Arthur pressed down and crawled the last stretch of the bramble tunnel on his stomach carefully to avoid thorns. He climbed a tall tree behind the bramble bushes just enough to look over the flint ledge. He gazed down the grasslands that sloped away below.
Britannia's funeral pocession had just emerged from the great outer gates of the hill fort. Two men carried the flimsy strectcher with the near dead woman's body on it; two guards, who opened a slight opening of the gate closes it as soon as they could and followed.
Omegas never allowed to follow a funeral. Or watched one, or talked about it, even if it was someone of your beloved.
Before Arthur could controls it, tears skidded down his grimy face. He was glad he was alone, with nobody to laugh at him for his wasteful emotion.
Nobody known of her secret spot, here if you couched down a little on the branch, the bramble bush are tall to enough to hide you entirely. Here, Arthur always looked out to the vast grassland beyond, iced garden and forest... Where he could never be and never allowed to go.
However today, he was here to grieve for Britannia. Arthur wiped his tears with his sleeves and stared at the tiny funeral procession as it trooped under the great rock overhang. But if Arthur craned over the edge, he can still see it. Britannia lied so still and lifeless between two marching man and the boys circling the strecher, proud of their job and alert for danger.
For all Arthur known, he was the runt of the litter. While his siblings are all Alphas and awesome warriors, he was born as fierce as Alpha yet, he is an Omega. Britannia had cared for him as a Omega child in the pens, the pens is where all infants went as soon as they're weaned, because the headman declared it was more efficient that way. Arthur had gone there too early, barely walking, because he was abandoned.
The funeral procession had dissappeared from sight, Arthur couldn't see the men tripping the strecher sideways and let Britannia's body slide off and drop to the ground lifelessly, but he knew, he always knew this was happening.
The sheepmen of hill fort always dealth with death this way. Death was inevitable; to survive, you pay no minds to other's death. A death sheep worth something, wool and food. But a death human...is nothing. There was no ceremony, no words, just a body thrown like meat to keep the forest dog and the black cloud of crows satisfied, away from the fort.
The men reappeared into Arthur's sight with empty strecher. the guards jogged ahead of them and opened the great gates quickly. Nobody want to be outside while the crows and wolves came.
Arthur made himself still, made himself wait, and listen. This is the third funeral he watched; he knew what was coming. She stared at the close-set trees that ringed around the grasslands. There was a stirring and thickening at the base of a nearby clumb of firs; then a surging black shape broke free, and streamed into the opening.
A pack of wolves raced towards Britannia. He could hear them now, a rushing, crackling noise as they sped through the undergrowth.
Up above, another bunch of predators are preparing, flock of giant crows, gathering. They always came just after the wolves; they'd wait for the body to be torn open so they could feast too when the wolves are sated.
Arthur felt his stomach squirm; he retched twice. Althorough he forced himself to see thru Britannia's end, hating himself, he clapped his hand over his ears, so he wouldn't hear the snatching and cracking and gorging.
"Goodbye... Mother" Arthur whispered, eyes on the sky "Thank you, Thank you for saving me."
Something weird is happening with the crow. Arthur watched as the crow seperate suddenly, cawing in panic, instead of getting lower and lower, they wheeled upwards, higher away, seperating. Arthur then hear yelping, long, terrified whining and looked down at the grasslands. The wolves, a black, sinewy mass of them, streaming back into the forest. Arthur stared as the dark trees absorbed them, amazed. Why they left a grisly feast? Arthur tried to crane forward but the angle was all wrong and he can't see Britannia's body, all he could hear is silence.
About two hundred sheep people lived at the hill fort. Most of them are already queuing for the end-of-day meal when Arthur rushed into the food hut. He grabbed one of the little scoured wooden troughs from the pile then spotted France infront of him, yellow hair shining. He pushed and wiggled and pleaded his way through until he's directly behind her.
Arthur pressed France's waist hard and make France jolted upright almost dropping his trough.
Francis turned around, big blue eyes wide, pouting. His beauty always made Arthur blink althorough he don't want to admit it. The women had rubbed ash into Francis's hair as a child to dull it. And at the quarterly shearings, they'd shaved her as close as they could. Beauty was a distraction; it didn't help you survive, which Arthur concluded as jealousy he suppose. But for the last half-year, Francis hair had been left to grow. France was trade. He's going to be sixteen soon, he's going soon to be a omega to one of the alpha horsemen, to strengthen their link between two tribes. Arthur couldn't bear to think of it.
"Where have you been?!" Francis whispered. "I had to cover for you! I said one of the pregnant sheep was sick and you were nursing it."
"Thanks, sorry I was up high" Up high was the nearest Arthur could tell Francis of her flint ledge. "Watching Britannia get taken out."
Francis shuddered. "Mio Dio" she muttered. "How could you bear it?"
"...Because I owned it to her. I owned it to her to see her taken. But France, listen. She -"
"Less chattering!" barked the head cook. "Save your breath to eat and work!"
Francis held out her little trough and the scowling cook dolloped a scant ladleful of porridge into it.
The end-of-day meal was always the same. Porridge made from grain gathered on the lower sloped behind the hill fort at the end of the summer, cooked in stock from sheep bones, with scraps of mutton added.
"Tell me tonight" mummured Francis, as Arthur stepped forward with her trough.
The omegas sat together silently at the omaga's end of the young one's benches, pressing their near knees together by the way of communication. Their friend Antonio was sitting the opposite with the alphas. He didn't look across at them. He had a bright new bruise by his left eye, and even at the distance they sat, Arthur can see his hand shaking as he spooned up his food.
Night time was the best time. The need for warmed meant you could sleep close in the omega's hut. all bundled together under old worn sheepskin, little ones just out of the pens cuddle and mothered by the older omegas. Arthur crawled across two solid forms, wincing as one of them elbowed her, hard, and stumbled down alongside with France.
"Did you see Antonio's face?" Francis mourned, softly. "Someone bullied him again."
"I know," said Arthur. "Those bastards, I hate them,"
They'd grown up with Spain, despite all the obstacles and sheepman-creed disaproval, they'd formed a strong friendship with him. But they's watched in sorrow as he'd slowly changed from a bright, funny, defiant child to a boy with forced smile while hunched shoulders with a hunted expression when nobody's there.
"If only he could grow a bit" France said. "I'll give anything to make him bigger"
"I know," Arthur whispered. "So he could stick it back to them."
"And be a footsoldier. Then the alphas will leave him alone,"
Arthur sighed. He knew Antonio cant be a footsoldier, and Francis must know it too, but they never admitted it to each other. Footsoldier, with their short battling lives, were the elite of the hill fort; the alphas formed its fighting core. And they treated other alphas - the other who stayed safe, who shared the omega's work like garbage. Antonio life was set to get worse.
"So..." murmured Francis, quietly, "Britannia's funeral. Tell me."
"It was weird. I watched as they take her out, tipped her off- I saw them jog back with the empty stretcher but i couldn't lean out far enough to see her body."
"Oh, Arthur, your high place. You'll tumble down one day."
"Too bad, it's worth it. Anyway, the wolves came and the crows..."
"Eww. How could you stomach it?"
"...I had to be there, it was the least I could do when I hadn't even said goodbye to her..."
"That wasn't your fault" Francis patted Arthur head lightly like he always to like a brother.
"Then...This weird thing happened... the crows flew away, the wolves run off... they seem full of panic, cawing, yelping anything! they didn't even touch her, I'm sure of it, I didn't hear anything."
"Did you hear anything else?" Francis asked and he shifted away from Arthur a little. Arthur stiffened. He knew what Francis meant - any other predator. There were rumours of montrous unamed creatures prowling outside the forest, bird even bigger and savage than the crows.
"No, nothing," Arthur muttered, fiercely. "If it'd been... I'd heard of it, if she was taken- I'dve heard it."
"It's ok, Arthur" said Francis, and she pulled the sheep fleece around them more snuggly. "Go to sleep now."
"It happened all so fast...her dying... Why didn't they tell me she got sick? I can't bear it that I can't even see her... didn't kiss her goodbye...D'you think she asked for me?" Arthur looked up and grumbled.
Francis, exhausted, was already asleep.