The Terror of the Raiders

Chapter Three - Dangerous Fishermen (Revamped)

The village had been built in a natural recess, along the land's west coast. On three sides rested thick, natural forestry with a solid half hour walk of grassland between the trees and the houses, that was used by farmers.

The man – at least Charles now understood what the other humans meant when they called him a druid – had entered the centre of this forest. Geographically opposed to it was a long, stony beach that spread as far as the horizon in both directions.

It was the furthest place Charles knew that he could get from the endless trees and the direction that his mindless panic was taking him. What he usually would have traversed in an hour and a half, the little black kitten was able to make in twenty minutes. It happened so quickly that he was treading on rocks before his mind had caught up.

Behind him, the thin wick of a moon was rising. Ahead of Charles, the blinding sun was staining the sky bloody as it slowly fell behind the expanse of violent waves. Black and foreboding as they were in the fearsome sunset.

Charles had never minded the sea, not even when it rebelled in a strong storm. But after what he had just witnessed alongside the ancient oaks, the strange darkness spreading across the water only raised the fur along his spine. He had almost doubled in size from fear and other dark emotions that he was still too young to recognize.

The desire to distance himself was still stronger, however, than that to stop. It had him slipping over damp stones and towards the breaking surf ahead of him. Dark grey rocks clacking together under his paws as his weight shifter, for once the silence that he was so proud of being forsaken for irrational speed.

He couldn't think, he just had to hide.

Closer and closer to the waves he sprinted, not halting until they were lapping at his toes. And there Charles stood and shivered in the deep shadows cast by a fishing boat far larger than he had ever before seen.

It was a strange thing to not have noticed he was hiding under, but that was simply the way of fear. Soon, the kitten's curious nature had his nerves calming enough for a better look about him.

The boat was much taller to begin with, the sides of the hull reaching high enough that Charles had to crane his neck to see all of the way up them. It had also been almost fully beached – pushed onto the shore by men – so that the sea could barely touch it. There were more notches for oars than he had ever before seen, and a tree trunk appeared to have sprouted from the centre of this giant boat. But it was smooth and straight with symmetrical branches that had cloth hanging down from them instead of randomly arranged leaves.

But stranger even than the vessel were its crew.

Fishermen came from boats, that was the way of the world. But fishermen also smelled of fish, not copper and bronze. And fishermen only ever carried one knife on them, nor did they wear hats made of metal. Fishermen worked in pairs, not groups. Fishermen used smaller boats, and took their daily catches home with them. They were never empty handed.

These men did not look like fishermen. But they had come from the boat, so they had to be. It left Charles confused and reeling as he tried to puzzle it all out. First there and been magic, and now there was warrior fishermen.

Suddenly one of the fishermen who had strangely been wearing a stiff looking leather shirt drew the shortest of the three knives along his belt and shouted something that Charles' sharp ears were unable to pick up. he pointed the tip of the blade to where Charles was hiding in the shadows and grunted in same series of foreign sounds at the equally menacing man beside him.

The second man also grabbed his shortest knife. Of which the blade was still longer from hilt to tip than the kitten's tail.

Both men began to move towards him and Charles was too exhausted and petrified from the day's events to even think of running. All he could do was stand there with shakes still wracking his frame and wait to see what these two men would do next.

It was less terrifying than he had feared.

When they got close enough that their inferior eyesight could see him clearly, the second man laughed and put his long dagger away. The first of the men who had noticed Charles simply scowled as he watched his comrade walk away. He returned his own knife to his hip, and bent down to grab the kitten by his scruff.

It wasn't a cruel hold. His fingers didn't dig into the back of Charles' neck, choke him accidentally, or pull out the fine black strands of fur. It was clear to him that this man knew the proper wat to hold a cat, and some of his fear melted from his stiff shoulders as he just stared back at this human.

The warrior fisherman's eyes were soft and his tone was gentle as he addressed more of his strange mutterings at the kitten. They were different sounds to those made by the adults in his village, and for the first time Charles felt like a normal cat. He realized that he could not understand what the man was saying to him.

He hated not knowing.

Before the man could finish speaking, he was interrupted. Another man came storming over from the other side of the giant fishing boat. He was dressed differently from those around him, with a long, fur lined cloak and less knives on his belt.

This new person also pointed at Charles, getting into a heated argument with the first. He began gesturing between himself and the kitten held in the first man's arms.

An orange tom far larger than Charles had ever seen before soon joined them and began to wind his way through the angrier man's legs.

"He's going to kill you, little black one."

The other cat chuckled, just as lightning shot from the angry man's pointed finger. It sent a buzz through Charles' bones and jolted him high enough into the air that he landed on stone and was able to one more begin running.

Author's Note:

Sorry this update is so late, but thanks for being so patient with me. I'd love to hear what you think of my story so far; please vote and comment.