I followed the infested guardsmen through the valley. He navigated around pits, condensers, terraced farms. As he led me, I thought about determining if he was a he, or if he was a they. It was confusing, but I was unsure if the infested were truly a hivemind (which I suspected they were), and what I should even call them as.

In the end, I decided to figure it out later, and I nibbled on the steak that the creature had provided. Soon, we arrived at a particular pit with vertical walls about twenty feet deep.

He stopped and gestured downward.

I frowned, wondering exactly what he wanted of me. I stepped up to the side and glanced down. There were no tunnels or stairs or ladders leading down. It was deep enough to entrap. At the bottom of the pit, there laid vegetation, sawn off branches, and some debris that had been stacked against the wall in a poor attempt at a lean-to. One side of the pit, almost a corner, had turned rank, with a puddle. It stank of waste, and of human. I heard one down there, mumbling. In the lean-to.

The guardsmen gestured towards me to go down there, giving me an expectant look.

We were at an impasse.

After a moment, he hacked and coughed and then spoke in a broken, stilted, monotone and off-cadence voice. “Down. Climb.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How?”

I was missing an arm, weakened, and in poor health generally. Besides that, I had thought I was more of a guest and less of a prisoner. That pit was rank, and definitely gave jailhouse vibes.

“Climb.”

“Again, how?” I asked, hoping that without a means to go down there, that I would be spared the gross fate.

“-cli-mb.”

I motioned at my missing left arm and scoffed.

“I can’t!” I argued. The smell was wafting up from the pit and it did not entice me towards cooperation. “Don’t you have somewhere–”

“-wa-it.” The infested guardsman cut me off, though he said no more, nor did he move from his position. It was evidence towards some manner of hivemind, or at the very least telepathic communication.

Before anything else happened, a familiar voice shouted up from below. It was feminine, and while rougher than I remembered, I still recognized it.

“What do you godlovin curs want now?” Lieutenant Muleater shouted up from the lean-to, where she stumbled out.

I hesitated. I had hoped they had survived, though I had been too afraid to ask earlier. But now, how did I feel about them?

“Well?! What do you–” She grimaced as her eyes adapted to the light, and she froze when she saw us.

“A kunny, here? Not infested?” She mumbled, before calling out, “Name yourself!”

“Lieutenant Muleater?” I asked. “This is a surprise.”

“You? Come to rub it in, huh?”

“No–” I cut myself off. How would I play this? There was a good chance we would be bunk-mates, and it would be best for me to avoid getting murdered in my sleep. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Then why else?” she sneered.

I groaned, “They caught me, and now they’re sending me down there.”

“Then why aren’t they shovin’ you down in?”

“Is that what happened to you?”

She scowled. She had several makeshift bandages and a split on a leg.

“What happened to Kate?” I asked.

“Like I’m gonna tell you.”

“Is she…” I licked my lips, hesitant to ask, but still needing to know. “Did… did she make it?”

Muleater glared and remained far too mulish.

Several infested creatures approached, carrying a rope ladder between them. It seemed to be made of vines and slats of wood, and not at all secure. The guardsman took it and secured it at the top of the pit, before rolling it down and gesturing for me to climb down it.

Muleater eyed the ladder hungrily, but the clicking-clacking of the infested marching around the top of the pit must have made her see reason. Escape, at least under the current circumstances, was impossible.

“Climb. Down. Now.” the infested guardsman said in his broken voice. It sounded as though he chewed upon gravel, but the longer I listened to it, the easier it was to piece together his intent. “Come for you, later.”

I eyed the ladder skeptically, and shuddered at the disheveled state of Muleater.

“For love of the Crown!” Muleater snapped. It’s not like I’ll bite,” Muleater grumbled. “They took my knife, and I’m not about to use my teeth. Just get down here ‘fore they do some damage.”

As she said that, I was picking up some odd scents from the infested. Compared to the directions that the guard had given, the scent felt as though it were at an orthogonal angle to the words. If I were to just rely on the infested’s tone and manners, I would assume the directions stern, unyielding, impatient. But from the scent, the tone was amused and slightly apologetic, with just a dash of reaffirmation. If not for the scents, I would have been far more worried about heading down into the pit.

It could have been a ploy, of course.

But why would they bother with that? There was no practical reason.

So, after much internal deliberation, after much hesitancy, I carefully and awkwardly and slowly climbed down the ladder, using my single arm and legs to give myself a more controlled fall. Once I reached the bottom, the ladder was quickly retrieved from the top, leaving me trapped in the pit with a sweaty, grimy, bruised looking Muleater.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Once the infested turned their attention away from the pit, not a few seconds later, Muleater was on me.

She hit me like lightning, slamming my back against the wall and lifting me up so that my feet dangled, though my tail could still reach the ground, not that it provided me much leverage. Her forearm pushed against my throat, her other hand held my sole wrist, her knee pushed my hips and kept my feet from curling upwards to catch her with my hind claws. Her nose loomed over me, her chin at my eye level, though she still managed to stare me directly in the eye somehow. It must have been a Mark.

While it hurt, I was not overly worried. Afterall, I could quickly fire off a tangible illusion to end her. Or at least distract her. I wondered how quickly she could break my windpipe? Perhaps some worry was warranted.

Notably, none of the infested intervened, though I could smell their alertness. Muleater likely thought she could act at her own discretion, especially since she seemed unable to pick up on their subtler tells from the infested.

“Why are you here?” Muleater demanded, emphasizing each and every word, spittle landing on my forehead.

I flicked my ears back. My fur would need a cleansing after this.

Why had they put me down here with this mad-woman? Surely they had other pits to stuff me. Why did I have to be in a pit at all? Would the infested intervene if Muleater grew too hostile? But why would she attack me? Afterall, she lacked an incentive to kill me needlessly, and it was not as though I could overpower her. Likely she was hoping intimidation would shake something loose–she might also have been suffering from undue stress.

I decided to humor her, at least partially.

“I–I’m not sure.” I said, with some additional meekness and fear leaking through. “They brought me–then forced me down here. W–why?”

“Where’s your friend?” She demanded, referring to Larissen.

“Not my friend,” I snarled, more by reaction than intent. Though the words were true, they brought a wave of pain. A questioning look from Muleater prompted more from me. “He–” I paused, licking my lips, and hoping to avoid sounding too foolish. “-betrayed me. Again.”

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion warred on her face. Did she not believe me? If I were her, I might not. “Strange. But fitting. How’d these parasites catch you then?” she spoke with venom. “Woulda thought you of all of us could sneak away.”

She must have been alluding to something else. I would play this carefully. Vehement denial would fail to provide the intended effect of proving my innocence.

“Why… why do you think that? They were waiting for me when I escaped him…” I said with downcast eyes, careful to avoid direct deceit.

She scoffed and let me slide down to my feet. She backed off by a few feet, but still managed to loom over me. Maybe not as aggressively anymore, but she left the option of violence on the table.

“Then keep your secrets,” she scowled.

This confused me, but before I could ask further, she turned her back on me, though I got the impression she was still keeping me in her peripheral vision. I also got the feeling this was a test of sorts. I would not be foolish enough to attack her. She strode to the far side of the pit and leaned against the wall. I noticed that she was at the furthest possible point from the designated waste corner.

She took a moment to regard me.

“Well? They threw you in for some reason. Doubt they couldn’t have dug another hole for you.”

I thought the same. I nodded. But she thought I had the answers?

“Are you… are you asking me?” I asked.

“Sure as the sky is gray I’m not asking them,” she nodded up towards the top of the pit.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either,” I answered.

“It also doesn’t make sense that either of us took us captive. Or that they were north of the bridge. This land isn’t good for the wyrkwik. None of this makes any godslovin sense!”

I doubted that the infested would appreciate the term wyrkwik any more than mikuya, but it emphasized the need to determine their appropriate moniker. But then again, did they deserve that respect? They had sent me down into this pit for no foreseeable reason.

“Their actions are… strange.” I admitted.

“Hm.” After another long, long pause, she asked, “You need medical attention? You look worse than the dogs coming out from the pit fights.”

I shrugged. “Not like you could provide any aid,” I said. “But yeah, my arm…” I waved the stump at her.

She chuckled somewhat darkly. Gallows humor, I supposed.

“You could help my ease of mind though and tell me what happened with Kate. Is she still alive?” I asked. I still was unsure why I cared so much about her. She had severed my arm, she had taken me captive, practically enslaved me. So why did I care anything for her? It was dumb.

Muleater paused, stroking her chin. “I could answer that,” she said. “But how do I know you aren’t a spy for ‘em?”

“I’m not,” I said plainly.

“Heh, but even if not, they could be listening.”

“What would it matter?” I was all for operational security, but this case did not seem reasonable. EIther they would know they had killed her or not. The only one that lacked this knowledge was me.

“Well… you never know, yeah?” she said.

“We could whisper under there–” I pointed at her lean-to. “They would be hard-pressed to listen in.”

“We could. But that still leaves the first problem. How do I know you’re not gonna to run and tell them everything?”

I gave her a perhaps bewildered look.

“How–that makes no sense. Why would I? I’m not a spy.” Even though I would sell her secrets if it got me out of here.

“Prove it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, how.”

“Show me what your Godsmark does.”

“It’s not a Godsmark,” I said, perhaps with a touch too much vehemence.

She smirked.

I groaned, “It’s not.”

And that point I needed to sell with certainty, because from what I understood, the humans hated anything having anything to do with the gods.

“Uh-huh,” she said, still smirking. “Not helping the trust bit.”

“It’s not one,” I still firmly denied.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Let’s say I’m willing to believe that. Still, what’s it do? Your Marks.”

“Why?”

“Let’s say we’ll be in a better tactical position if I know what we’re capable of.”

And potentially give up my own advantages in the process? I thought.

But rather than immediately deny it, I simply said, “I’ll think about it.”

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism (3/9):

* Climbing I (1/9)

* Featherlight (5/9)

* Stealth I (4/9)

* Trackless Tracks (8/9)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver (2/9) (+1)

* Evasion (6/9) (+1)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (6/9)

* Closed

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)