There is no way he could be a murderer, I reasoned bitterly with myself. I saved him from being swept away into the river, after all. Unless that is how he traps his victims, with sweet words and warm eyes, only to brutally end them in the middle of the forest. My free hand clamped onto the strap of my rifle, though I doubt we could effectively fight one another. I was slipping into a weary state, and he was soaked to the bone, hobbling and stumbling from a loose rock.
Through the trees, I spotted a wall of wooden stakes posing as a fence. The rugged ground beneath us morphed into flatter dirt, trampled by many feet, leading up to a large gap in the fence. Oh no. He is taking me to an entire forest village full of strange cultists that are going to sacrifice me on a stone slab.
I do not have such a colorful imagination...most of the time. Our pace slowed as we passed the fence, my eyes jumping around the opening for any hint of danger. There was no statues or sacrificial planks around, but there were a few small tents littering the ground, pointing to the direction of the large stone fire pit. Some men dressed like my captor were hunched over it, poking at the tent of sticks and adding more flammable materials to the pile.
My first guess was that I just wandered into a military camp, but they usually were set up for easy pitching, so everything could be quickly taken down in a few moments notice. These men looked as if they were here for a notable set of time, and they certainly do not carry themselves like members of the army, camping or not.
There were no more than fifteen men, carrying more baskets and adding their catches to the growing collection of food near the pit. Some stopped to laugh and make small talk, and I did not recognize anything in my language. No guards stood vigilantly, although there was someone propped against the single wall of fencing, which was built as if it were abandoned mid-project, but he was slouching, asleep.
I felt my hand be squeezed, and I looked over to see my captor staring up at me intensely. He tipped his head and said something, questioning. Is he asking me about the camp? I glanced around once more, and a few of the men stopped and stared, looking curious and confused. I gave off a few nods. "It is quaint."
He let out a happy exclamation, pulling me up to the center He set the basket of tomatoes by the pit. The pair before the rocks looked up and widened their eyes. They simultaneously cried out in fright and shrunk away, grabbing a hold of one another for support. The pair spewed out what sounded like pleas and begging. I raised a hand and touched my own face, wondering if that was what frightened them.
The one latched onto my arm lifted his unoccupied hand and spoke to them, gesturing to me and vigorously nodding. I grimaced, eying the men creeping closer and staring as if I were some sort of artifact in a museum. The mass shifted as a snappy voice lashed out, and one who looked like my captor shoved his way to the front.
He gawked at me, looking unbearably angry and horrified at the same time as his gaze dropped to our linked hands. Whatever he was spitting out sounded much more lovely than the expression he had on his face as he marched around the pit, tripping and spilling another bucket of tomatoes. Someone cried out at the bruised food, and he spat some sort of curse from his slip up. I grabbed the strap to my gun again, and he grabbed my captor's other hand, shouting more foreign words.
The man holding my hand shook his head and whined in return. He took back his hand from his look alike and threw it around in a wide gesture. He pinched the blanket draped over his shoulders, and the surrounding men gasped and exclaimed in wonder, their eyes jumping to mine. It was hard to not want to hide from all their stares.
"See!" My captor nodded and looked up again. See? Sea? Oh, si, as in yes in Spanish, which they certainly were not speaking, as I would have understood at least some of that. I uncertainly nodded, and he brightened even more. I glanced away from the warming sight to the others shrugging and performing more of the weird gestures.
The look alike spat something, stomping his foot on the ground and violently whipping his head side-to-side. He jabbed a finger in my direction before swishing a hand over his head, making an obscene sign. My captor gasped and cried out in retaliation.
One of the men stepped toward the look alike, putting a hand over his shoulder, pointing to the basket he knocked over. The look alike curled his lip in distaste and narrowed his eyes in my direction before turning to the pit. My captor sighed and murmured to him in saddened tones before giving my arm a tug.
He ushered me over to the left side, and I followed, unsure what else to do. A large white tent took up this side of the camp, and someone with a bloody bandage around their hand was seated on a bench just outside the entrance. As we neared, I smelled the distinct scent of fermented wine emitting from the cup he was drinking.
My captor raised a hand and greeted the man on the bench, who looked up, staring at me in surprise. Another man peeked out of the tent and beckoned the injured one inside. We sat on the seat and I slid my bag off by my feet, sighing and rolling my shoulders from the lost of weight.
They like me? At least they tolerate me, since they did not clump together and chase me out of their camp, or worse, grab me and throw me into the fire pit for the evening meal they were preparing. Unless that was to come, I inferred that I was welcomed...for the most part. I wonder if that rude man was related to the one ruffling his hair dry against the blanket.
He pulled the blanket from his head, and fidgeted with the buttons of his jacket. I looked away to give him some privacy as he peeled it from his dampened skin, exclaiming in relief and shaking it in the air. The man turned to me after laying on the bench space beside him to dry and tugged on my coat.
"I am sorry, I do not understand," I said as he pulled on the sleeve again. He kept repeating a few words, and huffed when I only acknowledged him with a confused look. He twisted to the side, grabbing a stick propped against the bench, most likely a cheap crutch.
Pressing the tip to the dirt, he drew a circle and a curl emerging from its side. Two dots and a half circle posed as a face. He pointed to himself and said something light.
I nodded. So he was drawing himself. He scratched the stick across the ground, forming an arrow to the face and wrote above the lines. He turned and stared expectantly. I gulped and tried not to butcher the name. "F-Fell-each-eahno?"
With a giggle he said "Feliciano" much more gracefully than I had.
"Erm, yes, Feliciano," I repeated. He laughed again, and I felt the tips of my ears grow hot. He held the stick out, giving it a little shake. I stared at it for a long moment before understanding what he wanted.
I grasped the branch and attempted to draw a duplicate circle, but it came out as an oval. I stuck two eyes and decided that was sufficient before drawing an arrow to my head, writing my own name.
"Luhd-weg," Feliciano tried.
"Ludwig."
"Ludvig?" He took the stick and changed the W in my name to a V. Lowering the point to my eyes, he scratched two thick lines over them - angry eyebrows. Then Feliciano drew a downward arc for a frown, proceeding to laugh as if proud of what he done. I felt my face match the one in the dirt.
The curtain to the tent swished, and someone stumbled out of the tent. The now patched up man trampled over the faces, and I now had a boot imprint for a nose. Feliciano shot up and grabbed the sides of his head with a distressed wail. The man spun around with wide eyes and glanced down. He raised his shoulders and scratched his cheek, apologetic, before turning away.
The nurse popped out of the tent and called out to the next patient. Feliciano spun around and nodded, saying something back to him. He grabbed my arm, ushering me off the bench. I must have looked as if Feliciano dragged me face down all the way across the forest, since the nurse gasped and moved his arms in gusto, motioning to an unoccupied cot, which was just a metal frame with a blanket over it.
I had no choice but to sit with two sets of hands pushing me onto the 'bed,' letting out an embarrassed noise of relief once I was off my feet. They exchanged looks before the nurse started to rattle in worried tones, but Feliciano swished his hand, shaking his head and pointing to his mouth.
The physician nodded, giving me a pitiful look and patted Feliciano's back, gesturing to the bed. Feliciano started to say something else before the other man cut him off and pushed him to the cot. I shifted over a little to accommodate Feliciano, who let off another sneeze.
I reached down and untied my boots, sighing when I kicked them off, along with my soaked socks. Feliciano was having more trouble with the knots that were supposed to be shoe ties and called for the nurse, pointing to the mess. The nurse knelt down and picked at the knots, but after a while of struggling, he looked up at Feliciano and shook his head, unable to undo them as well.
Feliciano cried out in dismay at the boots trapped on his legs and shook them as if that would get them off. "Hey, hey, stop kicking!" I told him, and grabbed the one closest to me. He jumped and grinned when he realized I was untying them with ease. I gave the nurse a bewildered look. He seemed about middle age, and both of them were incapable of handling shoe laces. I wondered how he got them tied in the first place.
The nurse dug in a chest on the furthest side of the tent and pulled out a bundle of cloths. He held them up to Feliciano, saying more strange words, and Feliciano leaped up from the bed, happily exclaiming and nodding. He started to attack the belt around his waist, and the nurse vigorously shook his head before his pants came off, shoving the clothes to his chest and pointing to the tent opening. Feliciano giggled and ducked out of the tent.
The medical man turned to me and spoke in soothing tones, but I think he was just talking to comfort me instead of getting answers. He ducked a cloth into a bucket of water near the cot and squeezed it, and pressed it to my sore feet. I unclenched my jaw and sighed from the pleasant feeling to my blisters. "Thank you," I said, and the nurse looked at me with a vaguely confused expression.
"Uh, gracias?" I tried, and he laughed at me. The nurse stood up, dropping the cloth into the bucket and ducking out of the tent, leaving me alone. The temptation to lie down and close my eyes was almost irresistible, but if I did not find something to eat, I would wake up to find that my stomach clawed itself from my abdomen in the search of food.
I set my feet onto the cool ground and grunted as I rose from the bed, once again standing on weak legs. I neared the entrance, but gasped and backed away as someone on the other side flipped it open. Feliciano slipped inside, holding two metal dishes of steaming food. My eyes would not look anywhere else.
"Ciao, Ludwig," he said.
Chow? Is that code name for meal time? The scent of tomato sauce kicked me, and a flood pooled in my mouth. "Is...is that for me?"
Feliciano tipped his head and gave one a little shake. I took this as an invite to have one, and when I reached for it, he smiled and allowed me to do so. There was even a small complimentary fork laying beside the noodles. I turned away so he could not see me ungraciously shoving the pasta in mouth. I paused, stiff for a moment, wondering if it was really possible to make something this delicious.
He settled on the bed, and I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him pat the space next to him. He repeated something, and beckoned to rest beside him. Here, Ludwig. Come here! Be a good boy, and we will give you pasta! I gulped the clump I was chewing and gave my mouth a quick wipe in case there was sauce all over my face before plopping onto the blanket.
Although he talked like the nurse did, I replied this time with grunts and by bobbing my head, clearing my platter of any noodles. Feliciano put a hand on my shoulder and asked another question, pointing to the empty container. He smiled and patted his stomach and made rubbing motions.
Is the food good? I nodded so vigorously, I hurt the back of my neck. Feliciano gasped and his expression lightened up a considerable amount. That must have been extremely touching. Odd. He flapped a hand and giggled before taking my empty platter. He glanced over his shoulder when he stood up and walked to the exit, and waved, saying a slur of words and my name before ducking out of the tent.
Dusk peeked inside before the flap closed, and I listened to the light noises of fellow men outside laughing and merry making over their collective meal. I had made it to safety before the darkness came.
A.N.- Feliciano...Feliciano. How does one pronounce that name? Sometimes, I say "Fuh-lease-ee-ah-no," and other times, I call him "Fuh-leech-ee-ah-no!" Perhaps I could just call him "Pasta eater #1..."