The morning light filters through my eyelids. And I do my best to stay in dreamland just a bit longer. I don't remember exactly what I was dreaming about, but it was nice. It doesn't quite work though, and reluctantly, I coax my eyes open.
My arm feels like a wet noodle, when I try to lift it, nothing happens, but some variety of pain shoots through it. At least I didn't bleed to death. The improvised bandage from yesterday seems to have somehow held the blood in my body. I'm starting to wonder if there is something about this world that makes people more resilient. I feel like I'd have died about three times over if this were my own world, just the blood loss... With effort, I push that happy thought, and the sensation of my useless arm to the back of my mind, and do an inventory on the state of the rest of my body.
My stomach seems to have given up on signaling me that it's empty, only nudging me with a loud growl once in a while, but that's honestly more worrying. It's been nearly a week and the only solid things I've eaten have been raw rabbit and four glowing fruits that did nothing for my hunger. Surprisingly, I'm not feeling very thirsty due to having drank nearly half a bucket of water yesterday before I was interrupted. My leg... Well, it's still there, and it's not as bad as my arm, considering it still moves, but I think that's all the good there is to say about it. Yesterdays exertions have not been kind to it.
It doesn't feel like the fever inducing infection from earlier, and it's not bleeding right now—though I note that my leg is again crusted in red from yesterday's mess. It's just that it feels like there's this deep-down wrongness, like it's never going to get better again. On the outside, it looks like my thigh's all torn up with these deep gouges, but it's like every move I make with it is just sloshing the infection around or something, and now it's spreading through my whole thigh.
Mentally. Well, it looks like I'm mostly exhausted, and pissed off. I'm really, really through with playing nice. One thing that keeps going through my mind is how much easier things would have been if I'd just been able to knock the girl out yesterday. Yes, I would still have had to leave, but I would probably have been able to leave on my own terms. My civility, the proper way of behaving that has been ingrained in my mind for so long, does not serve me well here. It's not like I enjoy the idea of knocking people on the head, but I need to start thinking about what I need more than the people I've never met in that village. I simply can't afford to be sympathetic.
I sit up, wincing as my stiff muscles protest. My damaged arm making the process a lot harder than I'm used to, but I manage. The world is still waiting to fully rouse from it's slumber.
Somehow, I've ended up way closer to the village than I thought I would based on my flight last night. I thought I was going into the forest, but it seems I've basically made a big loop around, and am now nearly back at the outer edge of the forest, I can see the village through some half a kilometer of deforested space. Talk about going full circle in a way I didn't intend. Yet, it's kind of ironic and lucky at the same time, since it seems this accidental detour has kept me under the radar from the villagers who were out looking for me last night. The movement unfortunately seems to remind my stomach of the fact it's empty. At first, it was just a gentle nudge, but now it's more like an insistent, gnawing pain that won't let up, demanding I pay attention.
I can't let this go on. Another such flight and I'll be dead. I need to get my body in better condition, and the things I need are sustenance, and medicine.
I glance at the village in the distance, still deserted at this hour of the morning. It feels extremely foolhardy, but I should probably just do what I told myself I wouldn't just a few hours earlier. I’ll just go back there and take it all. I glance at my shoulder. They’ve made very clear that they’re my enemies.
If I hold off until nightfall for cover, who knows how much worse off I'll be. I don't think I'll die just yet, but... I can't ignore that I'm getting weaker, bit by bit.
I chuckle weakly, and barely stop it from turning into a hysterial laugh. I’m getting weaker, that’s a good one. My arm is literally useless, held together with moss and ripped cloth. I’m covered in blood again, and I’m…
I stare at the village, watching the buildings softly light up as the sun creeps up the horizon. The chimneys are devoid of smoke, a sign of the warmer weather. With the sun climbing its way up the sky, villagers will soon be stirring, emerging to continue whatever daily rituals occupy a people so unlike my own.
Every thread of common sense woven into my being informs me that the logical choice would be to wait, to let darkness be my ally once again. But a spark of reckless determination flares up, something that just wants to get back at the unfairness of this world, burning bright even as common sense tries to snuff it out.
Drawing a deep breath, I decide. I lost my chance to wait when I got shot yesterday. I need to move now.
Under the light of dawn's touch, I stealthily creep towards the village once again. It's odd to be retracing the same steps I took last night, but at least I have some idea of where I'm going.
My useless arm gets in the way more often than not, but if I do anything but let it hang, pain shoots through it. My leg works, but every step reminds me it is there.
Arriving back at my previous departure point, I have a look at the current state of the village.
Where last night I saw what appeared to be determined faces, now I see a bunch of farmers at the end of their rope. Well, loggers I suppose. It's just that none of them strike me as professional soldiers. The strain of staying up all night guarding against further incursions is clear on their faces, in the way they're stopped striding around, and stare with bleary eyes out at the forest. One man has clearly nodded off right on his feet, and his companions are too strained, to too tired themselves to say anything of it.
I am lucky, and in their exhaustion, their positioning is less than perfect. There is a path with a bunch of convenient bushes that will hide me while I pass through their cordon. Assuming I manage without making too much noise, but I'm wondering if they'd even notice at this point.
A short few minutes later, I find myself amongst the houses once again. The guards haven't moved an inch. I debate what to do now. I need supplies, but where am I most likely to find those? I don't have anything but the buildings to go on, so I follow my intuition, and move back to the house whose owner had so graciously provided me with a bucket outside last night.
I stand in front of the door, and glance around the village. Being out here in the open makes me feel pretty exposed, yet I can't deny there's a thrill to it — must be the danger, I guess. Regardless, I have to hurry, soon everyone will be waking up, and I need to be long gone by then. I move to the front door, and find that it doesn't have so much as a lock. Nobody here seems to be worried about people stealing their stuff it seems. Their loss. I open the door as silently as possible, and slip inside.
image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]
The soft clack of the wooden door closing behind me hammers through the silence of the early morning. The cottage is shadowed inside, the early dawn light through the two small windows at the back not enough to completely illuminate it. The room I stand in is what I assume to be their living room, a simple table is the centerpiece, surrounded by four logs that I imagine serve as chairs. Along the sides of the room are shelves and chests. I half expect the space to erupt with the yells of startled villagers, but silence wraps around me, accented only the lazy dance of dust motes in the morning rays.
As my eyes grow used to the dim light, more details resolve themselves. A hearth, cold and unused, sits in the corner, surrounded by implements of cooking. The shelves are filled with a variety of earthenware and other objects that make my heart beat faster at the idea of the food they might contain. Two doors lead out of the main room on either side of the building.
I move around the room silently, my feet moving across the dirt floor with caution, aiming for the shelves next to the hearth. I inch towards it, yet, despite all my caution, I overlook a small wooden toy and knock it over with my foot. It skids across the floor with a small but distinct clatter, and my heart catapults itself into my throat. I freeze, hoping against hope that nobody has heard it, standing frozen for several long seconds. Yet there is nothing. No cry of alarm, no stirring elsewhere in the building. Everyone remains blissfully unaware of my presence — for the moment.
I refocus on the shelf, and explore it's contents. It's a bit hard going with only a single usable arm, but I make do. I am initially disappointed, the shelves themselves seem to hold nothing but earthenware and implements. At nice as a poker would be, if I'd had a house, it's not what I need right now. I search through the surroundings, and eventually open the large chest on the floor, and it's contents bring tears to my eyes. A variety of pots and smaller boxes contain a variety of foodstuffs. It's a strange experience to be brought to tears by a potato. There's dried meat too, and bread. Even a piece of cheese that makes my mouth water.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
I can't hold myself back, and I immediately grab a large loaf and bite a chunk off. It's hard, and kind of old, but it's filling. As I munch it, I try to find some way of carrying this around. I put the rest of the loaf on the table, and go back to the shelf I explored earlier to gather a large piece of cloth, that can be tied into a makeshift pack. A similar, but smaller bundle lies on the table. Maybe lunch for the inhabitants as they go off to cut trees?
I leave the pack on the table alone, and instead fill my own with a variety of foods. I'm tempted to take all of it, but some misplaced feeling of decency tells me that would be rude. I can't help but glance at the toy that I stumbled over, there's at least one child in the house too. Anyhow, it would never fit, so I don't have to worry about it, and I just bring as much as I can reasonably fit in the pack.
That done, I scan the room for signs of water. Even though the house is right next to the well, I can't imagine they want to walk outside every time they need a drink, or drink from a bucket for that matter. On the other side of the hearth, I notice a row of clay vessels, some capped with cloth and twine. I silently take the few steps to get there, and inspect the pots.
The tiny cup next to the bigger ones catches my eye, and when I take the cover off, I'm instantly delighted. Honey! My first urge is to devour it right then and there, but I manage to hold back. I carefully replace the cloth and stash it in my pack. I feel slightly more guilty about this since they seem to have so little, but not enough to deprive myself.
Then I investigate the bigger pots. The first contains something I do not recognize, but the second, and larger pot that I pick up contains what I'm looking for. I debate taking the whole thing, since it's quite big, but ultimately put it back, and take one of the smaller empty pots to pour some water in. Which I do very carefully given that I can barely keep the larger pot from dropping with a single hand.
Before I put the pot back, I can't resist taking a deep drink. I drank just yesterday, so I'm not in immediate need, but I'm thirsty, and it's nice to have the ability to drink when you are. As I cover my small pot with the cloth, and secure it snugly with twine. I survey the hovel. As I do so, I'm suddenly struck by a strong feeling of melancholy. As simple as it is, I think I could live here. I truly wish I could come here as a friend, instead of as a thief, but this world has stolen that option from me.
The moment passes soon, and an equally strong feeling of triumph washes over me as I consider my gains. The contents of the small sack represent nearly a week of sustenance. The pot does not contain nearly the same amount of water, but I'll be able to carry water with me, however little it is. It’s not just bread and water I've found here, but a drop of hope in an otherwise barren cup.
With my immediate needs satisfied, I scan the room once more. I'm not going to come back here if I can help it, so if I am going to take something, I should do it now.
In a corner I had previously missed, tucked next to a tall cabinet and the earthen wall, a stack of fabrics catch my eye. As I inspect them, I find a simple homespun dress and a tattered shirt. Simple, but tough garments likely meant for labor. I want to immediately drape them over myself, but find a challenge in my arm. I can move it, but I don't know what kind of damage that does on the inside, so I rather feel like I shouldn't. Ultimately I don't see how I can bring it along if I do not wear it though. I have only a single working arm, and it will be occupied with the sack.
I decide to chance it, and with a mighty effort of will, that's more related to not crying out in pain than the act of movement, I slip into the clothes, the coarse material grating against my skin.
After the unfortunate exertion my arm feels like hell, but it was totally worth it.
The clothes are ill-fitting, the shirt is slightly too wide —most likely made for a man— and the dress hangs loose in some places, tight in others, evidence of the body it was meant for—a body not mine. But they providing a semblance of warmth and concealment. Of civilization.
The feeling of taking someone's clothes, likely the very clothes they wore just yesterday, feels like a gross invasion of privacy, but then that is what it is. I shouldn't call it anything else to make myself feel more comfortable.
The early morning quiet cradles the village still, but I'm acutely aware that the owners of this hovel might return or awaken at any moment. I ponder, for a brief breath, where they might be. Likely in one of the adjoining rooms, just meters separated from the stranger in their house. Creeping towards the door on the left, I press my ear against the rough wood, and listen. The soft sounds of sleep reach my ears—a family, oblivious to my presence. I'm almost tempted to open the door to see who I'm robbing from, but ultimately I decide not to. I don't think anything good will come of it for either me or them.
I prepare to leave, but am left wondering what is in the last room of the house, if the bedroom is on one side, what is on the other? I make my way over to the last door, and softly open it. The room fairly small, just a few square meters and is completely dark, no windows at all. The only illumination comes from the light that comes in through the doorway. In the shadows I see a variety of shelving and bins, which contain all manner of things. In the corner I see the glint of metal, and as I take a step closer, I notice that it's an axe, and right next to it, a large saw. This must be where they are keeping their main stores. It never really occurred to me that the selection in the kitchen might not be their full supply, but in hindsight it makes sense. They don't exactly have a supermarket close by, so they likely need to keep a lot more in storage.
As much as I want to search the entire room, I have already overstayed my welcome. Any longer and I'll be unable to get away before everyone wakes up. I close the door to the storage room, and turn to the outer door.
As I turn to leave, my gaze catches on a small leather pouch resting atop the table. Even in the dim light, I can see the weight of it, and when I lift it, I hear the dull clink of coins within. I think about it for a moment, but then replace it on the table. It wouldn't do anything for me, and while stealing supplies feels like fair game, stealing their money would be a step too far. At least, I think. I can't really figure out my own morality right now.
With a final glance at the door behind which lie the slumbering figures, I re-open the outer door, and carefully check to see if anyone is around. When no unwanted visitors appear, I slip out of the house. A whole bundle of food richer, and finally somewhat clothed. With clothes around my body it's become a lot more apparent that I'm not wearing any footwear, but it's still a massive improvement.
image [https://pub-43e7e0f137a34d1ca1ce3be7325ba046.r2.dev/Group.png]
I step back out into a waking village, it is clear to me that my chances of remaining undiscovered this time are rapidly dwindling.
I'm temporarily reminded of my own mornings back home. Waking up to the screaming of an alarm clock after staying up way too late at night, telling me to get my ass moving if I don't want to be late for work. I can't help but feel that waking up to the light is a far superior experience. Of course, they might not have coffee either, so I guess it balances out.
Once again, I'm out in the open, facing the challenge of sneaking through the village. I can't help but notice how my body's holding up. My wounded arm protests every movement, the bandage stiff with dried blood and sap. My infected leg throbs and complains with every movement. The villagers’ certain hostility should I be discovered is powerful motivation though.
My bare feet are silent on the dirt. I have tied the bundle and thrown it over my back. It digs into my neck, but this way it doesn't get in my way. The dress is too big, and nearly drags through the dirt with every step.
Occasionally I see, or hear someone walk somewhere in the village, but none have so far noticed me, or paid any attention if they did.
I'm near the edge of the village now, almost back amongst the safety of my shrubberies. The wild beyond that offers both peril and the promise of refuge. The sentries are still equally tired, but the persistent light seems to rouse them a bit. Or maybe they just feel more confident in the light.
My mind tries to figure out a strategy to bypass the sentries again. The old route is no good, as several of them have meanwhile re-positioned. I could try to hide somewhere in the village, waiting for a better opportunity, but my wounds argue against the viability of that plan. I have zero hope of escape should I be discovered inside the village.
At that moment, a child, no older than six, suddenly rounds the corner ahead, chasing an errant chicken with the determination only a child can muster. In any other situation I'd find the situation adorable, but now I try to press back against the nearest building, hiding behind what little obstacles are between me and the child. My heart pounds in my chest, thundering against my rib cage.
Eventually the child runs off, having somehow actually retrieved the chicken, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
As I glance again toward the wild that calls to me, the array of plants and herbs hanging outside the next dwelling snags my attention. The lure of finding something that might stave off infection or pain is a strong one. I can almost feel the stiffness in my wounds relenting at the mere thought of a remedy. But even if I were to go inside, I'm certain I would not be able to find anything that could help me. With no way to tell anything apart, I could as easily take a poison pill as a healing salve.
With my own mind warning me away, I instead make an attempt at getting away through the net cast by the sentries. I've gotten through so many times now that I'm starting to wonder if it's even possible to be found.
Of course, having that thought trips a flag, and from behind me, I hear one of the sentries say something. He squints his eyes in my general direction. He's about 30 meters away, but I'm hidden behind a low thorn bush. I'm not sure whether he actually spotted me, or something else, but it sure looks like it. I freeze, staying low and silent instead of bolting this time. He tentatively takes a few steps in my direction, but then blinks, rubs his eyes, and turns back to his companion while shaking his head. He says something, but I have no idea of the meaning. He sounds relieved though.
OMG, natural 20 on stealth bitches!
I quickly move on, and make my way into the forest without any further excitement.