The steady hum of woodpeckers beckoned Hans forward into the next patch of woodland. He made a beeline for the trees and slid out of plain sight. After about ten minutes of walking, he set up his bivouac, finally took off his worn boots and lay down to get the sleep he’d been deprived of that night. Only a few hours of sleep came before his body forced him to partake in the daylight. Stretching, he stepped out of the thicket to look around. There were fruit trees all along the narrow, stone-lain road; a road that led to a gathering of stone buildings in the middle of a gentle valley.
His stomach growled as if on cue. He hadn’t washed his clothes since getting on the boat, and the leg of his pant was still torn in the back from the battle near Kharkov. Now was a good time to fix that. He emerged from the woods and made his way toward the township, willing to take his chances on this new place. He paced along the road, past several fields, some of them mowed, some with green oat crops bending in the wind.
The town felt kind of familiar, or, at least, much more like home than did the cities on the other continent, but the street leading to town was eerily devoid of furres. Maybe he should have been grateful enough not to be run out on first sight. Hans decided not to look around for others, though he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched.
In the middle of the silent town Hans found one thing was looking for: A well with a faucet pump attached. He practically ran to it and began drinking from the pump, quenching his thirst and washing his face unashamedly. A figure peeked at him from behind a doorway, but quickly disappeared when Hans picked his head up.
Now was as fine a time as ever. Hans cautiously unbuttoned his camouflage and tunic, and held them both under the faucet as he looked around. The rusty lever squealed as he pumped it. Once the clothes were soaked with water, he put them next to him and shouldered the Mauser. He took off his boots and rinsed his feet under the cold water. It felt like more eyes were watching him from some place he couldn’t see.
Hans began to put his clothes back on. His pant leg needed to get a stitching, but that would have to wait for another town. He got the feeling he wasn’t wanted here, or worse. Boots in hand, Hans stood up and stared down the narrow cobblestone road.
He laced up boots and began a tense walk between the rows of buildings, clutching the strap of his Mauser and trying to keep his head fixed toward the oat fields in the distance. As he approached the last line of buildings, he craned his neck around the corner of the last brick building.
Neigh!
It was only a horse standing there, and it clopped its light brown hooves twice in Hans’ direction. He sighed out loud in relief and walked by.
Hans widened the distance between himself and the town, and then slinked back into the treeline toward the fig and apple trees. He took off his helmet and began depositing apples and figs into it. Nobody there seemed to mind, and eating this felt much safer than poking around in the streets. Once he had a helmet full of sweet fruits, he turned toward the bivouac, content to lounge there for the rest of the day. That was when a twig snapped behind him. Not again.
A gray face was peering at him from behind the bushes. Hans turned around and caught her eyes. Both of them froze and stared at each other for a second before Hans raised his hand to wave.
Cyan
“He’ll get a marker sometime later.”
Tanjung’s resting place was marked by an oval stone.
“…Thank you.” Asril replied. Even her hushed voice bounced between the arid ridges around them.
“Not a great time for introductions, but I’m Captain Cyan.”
“Thank you Captain Cyan.” She slumped and stared at the ruddy ground, her eyes still avoiding him. “Do you have anything to eat?”
“Well, I’ll make sure you and your friend get something. There’s a camp 70 paces south and west of here. For fleers. We’re going to put you there for the time being”
Great. This was another country that intended to hold them in a cage until the Greenskins came for them.
“NO.” Tari spoke up. She’d been silent until then.
“We’ve already been through that in another country and the monsters came for us. I won’t do it again.” She almost shouted.
“W-wait,” Asril piped up. “Um, Captain Cyan? We’ll agree to go if you think you can protect us from the Greenskins.”
“Ma’dam, we’ve been here two thousand years, and since then we’ve only been conquered once. Even the Deltians tried a long time ago, and if they couldn’t do it, these savage monsters never will. We’ll try to find you both a permanent home, too.”
Tari looked to Asril. But Asril had already made up her mind.
“OK. We’ll do it.”
Of course, the captain didn’t know that he was giving refuge to a thief. Theives couldn’t survive in a land ruled by bandits, and bandits were all they’d seen outside the borders of Ahuran.
Captain Cyan took them up a hill until they reached a small look out post topped by a bright green flag that was almost as big as the paneled house it stood upon. He swung open the flimsy door and motioned them in.
“Here, just have a seat,” he motioned to a modest table with a few chairs. Another soldier came out from another room and gave Asril and Tari a bowl gruel with a germ of grain she hadn’t seen before. The strange mixture was topped with a small lamb chunk. It was the best meal either of them had in weeks, so maybe this place was different. Their improvised bedroom was bare except for some swords, crossbows and a helmet sitting on the floor. To Asril it felt like they were depriving someone of their room for the night.
The next morning Captain Cyan was waiting at the door of their room. He wasn’t able to bring them to the refuge personally, but two other felines showed up escorted Tari and Asril away from the lonely post on the border. After three hours of walking on the arid soil, they saw the familiar sight of a fence with furres behind it. This one didn’t seem to have as many, and this time there was a promise of food and possibly even work.
“Is this it?” Asril asked.
“Yes.”
When the fence door creaked shut, Asril cringed and waited for the abuse to come. But this time there was no abuse. Like the last camp, in Miao, people huddled together, but here there were huts, tarps and holes in the ground. Nobody looked happy, but nobody looked desperate either.
The races had changed, too. No big, stripped felines were here, mostly just equines and quite a few furless humans. She’d never seen a human before, and it was common lore that humans had fled from Asril’s own land a long time ago. She actually thought humans were extinct.
There was also a mother cat with two kittens. It reminded Asril of the days in the caravan. Tari and Asril went over to the mother cat, and soon she looked even more familiar. It was Clara, the mother who led them out of Miao.
“Clara?!” Tari squeaked.
The woman looked up, instantly recognizing the travel-weary girls. It was Clara!
“What? Is that you Tari?!”
“H-how did you get here?! From Preena?!”
“Oh, that. You wouldn’t believe it!” The mother exclaimed.
“Another bunch, equines, came in from up north and it became too much for the soldiers to ignore. So they let us through if we promised not to stay. I’m afraid me and the kids were the only ones that made it. Besides you two of course!”
“…Yeah.”
Asril frowned. Clara had probably seen a lot of death, too. Maybe even more than Tari and herself.
Clara stepped in and gave Asril a hug.
Dachau
Arndt Fischer’s cell door opened with a sudden clang. There was no need to yell this time. As had happened last time, the black hood was placed over his head. Whatever was in store, the American interrogators had likely done it to him before. At least that’s what he told himself. While he feared what was coming, he was also numb to it all at this point.