in the same building, and Ezekiel and Jacob grew much closer, much faster than he had with Kyla.
Thinking of him brought pain to his heart, and so he recentered himself in the world around him.
“There will be more.” He stated, worrying about something else to keep his mind distracted. In this situation, it was hard to think of anything other than the recent attack.
“Huh?”
“More coons.” He elaborated, already considering how they could fight them off and realising quickly it wouldn’t be possible. Maybe if they had some sort of choke point or higher ground with a vantage, he could-
Kyla gave him a dark scowl. “The fuck you just say?”
Ezekiel’s thoughts screeched to a halt, replaying over what he’d said so far. He’d only hummed, then worried about the coming raccoon people. “I just said there’s probably more coons coming. Way I see it, no media-”
“Call me coon one more time and I’ll slit your throat while you sleep.” Kyla had a hand on her spear and no look of a joke in her eyes.
Ezekiel paused again, aghast. “What are you talking about? I mean the literal raccoon people who came and tried to kill us. How in the actual hell did you leap to some nonsensical bullshit like that?”
Kyla sat, searching his eyes, before huffing angrily. “Stupid-ass. Coon’s a slur for me.”
Ezekiel blinked, bewildered by the reaction of his foul-mouthed former flame. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. How do you feel if I called you a cracker?”
“...like I should go dip myself in some soup? How am I supposed to feel?” Ezekiel knew this was typically a boundary of conversation he would never have breached Before. “I’m much more worried about the fact you threatened to kill me over a word.”
“You called me a slur.”
“How is that anywhere close to a proportional response?” Ezekiel spat out, exasperated. “Like, imagine you were just driving down the highway and some jerk cut you off. Your response is just to murder them all?”
“No, and I don’t appreciate you implying I’m some brainless thug.”
Ezekiel stood, his own frustration ready to pour out. “Listen. I get that you’re frustrated. I get that you’re used to being capable. I get that losing your cousin was hard, and our only option is to go to his killers and ask for protection. But I lost him too. You don’t see me lashing out at the only person willing to help, trying to start fights for no reason. You wonder why we haven’t talked much in the last couple days? Because of this shitty attitude. Nobody cares that you’re black when we’re fighting off coyotes every night. Nobody cares about what your ancestors were called, because we were attacked by bloody raccoon people and I used a short form I use for raccoons. If you wanna fight someone, go find that Roman wannabe and shove your stick into him. Personally, I’m gonna track that tree guy with the cat so I can get myself a warm meal and a bloody bath. You can either stay here and bitch at people who wanna help, or get off your ass and let me drag you over there. Either way, I’m gone in five minutes.”
Ezekiel paused, wondering if he’d pushed too far. He glanced at Kyla, but she remained silent, her expression unreadable. With a sigh, he began packing his meagre belongings from around the camp, his mind racing with the uncertainty of their future.
After four minutes of silence, two figures trudged through the forest towards a river, leaning on each other for support, and all thoughts of antagonism buried.