previously: we flashbacked to Brann, one of the villagers, the morning of the attack on the village.
and now: we are back with Martin and the party of hunters from a local village as they track a bear-like beast into the Wilds..
Deeper into the Wilds
“Don’t mind him,” a voice came to Martin.
A voice that was muted by distance until his awareness snapped back into his physical being. Then it became clear, even familiar, and Martin turned to see Tack standing at his side.
"Fitcher meant no offense earlier," he was saying.
Martin glanced over his shoulder to see Fitcher, crouched down by the stream. Renkle had laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, and they were quietly talking. If Martin had wished, he could cast his awareness in their direction and eavesdrop on their conversation. But he would not bring himself to intrude on a private moment between friends.
Unless it's necessary, he thought.
"He's the best archer in the village, " Tack continued.
Martin only half listened as he glanced around to find the other members of their party. Zilla sat against a tree, half asleep, while ever-vigilant Brann stood in the middle of them all, keeping an eye on their surroundings.
"It was his brother … " Tack's voice trailed off, lost in the sounds of the forest.
That detail caught Martin's attention. He never saw the person who had been attacked by the creature, even though he had been brought back to the monastery and treated by its healers. The members of their party avoided speaking of him, as if he were a ghost haunting their nightmares, and his name had never been mentioned. Martin had not made his connection to Fitcher until now.
That bit of knowledge answered several questions gnawing at Martin.
Why was Task so concerned about his opinion of Fitcher?
Why didn’t Renkle ever leave his side?
And why was Fitcher a member of their hunting party?
Unlike the rest of the villagers, he and Zilla were not part of the local watch, but at least Zilla had her role as tracker.
Martin turned his focus on Tack and said, "No offense was taken."
"Just didn't want you turning him into a toad," Tack said, grinning.
Martin felt a smile creeping across his lips. Tack had the ability to lighten the mood of any given situation. A knack Martin envied.
"What about a frog?" Martin asked, without a trace of emotion in his voice.
Tack paused whatever he was about to say next. Then he gave Martin a friendly slap on the back and laughed.
"You're a tough one," Tack said. "Not many chinks in that armor of yours."
Was that a compliment? Martin wondered.
He wasn't sure how to take Tack's comment, but he didn't have time to give it much thought. That's when Brann decided the group had dawdled long enough.
"Let's get moving," he called out. "We've a few more hours of daylight."
Despite a few grumbles, everyone was back on the trail within moments. Zilla took the lead with Brann hovering near. Martin followed them, and Tack was just steps behind him. Fitcher and Renkle brought up the rear, where they would bother Brann the least, with their footfalls painfully loud as they pushed through the underbrush.
The party had not gone far when Tack said, “None of us have spent much time with a member of The Arm, and you're . . . you're just…"
“… just an acolyte,” Martin answered for him.
“That ain’t entirely it,” Tack said. “I don’t get why The Arm is bothering with our troubles.”
I’ve wondered that, too, Martin thought.
“The bear strayed into our village,” Tack explained. "Likely was hungry, and Carpin just happened to get in its way. Nothing more."
Martin wished it were that simple. He took a few steps, ducking under a tree branch, before replying.
“Perhaps the preceptor thought this would be a good training mission for someone as young as I."
Tack audibly scoffed, and that ended their conversation—at least for now—as he slackened his pace to join Renkle and Fitcher.
Did I offend him? Martin wondered. Or was he digging for his own answers?
Martin wasn't sure whether any of that should matter to him. He had been given a task: track down the creature, and his success was all the preceptor would care about.
Near sunset, Brann called a halt in a small clearing where they would camp for the night. He whispered a few questions to Zilla, and this time, Martin did not hesitate. He cast his awareness toward them.
"… tracks are only a couple hours old," Zilla was saying.
"And are you sure they're heading toward the Waste?" Brann asked.
"Straight as an arrow …"
Just then, Martin felt Task's presence at his side again, and he withdrew his awareness.
"Care to help gather some wood?" he asked. "Air has an odd chill to it this far into the Wild."
While Brann hovered near Zilla and Renkle stayed close to Fitcher, Martin wondered, Was Tack assigned to keep an eye on me?
He knew members of their party were curious about him. What they knew about The Arm likely bordered on superstition. Members of his sect were rumored to be capable of many things. But he was beginning to believe Tack’s attention was more than simple curiosity.
"Sure," Martin said with a nod.
He did appreciate that Tack never considered his missing arm when asking him for help. And Martin had reasons for gathering wood that went beyond the promise of a comforting fire. As he gathered fallen sticks, he would wave his half arm toward a tree. If any of his companions had been watching close, they might have noticed a small glimmer form where his right arm should have been. It coalesced into the shape of the bird that Martin had been named after and would flutter up into the branches of the tree to find a perch.
Martin would drop off the sticks he had gathered near where Renkle was building a fire, and then head in another direction to look for more. He would cast another ward before returning with another bundle of sticks.
In this way, Martin worked his way around the clearing's perimeter. The protective wards he placed would let him know if anything approached their camp in the middle of the night.
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Nice to see Martin making friends and using some of his unusual powers.
An enjoyable chapter.