Hello, everybody! Here's the second chapter of this fic. 3

I'm so grateful to everyone who commented on the first chapter, and how many of you seemed excited about the direction it was going. I'm eager to share the rest of it with you, and I really appreciate every single one of you. w

As I'm sure some of you are aware, I've been stuck in my apartment waiting for a result to a COVID-19 test. I've been exhausted the past week and haven't really been able to drag myself out of bed, hence the huge gap between these chapters. I'm feeling a wee bit better at the moment, so here I am posting the chapter while I have the energy!

Enjoy the chapter!


CHAPTER TWO


The early morning forest came alive with the sound of birdsong.

Nezumi crouched in one of the large tree branches, concealed from view by the thick bushel of emerald leaves. He'd trekked out to the hunting spot well before the sun began to peek above the horizon, painting the sky with splashes of salmon pink and gold. The hunters from the foreign village on the outskirts of the forest didn't come out at this time of day—they preferred to hunt at midday and well into the night, foolishly believing it would provide them with the best catch.

Nezumi shifted and peered out at the clearing. His vantage point from the crook of the large tree branch gave him a perfect view of anything that wandered within range of his bow and arrows.

With winter fast approaching, Nezumi had limited time to prepare for another cold season. The Mao village, nestled deep within the heart of the forest and well-hidden from the strange men and women thriving from overseas, had already gathered up their crops and begun work to dehydrate and keep them fresh for when the temperatures dropped.

The outsider village―Kronos, Nezumi had been told by the Maoese elders—and its inhabitants didn't risk wandering into the heart of the forest, through the patches where the sunlight didn't reach. Too frightened of creatures that lurked in the shadows, they hadn't risked hunting through the dense shadows, and therefore had never stumbled upon the location of the Mao village.

The Mao village sat on the other side of the shadowed areas, perfectly situated beneath the sunlight and surrounded by fresh, life-giving water. Walled on all four sides by thick tree trunks and tall bushes, the Mao tribe had lived for centuries without fear of raids.

The arrival of the bizarre men and women from across the ocean had been a bit of a cause for concern, but their superstitions erased any threat they might have caused. The villagers of Kronos feared the mystery of the Mao, so much so that they'd created their own rumors about what creatures thrived in the heart of the forests.

Nezumi flexed his fingers; his knuckles ached from clenching around his bow, his sharp eyes seeking a flicker of movement in the clearing.

There were strips of bark missing from the tree trunks, a telltale sign of deer markings. The forests swelled with life—fat does and their fawns danced through the thick branches, and large-horned bucks strutted through the fields in search of food.

Nezumi shivered as a chill danced down his spine. The winter winds steadily approached, and the frost was not far behind.

He shoved aside the dread that pooled in his stomach at the inevitable arrival of winter and focused on the task at hand. When the heavy snow coated the land, he'd need to spend much of his time indoors. He'd gone through plenty of winters—eighteen, to be precise—and he knew that, in order to thrive, he'd have to catch and dry enough meat to start him off well.

His morning trek through the darkness as the sun began to rise had given him a clear indication that today's hunt would prove fruitful. The wail of birds alerted him to the presence of deer not too far away. Nezumi had muttered a brief prayer to the old gods before he'd slung his bow over his shoulder and set off, knowing that it might prove useless but continuing the practice regardless.

Since childhood, Nezumi had no faith that the old gods cared for him and his tribe. They'd blessed the Mao with a plentiful spot to raise their village, to birth offspring and thrive well into the generations, but nothing more. The old gods removed themselves from the lives of the Mao as quickly as they'd entered it, and yet the elders believed in offering them prayers and sacrifices to keep the peace.

The old gods might have abandoned them, but it was possible they still expected worship.

Nezumi shut his eyes and breathed in the morning frost. A delicate layer of white had settled on the edge of the brilliant leaves; it would vanish once the sun rose to the middle of the sky, casting its brilliant, buttery rays on the world below. A sign that winter loomed on the horizon, but that there was still time to evade the wrath of its frozen grasp.

He anticipated that the villagers of Kronos would soon stop hunting in the forests, and that would leave the best of the hunt for the Mao. Nezumi was privy to the tales the foreign villagers told about his tribe: the Mao were spiritual folk who shifted into mist and snatched away unsuspecting children from their beds. He didn't mind. If the rumors kept them away from his home, then Nezumi didn't care if he was painted as some kind of monster.

Nezumi exhaled, watching his breath swirl in tiny spindrifts above his head. From his vantage point in the trees, the deer wouldn't spot him unless he made noise. Nezumi kept himself as quiet as a mouse, his movements ghost-like and gentle as he eased himself into a more comfortable position to wait. He had the whole day to sit here and wait for a kill to foolishly cross into his path.

Something creaked in the distance—the sound of a twig snapping beneath a foot—and Nezumi shot to attention.

He slowly reached for an arrow, instinct instructing him to wait and survey the prey as it approached. He brushed the tips of his fingers against the feathers of the arrow, the shafts carved with his own two hands and the stone heads purchased from a woman in the Mao village who foolishly traded a handful of furs for enough arrows to fell a small army.

The bushes parted as the deer stepped into view—

Wait.

No.

Not a deer.

Nezumi reeled as he watched a young man gently wander through the clearing. A long, dark brown cloak clung to his shoulders, drifting behind him in the gentle gusts of wind. He was short, not as tall as the average men of the Mao tribe, and thin as a bone. Not unhealthily so, but enough for it to be striking.

Nezumi ducked behind the emerald leaves and peered through the gaps. Who the hell was this kid, and why was he out so early?

He narrowed his eyes and watched the young man sink down in the center of the field. His cloak pooled around him, obscuring most of his body from view. Nezumi didn't like not being able to get a solid look at him. This... stranger had ventured far from the security of Kronos, and he couldn't have come from the Mao tribe. Nezumi knew every single man, woman, and child that lived within the protective walls of the Mao village. This boy was someone entirely different—a fundamental other whose mere presence both terrified Nezumi and intrigued him.

Nezumi's fingers froze on his arrows, but he didn't withdraw them. He didn't fancy wasting his time killing someone who didn't deserve it, but if this stranger proved himself to be a threat, it wouldn't take but a moment to kill him. An arrow to the back of the skull would drop him in an instant; Nezumi had a clear shot at him from his spot in the tree branches.

He exhaled, softly, and watched.

The young man began humming a quiet tune to himself, an old melody Nezumi didn't recognize. He had a small pouch draped across his shoulder; Nezumi could see it as the young man shoved his cloak aside to undo the flap. The stitching looked crude and amateur, but effective enough.

As he hummed, the young man began to gather a few small pebbles from the ground. He reached out and plucked tiny leaves, flowers, and patches of moss, too, setting them gently inside the protection of the pouch.

He's gathering herbs. Nezumi watched the young man's fingers swiftly pluck the materials from the earth, smoothing out the soil with his fingertips. Not his first time coming this far into the forest, Nezumi realized, a chill dancing down his spine. The speed at which the young man moved as he gathered the materials made it painfully clear that he'd been out in these parts of the forest before, and he knew damn well what he was looking for.

Herb gathering was nothing new. Nezumi himself had done it on more than a few occasions, though he preferred to spend his time doing more productive things. Any herbs he needed could be purchased from folks in his village who dedicated themselves to the pursuit of medicinal herbs and spices. It shouldn't have unsettled him that this young man had come out to gather materials.

Except... it did.

The herbs and stones the young man harvested were easily accessible on the ridge of Kronos. To venture so far out of the way—approaching the thick shadows and the tales of monsters that roamed within the heart of the forest—meant the young man didn't want to be spotted gathering these herbs.

Interesting.


To Be Continued...