From now on, Saturday is Into the Wild update day, and Monday is Bitten by Fate update day. (In my time zone, that is). Right, I've written it on my calender and everything.

Chapter 12

It became habit to sit around the campfire in the evening, and it was the one time of the day they could all work together. Some nights, hungers knawed at their bellies; sometimes their throats were parched and dry, but there were fortunatedays as well, when they roasted plump birds over the fireplace and once, a snake.

They were always weary and stressed. Will sat cross legged next to his mentor, stroking Halt's sweaty hair from his forehead. Occassionally, Halt would wake, though he was not often lucid. Antil checked over the wound, then rested against a tree trunk with a small shake of his head.

This was when Lillian questioned Ruch about Oramine customs. She took great interest in their history, most of which she claimed was not in any of the books she had studied. Ruch smiled at her and started telling a legend, usually one about the rivalry between Oramin and Aras.

The others listened in quietly. Sirisa stared out into the forest, the words lapping around her and a dark expression on her face. Antil sighed at parts, reminiscing on the times he'd been a welcome healer in Oramin. Even when it rained and the fire spluttered, they gathered under the shelter to hear the tales.

One legend that stuck in Will's mind was Kohalli the Bloodthirsty, about an Arasi warrior who led a band of fighters through the jungle into Oramin, where they wiped out half the population. Kohalli had marched right through the jungle, a feat no man had done before and the very same jungle Will was in. He'd waded through the river. The air of malice around him was so great that the river monsters dared not attack him, though he'd lost three of his men before he reached Oramin. And when he did reach his target, Kohalli emerged from the water, droplets spraying from him, his sword whirring above his head.

The Oramine had laughed when Will pointed out that there might yet be a way over the river. We're not mighty killers, they scoffed, that only applies to Kohalli. Besides, they had added, the river was far too deep to wade across- Kohalli must have been seven metres tall, at least.

Even so, Will didn't forget Kohalli the Bloodthirsty. As Lillian had said when talking about the painting, legends could be warped over time. Perhaps there had been another way that Kohalli took to reach Oramin. A way that Will might be able to find.

If there was, it hadn't come to him yet. What would Halt do? He asked himself over the long hours. What would Halt do? It kept him up at night, relaying over and over in his head. He didn't know. Five years he had trained under Halt, another two years of being a ranger in his own right, and he still couldn't come up with the answers. He would never be as wise and strong and capable as Halt.

Will wished his former mentor would just wake up, recover, and tell him what to do. More than that, he wished Halt would work his magic and solve everything.

He fingered the ring in his pocket, rotating it. Alyss, his failed proposals; it all seemed a long way away, as if it had happened in another life. Indeed, he felt as if he had become aged into an old man.

"His fever is going down," Antil announced one morning. "And so is the swelling around the wound."

Will grinned. Here was a speck of light in their situation. He felt Halt's hands and forehead, satisfied that they were less clammy and sweaty than they had been previously. It had become Lillian's daily job to collect medicinal herbs (because she couldn't do much else) and they were working well.

Antil had already stitched up the gash, and even Will could see the lips of the wound were starting to heal. There was less pus, though the skin was still a little swollen and yellow-tinged.

"The infection is receding," Antil added. "Try to make him eat these." He handed over some grounded leaves. They looked much the same as all the other leaves he'd been using, to Will.

"What are they?"

"S'ubin. Painkillers. They're strong and I thought him too weak for them earlier." Antil explained.

Will pried Halt's lips apart to sprikle them in. He tipped a little water into the ranger's mouth to force him to swallow. Halt's raggid breathing seemed to ease and appeared to be more peaceful.

"He's going to be alright then?" Will asked.

Antil shrugged. He was not one to give out false hope, and nowdays he rarely held any kind of hope at all. "He's not in the clear yet," he said, then when he saw Will's crestfallen face he added, "but it's looking good."

Will helped change the bandages. He was making a mental to-do list for the day. Antil would, as usual, stay and watch Halt for any change, while tending the fire. Lillian was to assist Antil, collect herbs at his request and help him fix any leaks in the shelter. Sirisa was to forage for berries (she knew which were edible and which were poisonous), nuts and fruit. Ruch would help check the snares and sift water from the swamp. As for Will, he helped where needed and tried to find a way back to Oramin.

This morning, he suddenly didn't feel like doing the old routine. It had kept them alive, yes, but they were not progessing, or if they were, they were doing it slowly.

"Weapons," he said, disrupting the general bustle around the camp as they all woke up. "We need weapons."

Sirisa snorted. "Are you planning to go fighting something? I don't think we're in any condition to start a war."

Ruch shushed her, his bright eyes peering at the young man. "Are you thinking about the tribespeople?" he queried.

"Yes. I'd like a bow in my hands if they show up again. Or at least a pointy stick," Will saw that the Oramine were nodding, even Sirisa. Lillian just looked nervous at the thought of weapons. He had to force himself not to be short tempered with her- couriers carried fine bladed daggers, they were no strangers to weapons, though he had to wonder if anyone had ever given Lillian a dangerous mission.

"It's not just the tribespeople," Will continued. "There are leopards in these parts, aren't there? And other dangerous animals."

"That's true," Ruch nodded. "Though in general, one must watch out for the venom of spiders and snakes more than any big cat. However, I agree. I used to be quite handy with a spear in my younger days and I'm sure we could fashion something of the sort with all these trees around."

"Antil? Sirisa? Lillian?" Will looked at each of them in turn, asking their opinion.

"I've never been much of a fighter," Antil admitted. "Though I suppose this is as good a time as any to learn." He gave a weak smile.

Sirisa grinned, and though it had an edge of malice to it, it did make her prettier. She looked just like the woman who had first greeted them with an act of kindness and friendliness, when the skandians had dropped them off on the Oramin shores. Will smiled ruefully- what he would do for a ship full of Skandians at his disposal, and a great big wolfship too!

"I suppose I could learn to use a spear," Sirisa said. "Although," her dark eyes gleamed, "I can't promise not to use it on foreigners."

It was strange that now she actually threatened them, there seemed less insult when she said 'foreigners'. He wondered if Sirisa had a sense of humour, and if she was brushing the dust off it now.

Lillian stared at her hands. She didn't seem as if she was about to support the idea. Perhaps she felt it would encourage violence, or maybe she took Sirisa's threat more seriously than Will did. They didn't wait for her to make up her mind.

"Alright, let's get started," Will said. "Ruch, do you know what wood is best for a spear?" He would have liked to make a bow, but he didn't have a suitable string with him, and a bow without a string is fairly useless.

"Most Oramine spears are made out of what we call Gisrien trees," Ruch answered. "The wood is very hard and is not easily broken. There will be some around here, they are common."

"Antil, stay here with Halt," Will ordered. "Lillian, fetch him the herbs he needs, and Sirisa, I want you to do your foraging. Ruch and I will quickly check the snares and then get some branches from these Gis-what's-it trees. When you hear my whistle, meet back here."

He was impatient to get started, but he knew better than to throw away the tasks that had to be done. There was nothing in the snares, which made his stomach growl in misery. Ruch had to stop and rest, and Will waited impatiently for the older man to resume work. They quickly found a Gisrien tree after that.

Will twisted and pushed and pulled but he could not snap a branch off. Ruch helped all he could, until his old, weary bones grew tired and he napped against the base of the trunk. Will sank down beside him, his head in his hands. So much for that idea.

They returned to the camp in low spirits. The brief flare of making weapons had cheered them up, if only because they were achieving something; now they all had their hearts in their boots. Lillian finished her task for the day and was curled up, sleeping. Will couldn't help feeling put out that she allowed herself to have an easy time of it; he woke her up and forced her to come with him down to the swamp to drain more fresh water through their jackets, even when she complained about the smell and how disgusting it was.

Sirisa bought back macadamias and mangoes for lunch, and having a full belly brought smiles to their faces again. Will sent Lillian and Ruch with her to bring back more food, while he himself was energised enough to continue his daily explorations. One day soon, he told himself, he'd stumble upon their way home.

He set out north east, walking until his legs ached. The sun was shrouded by trees. The earth was moist, muddy from where the swamp had been- it was starting to drain away. Will was about to concede that there was nothing here of any advantage until he spotted a rock. Just a rock, a plain grey rock.

Away from the river he hadn't seen many rocks. This prompted him to keep going, simply because it was something different in the scenery, and different things was what he was looking for. Sure enough, in a few more steps, he spotted another rock under a layer of dirt.

The further he went, the more there were, until most of the ground was mud splashed rock. Will spotted a spot of black in the grey. He dropped down to one knee, and brushed mud off a black rock. The edges were sharp and he cut his finger, a spot of blood dribbling onto the rock. He didn't curse; he was smiling.

"Obsidian," he said to himself. He tucked it away in his pocket and began scouring the ground for more. Piece by piece, he collected shards of the sharp rock. He used his cloak to wrap it in, bundling it together.

Rain started to fall. His damp curls clung to his neck; rivulets of water tickled down his face. Evening was growing closer and he knew it would be wise to head back to camp before the sun went down, but he kept telling himself: just a bit longer.

He had a substantial horde of the rock before red light filtered through the trees and he knew he couldn't tell himself he had time any longer. Will started back to the camp, pleased with his efforts. Each shard was the size of his palm, except for two: one of those was skinnier and stretched from his wrist to his fingertips; the other was the jackpot, a bar of obsidian thirty centimetres long.

Will swung his cloak over his shoulder like a sack, and hurried back to camp. It was dark before he got there. He heard noises; owls hooting, the howls and hisses of predators. Sometimes, he would glimpse white or yellow, like eyes glowing in the night, and panic. At other times, he feared he was lost; that he would never find his way back to the camp.

He'd travelled in a fairly straight line during the day. It was difficult to do the same in the dark. The trees blocked out most of the moonlight; pitch black took on a whole different meaning for him.

His boot sank into swamplands. Will made his way along the edge of the swamp. He'd walked for hours, at least, he thought that was the case, it was difficult to keep track of time in the dark where the trees hid the moon from him.

He paused to create a mental picture of the forest in the day. Their campsite was up a steep incline, he recalled, and the swamp was at the base of it. So he kept one foot in the mucky swamp, one foot on harder soil, until he felt his right side was higher than his left. Then Will turned to the right and made his way up what seemed to be a steep enough hill.

Will had never been so relieved to see the glow of a campfire between the trees, although it did strike him how obvious it was. Still, he hurried towards it, feeling nimbler with every step, until he was in the campsite and could see the shadowy outline of his hand in the firelight.

He heard the scuff of a footstep, and registered that someone would be on watch. "It's me, it's Will," he whispered quickly, turning around to see Antil emerging from the trees.

"Will?" the healer asked. "We thought you'd been eaten by a leopard, or something."

"I'm alright," Will said. "I found a whole lot of obsidian." He spread out his cloak, picking up a shard and watching the firelight danced over the black surface.

"I assume the plan to make weapons is still in progress then," Antil stated.

"Tommorrow," Will agreed. "Now, did you save me any dinner?" He saw from the guilty look that they hadn't. "Nevermind. How's Halt?"

"He woke up earlier and seemed to be in his right mind. He asked after you," Antil said. "We told him you were searching for a way home. He tried to stay awake, but he drifted off again quickly."

Will was disappointed that he hadn't been there. There wasn't anything to gain by dwelling over it, so he found a spot in the shelter to sleep in until his watch.

…...

When the others woke up, they noticed the obsidian right away. Ruch grinned as he turned a piece over in his hands. Lillian admired the shiny surface, though she failed to understand the importance.

Will took charge over the activities again. He sent them off to do their chores. Halt woke, and the younger ranger told him about the obsidian and how they could make weapons from it. His former mentor was too weak to offer much advice or encouragement, but there was a light of approval in his eyes.

When they had filled the water bottles, reset the snares and gathered nuts, seeds and fruit, Will whistled them all back into camp. He left Antil with Halt, and marched the others to the Gisrien tree, the thirty centimetre piece of obsidian in his hand.

"We'll saw off a branch," he said. He and Ruch climbed the tree and positioned the obsidian between them. They sawed at the branch, with Will pushing while Ruch pulled and vice versa, until it fell to the ground.

Then they chopped off the twigs and smaller branches connected to it; measured and chopped the branch into the right lengths for spear handles, then took the wood back to camp. They handed smaller pieces of obsidian to everyone, and together all five of them began whittling at the wood to make smooth handles.

It was hard work. The rain returned to them, and they retreated to the shelter. They cut themselves on the sharp edge time and time again. After a particularly deep cut, Lillian clutched her bleeding hand and sat watching them.

"What are you doing, jujoan?" Sirisa asked, jujoan being the Oramine word for weakling that she had taken to calling the courier.

"I don't want to do this anymore," Lillian muttered. "I don't care about the stupid weapons anyway."

Sirisa scoffed. "What, a little cut and a foreigner girl gives up?" she held up her own bleeding palms. "That's the attitude of a jujoan!"

"Keep at it, Lillian," Will encouraged. "You'll feel safer when we have spears."

"I don't want to," Lillian sulked. "My hands hurt."

"There's not much point, I suppose," Antil muttered. "I doubt a spear hand made by amatuers will do much good against predators, or tribespeople."

"That depends on the quality of the spearman using it," Ruch retorted sharply.

"We could tire ourselves out doing this for hours on end," Antil continued. "We still might not manage to fasten the points on, or carve the obsidian to the right shape. We may come out of this with nothing save bloody hands."

Sirisa frowned as a thought occurred to her. "I see your point," she admitted. "With cut hands, we'll be no use weilding a spear." She had paused in her work.

Ruch frowned at her. "You sound like a jujoan," he said quietly, throwing her own words back at her.

Sirisa leapt up, dropping the branch and the obsidian to the ground with a clatter. "I am no jujoan!" she screamed. Above them, a flock of birds were startled from there perch. "You take that back!"

"Why should he, when that's what you call me all the time?" Lillian dared to ask; she had been quite offended at being called a weakling all day.

"Because you are!" Sirisa snapped. "I am not!"

"Then sit down and keep working," Ruch said.

"Is it weak to think about consequences?" Antil asked. "Will we really be any good against a threat with injured hands?"

"You are a jujoan too," Ruch growled, losing his temper. "Will went through all that trouble to find obsidian for us and-"

"Will did this, Will did that," Sirisa waved her hands in the air. "When did a foreigner become our leader? Why should we listen to him? Why should we trust him? I'm not doing what he says anymore!" She, Lillian and Antil stopped carving, glaring at each other, and at Ruch too. They refused to work any more.

They were all tired, fearful and in pain from their bleeding hands, and it made them lash out. Will was no exception; he stood and glowered at them all, wishing it was Malcolm instead of Antil, Horace instead of Ruch, Cassandra instead of Sirisa and Alyss instead of Lillian.

"The four you can't work together for five minutes, can you?!" Will thundered over them. Their bickering died down and they all turned to him, ashamed. "Forget it. If you're going to act like children, you can find your own way home. I'm sick of it!"

He stormed over to where Halt lay, and crouched down beside him. He was sure if Halt was healthy, the ranger would give them all a hiding for their quarrels (including Will). As it was, Halt lay still and pale. Lillian and Antil tried to approach him. Will shot them a furious look and they changed course to the campfire. Sirisa leaned against a tree trunk, while Ruch held the half finished weapon in his hands, casting a mournful gaze around the rest of them.

"It's useless," Will whispered to Halt. "I can't get them to work together. How am I supposed to achieve anything, when they're not even willing to try and get along?"

Halt stirred at the sound of his voice, but did not wake. This saddened Will; he would have liked someone to confide in. And some help. He was tired of having to be leader, the one to come up with every idea; in no small part because he wasn't sure he was capable of being the person they needed.

Please forgive my lack of knowledge, medical, about rocks, and otherwise. I'm just making things up.