Ch.3 Part 1 No Meat for Me
It was a beautiful sunrise: a thick band of crimson preceded the sun, followed by corresponding ribbons of amber and gold. The sun finally peeked its head up, gazing adoringly over the land, inching slowly above the horizon. It was still cold, but quickly warming up.
Nearly everyone was busy looting the camp: they pulled out large bundles of colored cloths, strange clothes, and intricate gadgets. One box sprang open, and a stuffed pony popped out, arms wide, bouncing back and forth on a large spring. The nearest warrior carved it up with his sword. My father examined the interior of one of the wagons, and upon seeing so many exotic things, announced that we would be taking it all back to the village.
Everything that had been taken out now had to be put back into the wagons.
I fought to hold back a yawn.
I wrapped Kitty Hawk’s broken wing with strips of cloth taken from one of the wagons. She bit down hard on a stick as I did so, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. I tried to be gentle.
“There, all done,” I said, tying the loose ends together. It wasn’t the first time I had bandaged a wing. The village kept a few chickens around. Their eggs were delicious, but they were dumber than stones, constantly finding new and creative ways to hurt themselves or worse.
Kitty Hawk spit out the stick. She lightly moved her wing, wincing.
“Are you sure I’ll fly again?” She looked at me expectantly with those big, blue eyes.
“Yes, it’s worked for chickens. I’ve never seen one who didn’t fly afterwards.”
Kitty Hawk examined her wing once more, then tucked it in close to her side. “Thank you, Mister Dog,” she mumbled to the ground.
“Call me Ember,” I insisted.
I left her leashed to a tree and trotted over to Rod and Spoke.
The pair was trying to readjust the harness on the pony wagons to Rod’s much larger frame. The ponies carried no leather, but cloth and rope was in abundance. Rod was testing the chest strap that Spoke had added to the original harness.
“It will do,” said Rod, and he pulled the wagon a few feet or so.
“All ready to go?” I asked.
Rod nodded.
“We are going to be rich dogs,” exclaimed Spoke, nearly leaping off the ground. “Once we get these back to the village, and the merchant comes, we are going to have so many jewels we can roll around in them!”
“The chieftain gets the largest share,” I reminded him, “and the majority will help pay for other things for the village.” At his downtrodden face, I quickly added, “But I have no doubt that all the warriors will be handsomely paid.”
We all perked up our ears at the sound of a horn blast. The wagons were being hauled into position. I said goodbye to my friends and returned to Kitty Hawk.
When it was time to leave, I gave a light tug on her leash. She didn’t move. Her eyes and rump were still fixed to the ground. It took several gentle nudges just to get her to rise. As we marched away, she gazed longingly behind us, the empty campsite quickly obscured by the trees.
“Will I ever see my parents again?” she asked.
I thought about it. “I’ll make you a deal. If you stay on your best behavior, I will personally make sure that you see your parents again.”
She persisted. “You promise?” I could see the first fragments of hope in her face since her capture.
“I swear it on my ancestors.”
She cocked her head sideways. “What does that mean?”
I had to lower my head down just to make eye contact with her. “It means I would sooner give up being a Diamond Dog then go back on my word.”
“So it’s like an ultra-super-duper promise?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, something like that.”
She looked up at me with those big, blue eyes. “Thank you, Mister… um, Ember.”
This little pony was going to turn me into a softy!
The sun was rising higher in the sky. Compared to last night’s mad dash, we were making painfully slow progress with the wagons. I guessed it would be around late evening before we returned to the village.
I was still getting inquisitive glances from the other warriors. One by one they would stop by, sniff Kitty Hawk, examine her critically, and then leave. It was almost as if they hadn’t spent the previous night chasing ponies through the woods!
Kitty Hawk had remained silent so, far but now spoke up. “I’m hungry,” she said.
My stomach growled at the thought of food. It was only past midday. There would be no stopping until we reached the village.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any,” I said.
We marched on in silence. A stiff wind from the west kicked up our dust and billowed it out behind us in great majestic sails.
“I’m thirsty,” she said.
“Do you see any water?” I gestured to the dry countryside.
Again, there was silence.
“My hooves hurt,” she said.
I looked down at her with a weak smile. “So do mine.”
The sun was two paws-width above the horizon when we finally reached the village. The women and the puppies came out to meet us. They marveled at the wagon. They gasped when they saw Kitty Hawk, some pulling their puppies in close.
A Pittbullton puppy escaped his mother’s grasp and patted over to Kitty Hawk. He gave her the silliest look, barked, and then ran circles around us.
Kitty Hawk didn’t seem to notice: her head was hanging near the ground, eyes half closed, her hooves dragging in the dirt. I took her to my hut and showed her a spot on the floor.
“You’ll sleep here.”
She didn’t even look twice at the indicated spot, just dragged herself over and hopped on my bed where she curled up and promptly fell asleep.
I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. Poor kid had had a rough day. I left her there. For me, there was still more work to do.
The wagons were stripped. Everything was sorted into two piles: metal and non-metal. Out here on the western edge of the Empire, metal was very rare. Anything and everything was taken: drawer handles, axle nuts, joints, pivots, springs, and shocks were replaced with wooden, stone, or leather equivalents. Only sewing needles and iron-bound barrels were spared from the forge of the blacksmith.
All the fabrics were brought out before the elders. They discussed at length with the chieftain as to what to do with them. The clothes were very pretty, and they quickly caught the eye of many of the women. They cooed over them, comparing the colors and patterns, giggling as they tried them on.
The elders concluded their discussion and announced their decision. The women howled their indignation as the fabrics were packed away. The chieftain refused their protests, insisting that they be traded for plain fabrics and more useful items.
Dinner consisted of burnt rabbit and watery soup. I grimaced but ate anyways. My father loudly voiced his opinion. The women upturned their noses and showed him their backs.
The chieftain might make all the decisions, but it was the women who ultimately controlled the life of the village.
I went back to my hut feeling miserable; the raid on the ponies had only managed to turn the villagers against one another. At least Kitty Hawk was getting a good night’s sleep. I tried to move her, but she kicked out with her legs, and then rolled over, mumbling under her breath. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. I left a bowl of meat and soup on the desk for her.
Grabbing a goat skin and a spare blanket, I curled up at the foot of my bed. I methodically filtered out the noises of the village. Finally, I was left with just my own thoughts and the sound of my own breathing. I didn’t remember falling asleep.
PLEASE LEAVE ADDITIONAL COMMENTS HERE