In the middle of the savannah lives a tribe of hyaenids, men half hyena, and what some humans of the Seasonal Continent call gnolls. A small cub, victim of constant mistreatment, sleeps amidst nightmares and lives without desire. Until he meets the...
Fleas felt a little uncomfortable. Fátrwa kept staring at him. The other Wind Paws were locked up in pairs, but the matriarch was alone. Fleas, who had managed to remove his gag, wanted to talk to her, but he had no idea what to say. He was still intimidated by his own tribe, and even though he had grown up a lot and achieved an unimaginable ease thanks to the humans, his old self still held him back.
Two guards came through the door, weapons in hand, and looked over the Wind Paws' cells. They did this several times a day, probably on Dannke's orders. Fleas was still puzzled by their attitude. This kind, protective, somewhat scolding, but good-feeling human seemed to have disappeared. Had he ever existed, or had he idealized him? He could not help but remember the naiad and their encounter on the cay. There were also the cervids of the forest that Dannke had promised to protect by keeping their existence secret from Lorent. What if he had lied?
All this storm was swirling in his head when he felt a tremor beneath his paws. A crack widened, throwing shards of stone into the air and beyond the confines of his cell. The troll's crystalline hand rose, somber as a dead man rising from his grave, and opened in invitation. Fleas glanced at the guards, who ran toward him with spears and crossbows. He took his hand, the troll squeezed it tightly and pulled him into the crevice, through which he could pass as if it were the waters of the sea. The troll closed the entrance before the guards could stop him.
"Fleas, quick, we have to go," Pli said as he cut the rope from his wrists." He could not see him, everything was dark, but he recognized his scent and his voice.
"Wait, the other hyaenids are locked up..."
"If we rescue them, we will have to take them with us, and that will create conflict with the people we protect."
"They are fleeing now," added the troll, who could sense what was happening because of his connection to the earth. "The crack threw its bars."
Without another word, Pli grabbed his forearm and pulled him through the darkness of the tunnel. Soon they reached the sewers.
"Why did you save me? I thought you would defend me with your new title."
A title Pli had accepted not because he trusted Dannke, but to give Fleas a window of opportunity to escape. An opportunity he had foolishly squandered by running in the opposite direction.
"The Emperor insisted that I drink with him. I remembered your words and knew he wanted me dead. Be that as it may, it is too late. The rebels have destroyed the bridge and the south gate. The annihilation began."
They reached the central hall. There were many more humans than before. Immediately, Fleas thought about how to relieve his feelings. He had to paint the troll that had saved him. He didn't have a canvas, but he could use the wall of the room. It was logical to paint a stone being on a stone wall. Yes, that's what he would do.
"Hey, Fleas," Pli said dismayed as he watched him prepare the colors, "we have to make a decision now."
Fleas looked at the worried faces of everyone. Eyes reflecting the orange light of the torches. Shadows dancing at their feet. Children hugging their parents, couples entwined in fear. Crying at the inevitability of death... Silence. Before him opened a range of possibilities, like a white canvas that could contain all the landscapes of the world, but one bad brushstroke would condemn it to the most sterile of hells.
"We won't give that brushstroke," Fleas whispered. Pli asked what he meant. "Here, in the darkness of the sewers, we are all fleas. This is what we will do..."
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