Annihilation - Book Three

Chapter 3

The overwhelming scent of the ocean blocks out all else as the group trudges through the mountainous terrain back towards Ziduri. While the scene of the men jumping in the water was rather comical, it was met with superstitions they didn't have time for. After being escorted out of the city by officials under the threat of action by a higher power, Verando felt it best to make as little of a scene as possible. 

Tales of death and deep-sea creatures lying in wait under the black surface of the sea made committing to jumping in taxing on morale, to say the least. It didn't matter that they had all just seen him swim across said sea to the shore; according to town lore, they were all cursed now and would surely die. 

The murmurs of how their savior had just sentenced them to death weren't lost on him. Unfortunately, they'd be proven right, for he had little faith in this working long term. With the snow and the prickly fir trees, he saw little opportunity to get lost in the foliage. They were trapped in the barren terrain, there was nothing out here to draw attention to predators but their pounding hearts.

They walk slower than he'd like, untrained, underfed, and unskilled in keeping their footing. It was like starting over from scratch, handing over his well-oiled machine for a handful of children too burly to play nice, let alone get to a castle four days away unscathed. The demands for silence were met with bickering and grumbling. 

It was a piece of the last march that he hadn't missed nor cared to remember when he jumped off that boat. The grueling process of proving to those trapped in hardship that his leadership was worth listening to weighed heavily on him, for if none of them survived, this was all for nothing. They appreciated having the famous 'Alpha' guiding them to safe passage, but it's hard to be grateful when you're cold, tired, and afraid.

Much as it frustrated him, Verando couldn't blame them. The pack had the benefit of being thoroughly enraged before the march on Dezna and had seen proof that this man could keep them alive, but truly, in the eyes of these former slaves, he was as untested. 

Unfortunately, they had received a broken leader, it'd be foolish to think they couldn't come to that conclusion. Leaving behind the shoulder sling was necessary, but its absence did little to hide that his back and right calf had sustained damage. He couldn't afford the weakness in the eyes of these recruits, yet his shoulder creaked and ached, irritated by the cold. 

Most of these men had seen him almost lose to Marcus, who probably appeared to be the more sound leader. About now, they were all probably missing their beds and wondering why they'd opted to follow a lunatic, leaving their comfortable lives as servants behind.

 His mind wanders, tracking the sounds in the trees and the prints in the snow. It would seem the prey in this area had cleared out days ago. Fresh tracks were eerily absent, as the forest was deathly quiet beyond the chatter.

 Exhaustion creeps into aching joints and a heavy body. Last night was the first proper night of sleep he'd gotten since his capture and imprisonment in Ziduri; his body had been entirely depleted, only to have recently returned to a life of frequent meals and adequate nutrition. But, even after his rescue, he'd hardly been able to sleep at night knowing I was so contentedly curled in Marcus's arms.

 It felt like years since he'd shut his eyes. Rubbing the back of his neck with his palm, He slid his hand up to scrub through his hair in the hopes of jolting brilliance from his mind.

Death awaits us, the wolf echos. You left our person behind for nothing. We could have been happy with him.

 Like a horrible burden or an angry grandparent, the lumbering beast sits on the edge of his subconscious in quiet disapproval. Each stumble, curse, and complaint is a beacon to whatever is out here of their location and state of dishevelment.