The Beast That was Promised ✔

TEN: Campfire Talks

By the time the sun had set, Emrick was still stuck in the camp outside Fovatia, anxiety fueling his every move. He hadn't taken his helmet off once in fear that someone would know that he didn't belong and no one had asked him to do so. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get out of the camp.

Every time he went to leave, someone called him back to help with something else, setting up a fallen tent or starting a fire or something else. It was supposed to be Modra's, the man he'd killed, break. He was supposed to be sleeping before he went on patrol again, but he was so desperate to go. His next patrol wasn't until the next day.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, hours after he had arrived, he gave up on trying to get out. It was only a night, he could do it if he didn't take off his helmet. His first decision was to find his tent and sleep in it before anyone noticed that he was out of place, but he had no idea where it was supposed to be. Instead, he spent another hour or so running around the tents, growing more and more agitated.

At the edge of the tents he was running around was a campfire, men and women laughing around the bright flames. Even in the stolen armour, he was freezing and wanted nothing more than to sit by a raging fire, but he couldn't. He had wasted enough time in the camp as it was. He needed to wait until it was his turn to patrol again and get moving towards Liman.

He had no idea what kind of state Isiah and Rina were in. Back on the river after the laboratory had been destroyed, he'd promised to follow them because Rina wasn't trained enough to look after them all on her own. But then he'd been separated from them and his promise had gone out the window.

"Hey! You there!" a voice yelled from somewhere to his right. He tensed, ready for someone to notice that he wasn't who he said he was. "In the helmet! Aye, you!"

The people around the campfire were waving to him, gesturing for him to come over. He almost turned and ran before realising that it would only make him look suspicious, something he couldn't afford in the middle of the enemy camp. So instead, he walked over to him and ignored the painful clenching of his stomach.

"Can I help you?" he asked the staring group of people. One passed a mug of amber liquid to another and suddenly, their strange smiles and stares made sense. They were drunk.

"Ya looked lost," the man who had yelled to him slurred. "Are ya 'right?"

He took a deep breath before he answered. "Can't find my tent," he answered, even though it made him sound like a complete idiot.

"Which Captain do you serve?" a woman asked.

"Captain Hilja."

"Gods, that's on the other side of camp!" she exclaimed and let out a drunken laugh.

He shrugged. "I got a little lost," he said.

The man waved him away. "Aye, so do most of us. We just share whatever tent we find. Not like we're going anywhere anytime soon, so what does it matter?" he said, causing the others to laugh. It wasn't even funny. "Sit, have something to drink. We'll help you find a tent later."

It wasn't like he could do anything else. With a sigh, he took the nearest available seat next to a bearded man who gave him a polite nod. "No, thank you," Emrick said when someone tried to hand him a mug of the liquid.

"Don't drink much?" the man who called him over asked.

"Aye, not a big fan of it," he answered with a shake of his head. Some of the others nodded like they understood and took big swigs of their drinks. None of them had their helmets on and he looked out of place, but he was still far too nervous to show his pale skin around their various shades of orange and red.