"If only once, even just to speak...or, without speaking at all, I only wish they would look at me." While the tribespeople danced and sang around the bonfire, Garlande hid alone in a corner, lost in thought until tears came.

The celebrations lasted until dawn. Singing and dancing, the people reveled until collapsing exhausted on the ground to sleep. In the morning chill, bodies lay strewn across the encampment.

Garlande neither drank nor sang all night, just curled up hugging his knees as he dozed. Awaking at first light, he glanced around to find the chieftain's family long retired to their tents and no sign of Sagie.

Rubbing his eyes, he suddenly remembered the ugly slave still unattended! There the wretch lay curled up asleep amidst a pile of manure, seemingly unbothered by his surroundings.

"Since the chief has no use for him, I'll take him out now and kill him somewhere!"

The youth gripped his belt knife, pondering how to finish the deed. Though he had never deliberately killed before, oddly he felt at a loss.

"I should pick a secluded spot and dig a grave to bury him. Or...make him dig his own grave? Best to act quickly and be home once it's done."

Approaching the slave, he heard the man mumbling, "Mmm...so hungry...so hungry..." Bound and tethered to the camp's wooden fence, he looked pitiful. Such pity would soon find mercy from the heavens.

"Get up, come with me," Garlande kicked him awake and yanked the rope to pull him from the spot.

"Is it mealtime? Little master! I'm starving to death. All night I couldn't find you. Watching the others feast while I waste away. Any leftovers they could spare?"

"You'll soon be dead, and know nothing of hunger." The youth's words fell cold.

"What? You'll kill me? In castle executions, they offer a full belly...why must I die hungry?"

"Less talking, just come." Garlande jerked the rope impatiently.

"White wolf cub, wait——!"

An unpleasant voice called out suddenly from behind. Garlande halted with a long sigh. Just his luck to run into them! That voice he knew too well, the bane of his days since childhood.

Glancing back, three youths stood there mocking him.

The youngest looked about ten, chubby-cheeked, even younger than Sagie, wearing a haughty pampered air. The stocky one of middling height matched Garlande's age, but twice his girth, able to engulf him whole. The eldest towered over them, sixteen or so, built like a bear with height nearing six feet that frightened grown men.

One look and anyone could tell the three were brothers, thick as thieves, raised together since infancy. Their clothes bore the same style, sewn by a doting mother no doubt. Fine new materials and gemstone necklaces marked their high station in the tribe.

The bulky elder brother even wore the warrior's decorated leather armor. None but the strongest fighters could don it, champions of the wrestling tournaments, proven by the gold band on his belt.

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The trio exuded arrogance.

"You three again..." Garlande eyed them contemptuously. "Little brother Baye, second brother Kwala, and big brother Galie. Never a day's peace with you around."

The heckler was none other than Galie the eldest.

"White wolf cub, when did you get here? Sneaking away so quickly, afraid your misdeeds will come to light?" Galie taunted incessantly.

"We celebrated the prince's victory all night, drinking and wrestling, never saw you there. Only heard this morning you had come. Not even a greeting before you take off?"

"I escorted Sagie back, my duty done, so I'm heading home. What business of yours?"

"Hmm..." chimed the plump Kwala, "I knew the little prince couldn't have gone so far alone. Some scoundrel like you must have put him up to it. What exactly were you plotting, taking the prince into enemy lands unprovoked?"

Garlande ignored him. Up dashed the youngest Baye, grabbing and prodding the ugly slave.

"Well, well, what do we have here? Is this a man? How can anyone be so hideous?"

"Ghastly! I mistook him for a monkey!" Kwala joined in berating the poor wretch.

Poking and shoving him about, soon they descended into kicks and blows. But the slave showed no spine, only groveled and wailed snottily on the ground, playing the clown to please his tormentors.

"Masters, spare me! I'm wretched, born repulsive, better off dead!" As he spoke, he rained slaps upon his own face. Loud smacks echoed, whether genuine or staged none could tell, as he clutched his cheeks crying in pain.

The youths roared with laughter. Sensing their delight, the slave resumed his antics, tumbling and flailing like a jester.

"This fool's completely mad!" Baye guffawed till his sides ached.

"White wolf cub, where'd you dig up this comedian?"

"Hahahaha——!"

Garlande looked on helplessly. As the general's sons, they stood high in the tribe, arrogant and unchecked by all.

Nothing pleased them more than dubbing him "white wolf cub", "wolf pup", and other such tripe. For as long as he could remember, though his own recollections from early childhood were hazy, those names had hounded him constantly.

He knew not what they meant. Elders never used such terms as insults, but only for him specifically, as if it were taboo. Any caught using the phrase would surely earn a slap from the general.

"Stop calling me white wolf cub, you got a slap last time your father heard it, remember?"

"You're just a white wolf pup. Father calls you little white wolf himself." Baye pointed a finger at Garlande in accusation.

Children never lie. Though adults never uttered the name to his face, it's how they referred to him in private. The boys merely parroted their elders.

"Yes, look at that freakish grey hair. No human has such color." Fat Kwala piled on, "You're just a wolf."

"White wolf cub, let my brother play with your slave a while." Galie cut in again.

"I refuse." Garlande spat back. "Speak to me decently and I might have. Nothing but white wolf cub from you lot, it's grating to the ears. I was going to kill him quietly out of sight. But now I might just slay him here rather than let you torment him for sport."

"Kill me here? No, please no!" the slave wailed at the threat.

"You won't lend him over?" Galie jabbed a finger at Garlande's forehead, looking him up and down scornfully. "Where'd you find this man? Captives belong to the tribe, you can't just take as you please."

"While the prince fought the northern soldiers, you just skulked behind to grab this freak? Coward." Kwala piled on.

"This ugly mug fits you well, you're both worthless mutts."

"Say, white wolf pup, you're awfully protective of him. Could he be your father?" Galie sneered provocatively. The younger two hooted at each barb their brother threw.

"Hahaha, so this is the white wolf's father?" said the fat one.

"Little white wolf's finally found his daddy!" echoed the young one.

Garlande swore he didn't fly into rage just because of those words. From the moment he saw these boys, just hearing their voices filled him with loathing.

"Why must you always hound me so? I've never bothered you."

"You say you don't bother us?" Galie pressed up against Garlande's chest, glaring down a full head above him.

"Got nothing better than loitering in our sights? You're the one intruding here. Disgusting mutt, you and your father should piss off far away."

With each word, Galie jabbed a finger at Garlande's face.

The younger boy pushed him back a step. But Galie only staggered slightly, deliberately making space as he rolled up his sleeves poised to brawl.