The warmth of the fire flickered softly, enveloping the tent in a comforting heat. As time passed, Leon's eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion from his ordeal taking its toll.

The fatigue that enveloped him was profound, a deep-seated weariness that threatened to pull him back into the void. He fought against it, desperate to remain aware of his surroundings, but the soft furs beneath him wrapped him in a cocoon of comfort, and he found himself drifting closer to sleep.

With each passing moment, the soft sounds of the storm outside began to blend into a distant lullaby, lulling him deeper into a state of drowsiness. But just as his eyes began to drift closed, the tent flaps rustled, a whisper against the howling winds.

A new figure entered the tent. Another Gnoll, smaller and less heavy-looking than Kraka. A female, Leon assumed. She was dressed in some kind of pale leather armour, seemingly made from animal hides, and decorated with blue markings—almost like tattoos. An elegantly crafted bow and quiver hung across her back, and a sheathed sword rested at her hip.

Leon watched her closely, trying to take in more details of his unfamiliar company. Her fur was striking white, with a faint blue sheen that caught the fire’s glow, almost like frost under moonlight. She moved with a quiet grace despite her frame, each of her steps deliberate, careful, and yet hiding a coiling tension.

She reminded him of soldiers back home—calm, controlled, but always on edge. Back home—

“Brought something. Food.” She said, her voice rough, clipped, like she wasn’t used to the language she spoke.

In her paws, she cradled a huge bowl, clearly not meant for humans, filled with steaming stew, its rich aroma breaking through the haze of exhaustion and awakening a deep, gnawing hunger within him. The tantalizing scent wove through the air like a siren’s call, pulling him from his stupor, and making him realise that he had not eaten in a while.

Leon blinked, momentarily startled by her presence. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice rough from sleep. He pushed himself up, leaning against the wall of the tent, the soft furs sliding down to reveal more of his bare skin. “Who are you?”

“Name. Varra. [Huntress of Tribe],” she replied, her blue gaze flickering with a mix of curiosity and caution. “Thought you—hungry.”

As he looked at her, Leon noticed her nervousness, her stance slightly hunched as if she were unsure how he would react. She seemed young. His own nervousness slowly began to fade away at the sight.

“Was with group. Found you,” she explained. “Not know if wake up. Storms, dangerous. Wanted to help.” She lowered the bowl to his lap, the steam rising like smoke in the dim light. “Meat, snow hare. Help, strength.”

The moment the warm bowl touched his skin, its heat seeped into him, stirring something primal and urgent in his stomach. He hesitated, glancing from the bowl to her face. “Like I asked your…Chieftain—Why should I trust you?”

Her ears drooped slightly at his words, but she held his gaze, unmoving. “Understand distrust. Foreign place. Strangers. But…only help you. Please. Try.”

With reluctance, Leon took the bowl, feeling its warmth radiate against his hands, and began to eat.

…It turned out to be the best thing he had ever eaten in his life.

“It’s good,” he finally said sometime later, an empty bowl on his lap.

The Gnoll across from him—female, he was certain now, the faint outline of a bosom discernible even beneath her pale leather armor—nodded in response, her fangs gleaming slightly in the firelight. Her posture, tense earlier, relaxed as she seemed satisfied with his reaction.

“Glad,” she said.

He shifted uncomfortably in his place, trying to process everything. He was stuck in a snow-covered land of monsters, talking to a creature out of some myth, and the strangest part of it all was how normal it was beginning to feel.

“Can I ask...” Leon’s voice was quiet, almost cautious. He didn’t know how much he should trust her yet, but he had to start somewhere, and he felt more at ease with her than with Kraka. “Your…Chieftain, Kraka, said he found me lying on the ground in the middle of a storm, dying. But how exactly did he manage to find me out there?”

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Was his “rescue” simply due to pure luck? Or…not?

The female Gnoll—Varra—tilted her head slightly, as if considering how to answer. “Kraka,” she said, the name coming out rough and unfamiliar on her tongue. “Chieftain... feels lost souls. Knows when... someone lost. We...follow scent.”

She paused for a moment, her blue-tinted eyes flicking toward the fire, as if gathering her thoughts. “Was lost once, too. Long ago,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “Found by Kraka. Wandering in snow. Not know where... or who. Fur bloodied. No memory.”

Her hand drifted absently to the leather armor she wore, fingers tracing the blue patterns on it. “Saved me.” Her gaze landed back on Leon. “Like you.”

Leon stared at her, feeling a strange pull at her words. Kraka–He’d done it before. With others. Just like he had done with Leon. He let out a relieved sigh. They weren’t planning to eat him it seemed. Yet.

Leon’s mind raced, his curiosity piqued. He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “What do you mean by lost souls? Like... spirits?”

She nodded once, her expression serious. “Kraka…strong. Senses things. Souls, danger... Me. You.”

Leon sat back. So that was it. They’d found him because of Kraka. And this ability to sense lost souls... it was like something out of a fantasy novel. Everything here seemed to be out of a fantasy novel. “He thinks I’m lost?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Yes. Thinks... you from another place. Not here. “ She cast a look around, checking the tent, before whispering. “Other world.”

Leon blinked, his pulse quickening. “Another world?” The words hung in the air, feeling heavy and unreal. “He thinks I’m from another world?” So, Kraka had shared his theory with others of his kind—Or with Varra, at the least.

She nodded again, though her uncertainty was clear. “Yes. Says... You don’t belong to Borealis. To Adar. Our world.”

“And you? Do you believe him?” Leon asked.

She met his gaze, her bright eyes studying him closely. “I... not know.” There was no malice in her voice, just honest curiosity. “You strange. So... maybe Kraka right.”

Leon let out a shaky breath, looking down. “I don’t feel like I’m from another world,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I’m just a regular guy. I was in France—my world. One moment, everything was normal... then I wake up here, in the snow.”

“France,” she repeated, testing the unfamiliar word on her tongue. “Home?”

“Yes. My home.” He paused, glancing back at her. “How do you understand me? Why can we even speak the same language?”

Her ears flicked at his question, and she blinked, her furred brows furrowing in confusion. “What you mean?” she asked, her voice tinged with genuine puzzlement. “Common Tongue. Everyone can speak it. Everywhere.”

Leon rubbed his temples. Her perplexed expression, the simplicity of her answer— A universal language. It suddenly made him feel even more foreign, more out of place than ever. Of course, it was just another sign that Kraka’s theory about him wasn’t far from the truth.

He really wasn’t at home anymore—on Earth.

“And the others in your…Tribe... what do they think of me?” He was cautious, unsure if he even wanted to hear the answer.

Varra’s ears flattened slightly, and her expression darkened. “Nogg, Brakk,” she said, as if testing how much she should share. “Warriors. Were there when we found you. They... not want to bring you here. Think... maybe Kraka wrong. You are human. Not Gnoll. Strange. Weak to them. Treacherous.”

Leon couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, though it was bitter. “They’re not wrong,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not exactly built for this place.” He gazed at her. “Not like you are.”

Varra seemed to relax a little at his response. “You different. But not weak. You survive storm. That is strength.”

Leon wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he simply nodded. He was still trying to process everything she’d told him. The idea that he was from another world—another world—was overwhelming. He needed time to think.

Varra must have sensed his unease, her ears flicking slightly as she watched him with those piercing blue eyes. She didn’t press further, didn’t push for answers he wasn’t ready to give. Instead, she slowly backed away, moving with that same quiet grace he’d noticed before.

“You need... rest,” she said softly. “Time…think.”

Leon looked up at her, meeting her gaze briefly. He nodded again, grateful that she understood without him needing to say anything. The weight of everything—the storm, this strange world, Kraka’s words—Varra’s words—pressed down on him all at once, and he felt the exhaustion creeping in again.

Varra took a step back, her posture still careful, as if she didn’t want to disturb him. “Will return later,” she added, her tone gentle, before turning toward the flaps of the tent.

Leon watched as she moved toward the exit. But just as she reached the edge of the tent, she stopped abruptly. With a grunt, she slapped her forehead with one of her large, furred paws, shaking her head in frustration.

"Stupid," she growled to herself before turning back to Leon. "I forget. What your name?"

Leon blinked, surprised that after all this time, she hadn't asked. "It's…Leon," he replied, his voice a bit hesitant.

Varra squinted as if testing the sound of it. "Leon..." she muttered. Then gave a sharp nod, "Good. Now, if need...call."

The flaps of the tent fell shut behind her as she left, and the soft howl of the wind returned, filling the space where Varra had been, and Leon was left alone with the crackling fire and his own thoughts.