The next morning greeted him with colder gusts of wind and drizzling rain. The sky was covered by an uneven curtain of gray and navy clouds, threaded with streaks of whiter ones. Each gust brought stronger, driving rain. Narma and Darma had left the settlement early; moving faster than usual, they carried loaded leather bags on their backs. They didn't even raise their hoods, just gave him a short nod as he greeted them. Their laced sandals splashed through the reddish mud forming in the passages. The boy watched them leave, wondering what adventures awaited the Huntresses today and if they would return to the camp for the night. Was he not worth including in their plans? He wouldn't have minded accompanying them. Meanwhile, he had to deal with simple local tasks. A small pang of pain, related to his wounded pride, lingered somewhere in the recesses of his subconscious, spurring him on to prove himself and be noticed.

  Due to the weather, he didn't have much work with the pigs; instead, he was enlisted to tend to the traps for shellfish and fish. The rapidly rising water level moved the baskets and shifted them from their optimal positions. He had to wade into the cool, murky, rather swift current and check if the traps were still properly set. The boy followed the ropes and felt blindly, trying not to hit his foot against any of the large stones that anchored the tools. Several times he had to readjust them, taking deep breaths and diving awkwardly, with one leg wrapped around a rope. If he lost contact with it, the current would quickly carry him away. The work was quite hard, as the inert, light cages made of wooden whalebones tended to twist and wouldn't stay in place on their own until he very carefully surrounded them with heavier stones. The water, though not cold compared to the rain, still chilled him considerably during the long immersion. There was one particular trap, far from the bank and uncomfortably submerged in the depths, that he struggled with for a long time. However, he received no help. Chechi stood beneath the observation tower, partially shielded from the rain, calmly watching his struggle until he successfully finished. The unpleasant reminder of the status difference between the Orc-women and the boy pricked him again. He furiously tugged at the cage, simultaneously pressing his foot against a stone, and finally set it correctly. For a moment, he rested, half-lying on his back with narrowed eyes, letting the current wash over him. When he finally crawled out onto the bank, a shadow of a smile played on Chechi's face, and she patted him approvingly on the back.

  "You're brave," she said. "I see you're trembling, and a sick slave is of no use. Go back to the stables, dry your clothes a bit, and I'll send the kitchen staff there with something to eat. We'll come back here later, take a few more sisters, and collect the catch. This time, don't go into the water with your clothes on, or you'll freeze. We don't have anything suitable for you to change into. You're thin like an Orc child, but much taller. You'd look ridiculous."

  Dorky accepted this mixture of positive reinforcement and teasing with a wry smile. He thanked her and gratefully trotted to the privacy of his pen, wrapping his arms around his already heavily trembling body and closing his eyes against the streams of rain pouring from the sky. When he arrived, he immediately took off, wrung out, and hung his clothes on the fence. He jumped a few times to shake off the larger drops and warm himself up a bit. He gathered his hair and squeezed it, observing with satisfaction the small puddle that had formed at his feet. Warmth began to return to his body, excluding his still very cold feet, hands, and the tip of his nose. He turned to pee into the bucket and was suddenly struck by a disturbing discovery: he wasn't chained. He was alone. The Huntresses were far away. The boy's open mouth froze for a moment, his tongue pressing against his upper incisors in a tense grimace. His eyes darted left and right.

  Perhaps he should give up this madness and just escape? he thought.

  Without wasting time, he overturned the bucket, placed it against the wall, and stood on his toes, trying to see something in the gap between the roof and the wall. The rainy weather continuously held the settlement in its embrace. All louder sounds were muffled by the drumming and dripping water. Nothing he noticed gave him a sense of danger, yet the boy wasn't eager to escape. He wiped his nose, shivered, then jumped to the ground. He weighed the pros and cons. Potentially pleasant hundred days, or a potentially pleasant whole life? And what would happen to him if the males returned from war early? What would they decide then? Was he supposed to agree to such a risk? He didn't have to give up. And what if such a chance never came again?

  Once again in these few days, he faced a difficult situation, but this time the initiative was on his side. He didn't know if he was making the right decision, but he decided to shake off his infatuation, seize the opportunity, and escape.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Now he frantically looked around the stable's interior, trying to find something worth taking into the wilderness. Here, he only had wet clothes and two buckets, which didn't fill him with optimism. Suddenly, he thought of the room where he had been punished. Perhaps he would find something helpful there. Under a sudden impulse, he stopped. Listening, he saw the gate opening slightly. Two elderly Orc-women he disliked, in dirty aprons, entered, carrying a steaming cauldron in which, upon closer inspection, bubbles of hot air still appeared and burst on the surface of a deliciously smelling, thick sauce. One of the old women familiarly squeezed his wrist and intensely stared at his naked torso, handing him a small bowl which he apparently was to use as both a dish and cutlery. Her uneven, rotten teeth finally convinced Dorky that he had to run for it. The other seemed uninterested in fondling the prisoner and appeared somewhat irritated by the whole situation, so she shuffled towards the exit, dragging her companion along. Neither of them noticed that he wasn't chained. He exhaled with a whistle. He was lucky!

  The young man couldn't resist tasting the soup before visiting the punishment room. It was fatty, thick, full of meat and fish scraps. The Orc-women apparently didn't know the art of seasoning, but the food itself was quite tasty. Even more so, since he was eating it while thoroughly tired and chilled. Fortified by the first portion, he quickly ran and plundered the punishment room. Disgusted, he avoided the penetration tools, choosing a short stick with a leather-wrapped handle and a medium-length bullwhip. From a wooden barrel lid and leather straps, he quickly assembled a simple shield. He stuffed his clothes with some rags and straw to separate himself from the wet fabric and reinforce any potential armor effect. Finally, he carefully smeared his face, ears, and neck with clay and mud, and after chugging another portion of soup, he slipped out of the stable, and then out of the settlement. It was simpler than he expected. The old women were hiding from the rain in the kitchen, and the guards stood under the roof of the observation tower, slurping their lunch rations from a cauldron, shifting their weight from foot to foot and looking in another direction. Dorky, still chewing a piece of bacon from the soup, crept in a semicircle, then waited for a good moment. He quietly climbed the fence, bracing his long legs against the adjacent building, and then made a quick jump. He landed heavily, but luckily, on the clay ground on the other side. Bent over, he trotted to the river and plunged into the current, then pulled himself out and crawled to the other side. The shield and weapon didn't help; due to lack of experience, he hit himself in the cheek. His clay-stained and soaked clothes didn't differ much in color from the surroundings. Without looking back, he moved through the bushes towards the paths. He felt excitement and a growing hope that he would succeed. The pouring rain narrowed his field of vision, but by instinct, he headed in the direction from which he had come with Narma and Darma. Initially, quite terrified, he ran until he was out of breath, and the thorny bushes pulled at his clothes and cut his legs, but he paid no attention, as he was much more afraid of another kind of pain. When he ran out of strength, he dove under a particularly unpleasant, sprawling bush and, cursing under his breath, squeezed through the thicket of branches and jagged leaves to the other side. After several such unpleasant but necessary maneuvers, he felt that he had finally strongly separated himself from the paths and was no longer so exposed. The thickets, however, had the disadvantage that he himself couldn't see anything, and it would be difficult for him to maintain his direction. He racked his brain for a moment and tried again to find his way to the stream, to hide a bit and yet have something to navigate back to human-inhabited areas. He was scared, happy, and continued to struggle with the wild nature, until finally, a window opened before his eyes to the familiar stream, laboriously cutting its way through the expanse of the valley. He fell to his knees and thanked the gods of luck and asked for their continued favor, then vomited from exertion.

  Meanwhile, in the camp, the sound of a horn echoed, and Babeno, in short, soldierly words, announced to Chechi that if the boy was not found by morning, she would crush her bones. The girl roared with helpless fury and searched every corner of the camp accompanied by regular Orc-women, but in vain. They also searched the vicinity of the camp, but little could be determined, other than that none of the boats had been stolen. In the evening, when Narma and Darma returned to the camp, they heard the news of the escape and pondered in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Then they begged Babeno to refrain from punishing Chechi and simply let them prove themselves by bringing the captive back. The doubly humiliated girl glared at them menacingly, as if this scenario pleased her less than the prospect of being beaten by the Elder. The Huntresses understood her reaction. They still remembered what it was like when youthful zeal and pride clouded one's mind. Although they were tired from a full day of scouting, at the thought of hunting a human, fire entered their veins, and their eyes blazed with a mocking gleam. In their territory, in this game, he had no chance.