As the mismatched warriors left toward the east, he opted to follow them. They might have been nothing more than a band of ruffians, but he wanted to know more about them.
He didn’t keep his steps particularly quiet as he fell in behind them and it didn’t take long for the others to notice his presence.
“Who goes there?” called an exhausted woman into the twilight.
“I am a friend, I think,” he said.
“You think? Well, friend, give us a hand here then,” she invited, cocking her head toward a litter of dead bodies. He hurried over and grabbed onto part of the canvas to add his assistance.
No one spoke after that until about an hour later when they came to a sparse campground. There were but five large tents and a meager fire. Nothing else. Some crammed tightly into the tents but many of them slept outside.
Some men and women who had remained behind to keep the camp in check rushed out at their approach. The litter was taken aside by some of the men who brought them from the camp to a prepared burial site. Wounds were tended by some; food was doled out by others. He was confused when a bowl was pushed into his hands with the words, “Eat, boy.”
“But I—”
“Quiver said you helped carry the others back. That earns you a bite to eat and a chance to explain your presence. In that order,” he added when Garinor opened his mouth.
The stew was a bit salty, but it was warm and tasted otherwise fine. There wasn’t a spoon for it, and so he sipped from the side of the bowl. He watched the others bring their bowls to a barrel when they were done and he did the same, setting it inside to be washed later.
He felt odd standing in the campsite surrounded by strangers who had barely paid him any notice. It was a better feeling than being hunted, but it was uncomfortable nonetheless. He stood still, then turned in a circle, taking in the surroundings.
There were a few trees to the northeast, but the rest of the landscape was a gentle plain with a slight slope to it. He couldn’t tell more than that, for the sun had vanished and the moon had barely touched the sky.
“Now for you,” said a gruff voice and he jumped when a strong hand clasped his shoulder from behind.
Garinor turned and saw a battle-scarred man with a dark brown moustache and beard. He looked vaguely familiar, and Garinor realized he had seen him in the battle earlier. The man motioned Garinor to sit with him nearby.
“How did you come to find us?”
Garinor recapped his story from the moment of being taken from his home to stumbling across the battlefield. “When I saw you leaving, I felt I needed to follow,” he finished.
The man stared at him solemnly, then turned to one of the warriors passing by, “Song, spread the word. Hand is dead.” The other man’s face creased in sorrow before he nodded and walked on.
The bearded man stared into Garinor’s eyes for some time before he spoke again. “I’m not sure of your intentions or of the truth of your story. You’ll be under guard tonight and we’ll speak more tomorrow. Mind, if you try to escape tonight, we will assume treachery and you will be slain.”
Garinor nodded his understanding.
“Some good men and women died this day. But that will leave you with a place to sleep.” He gestured to one of the tents and Garinor took the hint to go.
Two men were already inside the tent, tossing about, trying to get comfortable despite their injuries. They greeted Garinor with little more than a grunt of welcome and continued their wriggling amidst gasps of pain when they accidentally tore at a wound.
It didn’t take long for the injured warriors to fall asleep, but Garinor was not as fortunate. He wasn’t used to such cramped quarters, but he was more concerned about his current situation. He wanted to get up and pace around, but he was afraid of the warning he had been given. If he was up and about they might think he was trying to run. He pictured having arrows sticking out of his back.
That image didn’t help him to fall sleep any faster either.