The captive awoke to the rattling of his cage, the iron bars vibrating against his back, his teeth chattering in the cold. The noise scattered the last wisps of his dream something about a woman's voice singing in a strange language and tasting pepper.He curled tighter into himself, round ears flattening against his skull.
The noise continued to assault his round ears. They twitched as he raised his hands to cover them, though it did little to help.
He wished these madmen would be quiet. Sleeping was already difficult.
A squeak of annoyance slipped past his lips as he peered out from under the tattered rag that poorly covered his metal cage. The cloth was brown and rotten, offering no real shelter from the harsh light outside. Worse, it reeked of old sweat.
The wagon groaned as it lurched over frozen ruts, the ropes holding his cage frayed from days of travel. Outside, twin suns glared through the rotten brown rag draped over his cage, casting jagged shadows across his fur.
He blinked against the blinding glare, struggling to make out the scenery. Trees and snow stretched endlessly.
He couldn't recall ever seeing snow before or perhaps he had. His memories were shaky.
His earliest recollection was waking outdoors, surrounded by a sea of white. Then came the rough hands dragging him away, into the cage, and then confinement.
He strained to remember more, fragments of a dark place, fleeing monstrous things but clarity eluded him. At least he recalled his name. And he knew, from the snow and the twin suns overhead, that he didn't belong here.
Still drowsy, he blinked, shielding his stinging eyes as he shivered in the cage's corner.
He stayed quiet. Drawing attention now, while so disoriented, would be foolish.
Soon, his wagon joined others. They'd been traveling forever, it seemed.
"Where are they taking me? What do they want?"
He suspected nothing good. All he could do was wait.
---
"Four Days Later"
Four days passed, and still, he waited.
Memories resurfaced in fragments, like laundered money.The duel with the skeleton. Glimpses of his past life. But the details remained maddeningly out of reach. The harder he grasped, the faster they slipped away.
Lying in the cage, Femi was bombarded by sensations: a woman's sweet voice, the spicy kick of pepper on his tongue, the aroma of a beloved dish. His head throbbed with the effort.
"Why did I eat that food?" Femi groaned, regret souring his voice. "I knew it was too good to be true".
"never eat food in dreams" he heard a familiar voice say.
Frustration, anger, and self-reproach churned inside him.
"My enemies has succeeded"
Rolling in the cage, his lamentations grew louder.
After a while,he forced himself to calm down with a sigh.
"At least I remember some of it."
Then a realization. "Wait. My hand."
Femi stared at his right hand. Memories crashed over him: the fight, the pain, the loss.Yet here his hand is still attached and whole. The claws unchanged, the brown fur unmarked.
"How?" he whispered. "Did I bargain with... Mammy Water?"
His eyes widened. No memory of a deal, no terms recalled. Yet his hand was restored.
Unease prickled his skin. Had he pledged something unknowingly? What price awaited him?
But relief drowned the fear. "I don't even care," he muttered. "Having my hand back is enough."
The wagon lurched, tossing him against the bars. His snout smacked metal. "Kpakam!" he hissed.
Femi's agitation slowly subsided as he rubbed his nose, attempting to calm himself. His gaze drifted outside the cage.
Outside, the road was rutted. The horses galloped onward, their pace doing nothing to smooth the turbulent journey.
Their galloping was bad enough, but add their droppings that stank and you have constant headache.
"Did these horses eat beans?" he grumbled, rubbing his snont, his whiskers twitching.
Defeated, he sprawled on the cage's floor, stewing in misery.
Days dragged on.
---
For endless days, he'd done nothing but sit, sleep, and stare at the unchanging ice covered trees. Sometimes, he pretended he was in a mansion with AC and drinking Bobo.
The delusion only broke when they fed him lumpy, bitter potatoes or when he relieved himself over the wagon's edge, grimacing at the indignity.
He needed out. His muscles ached from inactivity, his skin itchy with confinement.
"So this is how a prisoner feels" he muttered.
Footsteps approached. A man passed by.
Occasionally, the men's deep voices reached him. He'd picked up a few words, but their rapid, guttural speech remained mostly nonsense to him.
Then, two men began to argued nearby, their tones sharp with worry. Femi peeked out.
One tall and thin, the other short. They stood agitated, eyes darting toward the horizon, voices too loud for their proximity. Their posture screamed "we'll bolt any second."
Femi's stomach tightened. Their fear could be seen and it mattered to him, since he was at their mercy until they freed him. By now, he was sure they meant to sell him, like a goat at kpansia market.
He sighed. "Let it be nothing."
Suddenly, the wagon halted. Not unusual but this time, shouts erupted,as boots pounded dirt. A hulking armored man sprinted past, yanking on his helmet.
"Please, don't let this be a fight," Femi prayed.
He wondered what lurked in these woods?
"Please let me not be in an evil forest, I don't have the strength to fight, witch."Femi muttered to himself
A horn blared. Then chaos. Screams. War cries. Drum-like thumps shaking the ground.
Femi tensed, scrambling to see. He rattled the cage, but cargo blocked his view.
Minutes passed in a cacophony of clashing metal, roars, and howls. Some cries triumphant, others agonized.
An explosion rocked the caravan. Hot wind whipped the rag off his cage. The wagon shuddered. Femi flinched then froze.
His view was clear now.
Just as he'd feared: a ring of caravan guards in metal armor fought back-to-back against hulking green-skinned humanoids clad in ragged hides. The attackers swarmed like ants.
At the center, a crater smoldered, surrounded by charred green bodies. Before it stood a plump man in grey robes, staff raised.
Arrows streaked toward him.
"Kuros—manipulate
Invisible force deflected the arrows. The man aimed his staff at the nearest foes.
"Kill the weaver!" someone bellowed.
As green men charged, the weaver chanted again:
"Kuros—manipulate
Flames lanced from his staff. The attackers became living torches, their shrieks like vengeful spirits as they fell.
The weaver smirked, raising his staff once more
An arrow punched through the back of his skull.
He dropped.
The green men cheered. The caravan's defenders faltered. Women screamed as the hulking brutes cut down the last guards.
Femi's pulse hammered. I need to escape.
The horses shrieked, jostling the wagon. Femi slammed into the bars, his snout throbbing. "Damn it!"
Outside, the green men looted corpses. One yanked a woman up by her hair, her dress stained with blood.
"Quit screaming, or Goruk eats you," he snarled. "Boss wants the women."
She sobbed until his slap silenced her. He hauled her away.
Femi muttered prayers, wondering how he'd ended up in this nightmare.
The battle sounds faded. Only dying moans and guttural voices remained.
Then footsteps.
The rag tore away. Femi looked up into the green face, a female, well probably female, by the looks of the cloth covering her chest, and features being feminine.
She had dark hair and a long brown cloak. Her green eyes had a certain shine to them under the twin suns.
The green female was staring down at him in surprise
"Ahh, a ratling," she said, nose wrinkling.
Femi let out a defeated sigh. "Of course, his enemies have finally succeeded."