Chapter 6

I finally arrive at the village of Nahann. The sun in the sky tells me it’s around mid-morning, too early to venture closer and scan the town. Since my last encounter with a human village, I’ve decided it’s better to be exceptionally cautious. Another encounter like that could mean permanent imprisonment or death. There is no guarantee another villager will aid my escape.

Waiting until dusk gives me ample coverage in the shadows to learn the layout of the town. Then, I can narrow down the location with the best pickings.

The idea of stealing provisions bothers me more than I care to admit. However, I can’t afford to let my conscience win. If I do, I won’t survive. I ran out of food two days ago, and my body is already weak from the trek here. The journey was only supposed to take a couple days, but I grossly underestimated the strain it would have on me. I figured the strength I gained in the cave would carry me longer than it did, and that miscalculation set me back.

Hunting proved to be highly unsuccessful. I learned the hard way that target practice is pointless with live prey. Most shots had missed, and those that did connect never slowed the creatures down enough to catch. Yesterday, I finally came to the hard decision to steal food from the town I was nearing. I had to be careful. There would be no explaining myself out of that mess if they caught me.

I stash my supplies in a nearby tree, making sure they remain high in the tree out of sight. I slip my bow and quiver over my shoulder and tiptoe to the edge of town. Once there, I hide myself in the shadows of a giant dol tree. I crouch down, waiting. This town looks like the last one, with at least one noticeable difference. Unlike the well-kept homes of the last village, the dwellings here are dilapidated and near ruin. Boards are missing from the walls and roofs, almost as if they snapped in the wind. The villagers’ attire is in the same state as their homes: dirty and worn. The faces of these people are haggard and old.

Most surprising of all, though, is the state of the plaza and town hall. The town hall represents wealth and power for the entire village. So much care and attention goes into the upkeep of the center piece of each town. Yet, in this town, it looks like the villagers give no attention to their hall and plaza. The stones in the plaza are broken and uneven, like a mazir—a giant creature with eight legs—swept through the ground and upended the tiles in a flurry. The hall itself is in much the same condition as the surrounding dwellings, broken and in disarray.

As I survey the town, I second guess my decision to steal from them. The longer I look, it becomes increasingly obvious this village is struggling with their finances and likely has been for years. Yet I can’t allow myself to be influenced by their circumstances. I need food.

I won’t get to the nearest village for at least a week, and I need something to tide me over until I find other means to support myself. I grudgingly make the decision to steal—I can’t allow myself to sway. Besides from the looks of it, the fields are faring well. A handful of townspeople are working , and their baskets are full.

Maybe the state of their town isn’t a good indication of their wares or livelihood. Coin comes from the market, not the village production of goods. Perhaps this town trades within itself rather than risking outside barter. If that’s the case, then food shouldn’t be a problem here.

I’ll steal a small amount today and come back for more later. They might not even notice anything is missing. I’m only going to take what I need and nothing more.

Dusk arrives fairly quickly and before I know it, it’s time to make my move. I had most of the day to ponder and plan. I deliberated over everything again and again while nerves and guilt ate away at me. Despite what I told myself, nothing could shave off the guilt wedging its way into my stomach. Telling yourself theft is necessary, and actually believing it, are two very different things. 

I hastily tuck my shirt in my pants and push off from behind the tree. Keeping my steps light and my breathing muted, I crouch low as I move through the shadows to a nearby field. My eyes dart everywhere in search of any townsperson still lingering outside. Although I watched them all leave for home, I’m paranoid.

I crouch near the outer edge of the field and pull out the cloth in my pocket. My heart pounds in my chest and the blood rushes in my ears. After a quick glance around the field, I reach for the latch to the wooden crate. All day I watched the villagers empty their full baskets of food into this crate. My best guess is that they are storing the produce in this container, until the entire field has been cleared.

Luckily, the latch isn’t secured with a chain or lock. Instead, a metal pin is in place and just needs to be slid out before opening. As I begin to pull, my body tenses. My palms are sweaty and I bite my lower lip. Please don’t catch me.

After what feels like hours, I remove the pin and carefully lift the top of the crate. I cringe at the small squeak from the hinges attached to the back, and freeze, ensuring I remain alone in the darkness. My eyes dart back and forth, but I see no movements and continue my mission.

After a moment of hesitation, I decide to hold the top rather than fold it all the way back. I need to get away quickly, and reaching for the top would only slow me down. I peek at the choices and grab some vegetables—two veltos, three small grans, and one large arb. After wrapping them in cloth, I stuff them down my shirt and close the top of the crate.

Once the pin back in place, I peer around me once more. The coast remains clear and I set off for the tree line. Hearing and seeing nothing, I jog back to my hiding spot with my food. My theft went unnoticed—for tonight.

Before arriving at the borders of the village earlier this morning, I searched the area for a good resting place for the next few days. My chosen spot was far enough from the village that if someone were to come looking, I’d have ample time to clear out.

My camp was a small area surrounded by large dol trees at the front. At the back was a cliff face with a small dip in the ground for me to climb in and sleep. The crevice extends along the cliff face for quite a distance before emptying into a small stream. It’s perfect to hid my tracks.

I set my pack against the cliff and pull out the blanket. I remove the cloth of food from my shirt and empty the contents into the pack. Once that’s done, I slip the bow and quiver from my back and stand them next to the pack. Wrapped in the blanket, I curl up against my pack and try to will my mind to rest.

All I can think about is the guilt of stealing and how angry I am at myself for it. Why has my life turned to this? I need the food but it’s still not right. My parents would be so disappointed in me. That thought crushes me and pushes the air from my lungs in a rush. Tears well in my eyes and I squeeze them shut. Finally, I push the tears and negative thoughts away.

I eventually drift off with only the sounds of the swaying trees to lull me to sleep.