The Hunt

Chapter 12: Naya

I decide not to sleep tonight. It’s not worth the nightmares.

Instead, I fiddle around with my knife, back and forth between my fingers, flipping it in the air, throwing it at bushes and dirt. I’ve had the knife since I was maybe thirteen, and I haven’t lost it since. It’s the best knife I have.

I remember the day I got it. I was still in that stage of hiding in the shadows, and moving around at night.

It was this one summer, and it was burning hot in the forest. I was hiding in the shade, and listening to the birds, something I used to enjoy. I remember hearing a group coming, but I had been so distracted by the birds that I hadn’t noticed until too late.

They weren’t the decent exiles who would argue for a bit and then decide to let me eat a granola bar and let me leave safely. They were the crazy ones.

I find exiles like that sometimes. The ones that have gotten so lost in killing other exiles and living in the forest so long that they kind of go a little crazy. They have that hungry look in their eyes, that you see when somebody is close to starving. They see exiles and don’t even consider letting them live, just kill them. They don’t think in plans of survival or smarts, they just stalk through the forest like animals hunting for their prey.

And as a thirteen year old girl, this was the first time I had come face to face to these terrifying, almost inhuman people.

They fought me. I managed to run until I got tired and they caught up. They beat me up and I remember crying and screaming. This apparently caught the attention of nearby exiles, and the exiles came to fight. I somehow got my hands on the knife, and started swinging it everywhere, wildly waving my arms to hit anything. And then I managed to slip away. I’ve kept that knife ever since.

That was also when I started seeing how exiles can turn on each other easily, and how easy it is to forget your original purpose when you’re angry. Both things that helped me create this major scheme.

I spin the handle of the knife in my palm, and then cut myself on accident.

I curse in my head and tear a piece of the coat fabric to wrap my finger with. Infection was something that made me panic. I’m wrapping the cloth tight when I hear something. Something loud.

Footsteps.

And just like that time I first found the knife, I’ve been too distracted to notice until now.

I jump up and run, thankful that my sack is on my waist. I grip my knife in my hand and forget about my throbbing finger.

The forest is relatively dense in this area, so I stumble and trip over roots and bushes and potholes. I hear running behind me, and shouting. They must have heard me and started chasing me.

I’m blindly running, trying to make as little sound as possible, but it’s hard when I’m also trying to run away.

It’s too late. I see figures closing in around me.

A rough hand grabs me and shoves me to the ground. I hit the dirt and scramble up, managing to go a few more feet before I’m pinned to the ground. My hood comes off, revealing my gender.

If it were the type of exiles that are like rabid animals, I would be dead. But these aren’t. So instead, they begin the talking over what they should do with me.

“She’s alone, so she can’t be that dangerous,” a woman behind me says. I can’t see her, but she sounds like she will trust an innocent teenage girl.

“No way. Look at this knife she was carrying. I bet she has a whole pack of rats behind her,” the man next to me says. I am disappointed in myself for letting my knife slip out of my hand when I fell.

“I agree, I don’t wanna get in the mess this girl might be in,” the guy who’s pinning me down says.

“Come on, look at her! She’s just a girl. Remember when you found me?” a young boy says. I’m surprised. I thought this group was just adults.

“Yes, but you were young. And now you’re fifteen, so you can do some good for us. This girl is at that age where she could be poison,” the man next to me says.

I can’t see any of this, but I am picking up all the things they say, all the information they’re unknowingly giving me. I file it in the back of my brain.

“Just trust me on this,” the boy says.

There’s silence. The idea that they would actually make a decision on this boy’s reasoning is baffling to me, but maybe I’m underestimating his role in this group.

“Fine. One night. That’s it,” the man behind me says. I feel triumph, but don’t let it show.

Because that’s what they all say.