The Hunt

Chapter 3: Naya

I approach the walls of the town of Tanek a little after noon. I’m wearing many thick coats, because of the rain.

I look up at the dark skies, and rain pounds down on my face. It’s somewhat refreshing. I usually hate rain, because it brings cold and it makes everything wet, and then freezes. But I appreciate it now, because other exiles won’t be out and about during this weather.

The forests right by this wall are filled with exiles. That’s why I only come here every handful of days, and travel either during night or in bad weather, like this. It’s a long trip, but it means life or death some of the times.

Tanek is a very important place, in the life of an exile. It means food if you can’t hunt, which most of us can’t. It means shelter if you don’t feel safe in the forest, which close to none of us do. It’s far enough away from the big city of Surga to not attract tons of military, and it’s close enough so it still gets supplies. It’s a small town, inside the gates, but it’s the easiest to break into as an exile. As long as you can get over the walls, and you have a card, you are safe.

Well, as safe as an exile can be.

I approach the looming wall and find the common footholds and handholds used by many exiles over and over again. Climbing is easy when you have a set route, every time.

Today it is a little harder, because of the rain. It makes the old stone slick. I slip a few times. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.

I heave myself up to the top, and crouch on the wall. The wind slams into me, the rain it carries with it stinging the little bit of my face that is showing through my hood.

Down below is the town of Tanek. It’s a small, somewhat separate town from the main city of Surga. Mobile homes, old brick buildings, everything worn down and not very well taken care of. The roads are cracked and weeds grow up from them, and the ground is thick with mud on the outside of main street, by the mobile homes. The main street has small shops, and some have glass windows, but they’re still not in good condition.

And, as usual, there are no guards.

I scale down the wall, and land with a slosh in the mud. First thing’s first: food.

Nobody is out in this rain, so I weave my way through the mobile homes, staying out of sight from any windows. Another good thing about the rain is that it hides the sound of my sloshing through the mud.

Suddenly, as I round a corner, a rough hands grabs me and slams me into the side of the home.

“Give me your card!” the man shoves me against the side again.

I try to find my footing, fighting with the man’s grip.

“I said give me your card!” he shouts louder, and I bite my lip so that I don’t let out any sound.

Now he throws me to the ground. I hit the mud, and a rock goes into my side. I scramble through the puddles of guck and try to get to my feet again.

But the man kicks me in the back. Pain rattles through my bones, and I am flattened to the mud, my face smothered in it now.

“Give! Me! Your! Card!” the man kicks me each time. I let out a gasp, and spit out more of the mud, and feel for my knife at my side.

The man picks me up again, and throws me down, rage driving him. This is a mistake.

I am far enough away now to scramble to my feet, pull out my knife, and hold it out in front of me.

“Don’t touch me,” I splutter, shaking my head so the mud and rain can clear from my eyes. The dangerous thing about having a hood as the only way to disguise my gender, is that it falls off when I fight.