Chapter 3
GRAT
Well, it happened again. After more than three decades, the apemen, or the wild things, or whatever the fuck one wished to call them, had returned to the Wetlands. The summer must’ve been warm enough for them to come this far north this year.
Now, I had to deal with them invading my peace.
After chasing away the wild thing that had tried to steal my sausage, I spent the following day proofing my cabin against more of their inevitable invasions.
I also finished processing and preserving the boar meat, loaded everything into the cellar underground, next to the cabin, and locked that door too. I’d have to make a trip back to the keep as soon as possible, to take the meat for the others to cut into strips for drying, smoking, or marinating.
Coming back to the keep with only one boar would be embarrassing. But with the wild things showing up, I ran the risk of what little meat I’ve managed to acquire getting stolen.
Instead of going hunting again or fixing my traps, I caught some fish in the creek nearby to make dinner later, then spent the entire day tightening the hinges and fitting padlocks on all the doors and cabinets inside and outside of the cabin.
To my knowledge, wild things weren’t smart enough to unlock a padlock even if given the key. But they could try to smash it with a rock. So I had to make sure my locks and doors were strong.
Fucking wild things. What a nuisance.
I grunted in annoyance, then slapped my five freshly caught brook trout onto the cutting block.
“Well, let’s get you guys all cleaned up now,” I said, quieter than normal as I listened to the noises in the forest around me.
An uneasy feeling had been tingling in the back of my neck all day today.
It was the same sensation I got when I knew that someone was watching me.
Since the wild things were in the area, it was possible that they were watching my every move, waiting for just the right moment to steal something again.
Not trusting them with my fish even for a second, I took it to the dug-out cellar with me to get some ale and vegetables, then locked the door securely afterwards.
Living like this, being watched every moment, was annoying. But it could get worse. They could raid my cabin, break my things, and steal every morsel of food I had. I made sure to keep my weapons handy, just in case.
While waiting for the potatoes to bake in the coals, I roasted the fish and some root vegetables on the grill, then had my dinner and a mug of cold ale while watching the sunset over the creek change the sky colors from golden orange, to pretty pink, and finally to deep red and purple.
It was a lonely life here at the cabin, but it wasn’t a horrible one. I missed the fun parties back at the keep, but I had plenty of things to do here to keep myself busy. The peace and quiet had their benefit, too, especially when they were well-earned after a productive day.
“It was a good day,” I concluded, finishing my ale. “Despite the fucking wild things.”
I tossed the bones and the charred fish skin from my plate into the fire pit, then went into the cabin to fetch a bowl to wash my dishes. Even if it was just a plate and a fork, there was no need to leave them dirty overnight.
A soft padding of footsteps reached my heightened hearing as I headed for the cabin door.
The wild things? The fuckers were here again, no doubt. And they grew bold enough to come close when I was still on the property. They didn’t even wait for me to enter the cabin.
I had to scare them to teach them a lesson. As the footsteps neared the fire pit, I whipped around and roared, slamming the plate onto the chopping block, not hard enough to break it, but loud enough to get the wild things’ attention.
“Get out of here!” I bellowed as loudly as I could.
There was just one wild thing in the clearing. It squeaked in terror, dropped what it was holding, and ran. It had almost made its way into the bushes when it realized it’d dropped its loot that happened to be one of the greasy, charred fish skins I’d tossed into the coals to burn.
The wild thing dashed back to pick it up, but I leaped forward and stepped on the fish skin with my boot.
The wild thing now had two choices. It could either fight me for the fish skin—and I would love to see it try—or it could just fuck off and hopefully learn that it should never steal from me again.
But the wild thing did something I didn’t expect at all.
When it saw my boot on top of the fish skin, the poor thing’s bottom lip trembled. A tear rolled down its cheek, leaving a pale streak in the dirt that coated its skin. With a soft sob, its legs folded, and it crouched by my boot, crying.
I stared at it, feeling utterly lost about what to do.
It was the same creature that had tried to steal the sausage last night.
I recognized it by the scruffy bearskin it wore tied around its scrawny body.
Its black hair was braided into a long messy plait, which surprised me.
I didn’t know that apemen braided their hair. I thought they just let it grow wild.
Crouched at my feet like that, the wild thing looked sad and small like a kid. After a couple of pitiful sobs and one loud hiccup from it, my heart couldn’t take it anymore.
Fully aware of the huge mistake I was making by encouraging theft, I moved my boot away.
“Fine,” I drawled. “You can keep it. Just this once.”
The wild thing looked at the fish skin that had been burned by the coals and crushed into the dirt by my boot. Wiping its tears off with its forearm, it got up and looked me straight in the eye.
It wasn’t a kid, I realized, but a grown woman. Not an elderly one, but an adult for sure. Her face had lost all the softness of childhood and had already gained some lines of experience around her eyes and in the corners of her mouth.
The defiance of indignation burning in her blue eyes was not something I expected from her kind.
“No, thank you,” she said loud and clear, stunning me into silence.
No one had ever told me that wild things could talk.
Spinning on the heel of her soggy, worn boot, she marched off into the trees with the proud posture of a tribe chiefess, leaving the charred fish skin in the dirt.