Eris could feel it in his veins again, the river stirring, restless, whispering through his blood. And behind him, unseen, jealousy sharpened itself into something far more dangerous.
[The Hard Choice]
The rain had thickened since midday, drumming on the rocks and soaking through cloaks. The gorge floor ran slick, every step a gamble between mud and jagged stone.
The beast lay a few feet from the cave mouth, a massive, lifeless monument to the ferocity of the fight. The hunting party, their adrenaline still buzzing, stood over it in a state of stunned exhaustion. Barik, his face streaked with mud and blood, knelt by a dripping stone wall, using a corner of his worn tunic to wipe the grime from his eyes. One by one, his men did the same, their shoulders slumped under the heavy weight of their ordeal. Behind him, the wind carried a distant rumble — not thunder, not yet, but something rolling down from the blackening peaks, it spoke of a storm crouching just beyond the horizon.
Barik's gaze swept over his men. He watched Cugat, his second-in-command, carefully pour precious water from his canteen over a shallow cut on his arm. Tonovan, severely wounded, lay unconscious. Renzo, his mangled foot now with a makeshift splint, let out a pained hiss as he tried to shift his weight. His cousin, Joeren, appeared unharmed, but his wide, vacant eyes suggested his mind was still lost to the beast's teeth and claws. They were still a long, treacherous trek from home.
He looked from the exhausted faces of his team to the imposing bulk of the beast, and then to the grim, weeping sky. Seven had come out; only five remained on their feet. Though he had tried to keep Dara, his tracker, from the front line, the fight had been too close. She, too, bore a minor wound. The ordeal had been too much, and the cost was laid bare before them.
The beast's carcass, a massive prize, lay at their feet. It wasn't a frightful beast anymore in his eyes, but rather a bounty of meat that would satisfy the hunger in Haven. Their stock was fast diminishing. This bounty could feed our people for a week, no, probably more, Barik was thinking, his mind raced, calculating the risks. The time spent butchering the carcass would leave them exposed to the full force of the coming storm. The weight would slow them down.
Barik muttered, not loud, but every one could hear, "If we're lucky, we could beat it home. If not . . ." storms on the high track did not forgive the slow. He did not utter the thought, but, in silence, they understood.
Joeren's voice broke the hush, restless and eager. "I'll take the beast's head back ahead of you," he offered, his eyes fixed on the beast's jagged jaw. "The elders will want proof. And . . ." he flashed a quick, crafty smile ". . . I can get help sent your way for the rest . . . the wounded," he said the latter as an afterthought.
The suggestion hung in the damp air. Sensible enough—one could even call it generous. But the gleam in his eyes told another story. He wanted the first step through the gate, the first to stand before the hearth with the prize. Let them see him as the one who brought it down.
Barik didn't need to hear more. He knew him well enough to read the ambition in his eyes, the desire for glory that outweighed all common sense. He shook his head, a gesture of finality.
"Not you," Barik said, his voice flat. "You'd never make it past the ridges alone." He thought this kid is really thick-skinned.
He faced the rest of his men, his expression grim. "We'll all go. We'll move as one." He traced a deep scar on his cheek, a nervous habit from an old battle.
Each word felt like a slap on Joeren's face when Barik said, It's not him. He couldn't refute Barik. He was the leader, while he was only a novice who was allowed to join the team because of his uncle, just a trainee in Barik's scrutinizing look.
"Then, let us carry some meat . . ."
"No." Dara's voice cut in. She was binding a gash on her thigh, hands slick with blood. "Dragging fresh kill through the wild? We'd be ringing the dinner bell for every set of teeth out there. Wolves, bears . . . worse."
Barik's jaw flexed. At first, he also thought hauling the meat seemed the smart choice; to feed the people, honor the kill, but Dara's words hardened into truth in his mind. The desire to alleviate the tribe's hunger had almost made him impetuous. The scent of the blood and fresh meat would pull predators from leagues away, and they were already limping.
Shaking his head in frustration and sighing, he didn't want to leave it, and yet, they couldn't take it. Carrying any part of it, even small pieces, wouldn't be smart —too dangerous, a bait to attract ferocious animals prowling in the land.
"We're not taking the head, not even a piece of meat," he replied, turning back to Joeren, his voice firm. "We'll leave it whole."
He pointed to a distinct fissure in the rock. "Mark this cave," he ordered. "The carcass stays. When the storm abates and the ground is safe, we will haul it back."
Joeren scowled but held his tongue. Not openly.
Inwardly, the words burned: I'll have the elders' recognition. You can't stop me. You just wait, Scar... and you, River-boy. I'll see you both fall when this is over.
A crooked grin twisted his face as he muttered under his breath, the sound half laughter, half madness, before he turned and stalked away.
* * *
[The Unspoken Choice]
The rain outside was a cold, stinging sheet. The wind funneled through the gorge, low and mournful, carrying flecks of grit that stung the eyes. Amidst this, the cave was quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the stone. Barik knelt beside the wounded, pressing a torn strip of cloth against a deep gash on Renzo's mangled foot. The wound was cold and unyielding--a bad sign.
Dara stood at the cave mouth, watching, sensing for any threat that may come. The fight with the glass-back earlier was too noticeable, and the roaring too loud. Her gaze turned on the turbulent sky. "The rain is getting stronger," her voice a low murmur. If we wait, the storm will trap us here. But the wounded... She didn't have to finish the thought. The damp, infected air would fester their injuries; a slow, agonizing death was a very real possibility.
Barik looked at Renzo's pale face, then at Tonovan, whose breathing was shallow and uneven. They were already propped and padded into crude saddles. He knew what he had to do. "We can't wait. A clean break now, even with the rain, is better than being stranded here when the infection sets in. We'll move, but carefully."
"Cugat, the storm might come soon and last longer this time. We have to move without delay." Barik commanded, his voice raw with urgency. "Tell the men to clean up fast. We don't want the wolves following the scent of this blood. We depart as soon as we're ready. Dara will guide us back—she knows the fastest way."
Cugat, who rarely spoke unless necessary, interjected with a grim look. "We can't move the wounded. Renzo and Tonovan... even if we drag them, their bodies couldn't take it."
Barik's gaze fell on the injured men, then on the gray, weeping sky. He knew Cugat was right. They wouldn't last long, not with the kind of rain and the perilous journey back to Haven. He had to make a choice, and it wouldn't be an easy one. He couldn't stay either; he knew his leadership was needed to get the rest of the team home.
From the shadows, Eris spoke up. "Kaylah and I will stay. We can hold the cave if anything comes." His tone was quiet but firm. "We'll wait for you to get us back," his voice unwavering. Kaylah gave a small, resolute nod, her knuckles white around her weapon. She felt Eris' unease, the unspoken weight of his decision.
Eris had another reason for staying; something deep inside the cave was calling to him, a silent, beckoning voice that he couldn't ignore.
Barik weighed the options; the risk of leaving the wounded against the danger of the journey. He knew Eris and Kaylah were not hurt by the beast, but he looked at them again to reassess his earlier evaluation: maybe a little shocked? He thought while nodding, as if convincing himself. After thinking for a moment more, he finally decided. Eris and Kaylah, with their youthful energy and resolve, were capable of protecting the wounded.
Dara was worried. She volunteered, "I'll stay with them. They need protection." She truly wanted to protect them, more than her desire to fish for information.
Barik shook his head, "No, you have to point the way. You'll guide us--back to Haven--to our home, safe and fast as the elders said, that's your mission."
He couldn't allow Dara to stay. She knew the shortest and safest path. And as for himself, he couldn't stay as well, knew that he was more needed to lead the team. The more of them to go, the better would be the chance to return safe. But his mind was troubled, Elder Ruvio told him to look out for the boy. He promised in return, and yet, he couldn't do anything. He had to leave him here with Kaylah to fend for themselves.
A heavy sigh leaving his lips, the two youngsters would remain to protect the wounded in the cave, no one else, that's all.
The decision was made. The team would be split, and the journey would be a race against time and nature.
Eris stood apart, hair plastered to his face, gaze turned inward. A pulse beat behind his eyes, slow and deliberate. The voice was clearer now, not a whisper but a low tone that seemed to hum through the very stones beneath his boots. Stay.
Barik caught him staring at nothing, lips barely moving. The boy blinked when spoken to, as though waking from a dream. Barik's face knotted; he didn't like the look in Eris' eyes.
Earlier, Barik thought Eris and Kaylah seemed shocked because of the past events. Eris looked like he was, but in truth, he was more like in a trance. He was actually lost in deep thought. Someone or something was calling him, speaking in cryptic words. He couldn't understand. The words were garbled and too soft. He wanted to grasp their meaning. And Kaylah, she wouldn't leave him, so she had to stay too.
Jealousy burned, whispers called, and two paths twisted toward each other in silence. None of them yet knew which choice would break first—theirs, or fate's.
* * *