Page 64 of Solivagant

His long tail twitched back and forth in agitation.

I tried to peer around him, just to see if I could spot the wall or something else he might be guarding. I hadn’t noticed anything before he’d blocked the path. His hackles rose, making him look even bigger. He growled again.

“What are you hiding?” I dared to ask.

His upper lip curled in a snarl. So far, in the entire time he’d kept me here, he hadn’t hurt me, and I’d come to believe he wouldn’t. Though, right now, I was questioning that.

When it came to the wall, he’d simply pick me up and carry me back to the house. He wouldn’t even seem too annoyed about it. In fact, he seemed to find it fun, like he were playing some sort of game with me. Now, though, he wasn’t playing. That much was clear.

“Fine,” I huffed.

I took a step backward, then another. He stopped snarling but still didn’t move off the path he was guarding.

It felt wrong to turn my back on a predator like him, but I knew it didn’t matter, because if he truly wanted to hurt me, there weren’t a thing I could do about it.

Rage bubbled up inside me. Not only was I not permitted to leave my cage, but I was also apparently not allowed to explore it either.

I turned and stormed all the way back to that stupid shack he’d decided was my home now. I slammed the door, putting a flimsy barrier between us, but it was better than nothing.

I waited to see if he’d try to get in, but he didn’t.

Why did that somehow irritate me even more?

With nothing better to do, I decided to see what parts of this crumbling shack might actually be salvageable. If I wasn’t going to be allowed to leave, the least I could do was make this place more comfortable.

The deep orange sky poured through the holes and cracks in the wall, signaling early evening. The ones I hadn’t yet covered at least, because while what had once been furniture was entirely useless as such now, it was fine for mending the walls. I could probably reinforce the door with some thicker wood too, if that old axe were any good for chopping trees anymore. I’d have to find out later, because I still wasn’t ready to deal with Tusks.

He’d been quiet, and he’d left me alone. I’d resisted, for the most part, the urge to see what he was doing. The few times I’d briefly looked outside, I hadn’t been able to see where he was, though I didn’t have to in order to know he wouldn’t be far away.

The smell of cooking meat wafted through the remaining gaps between us, and my stomach growled in response. The thought of food and the warmth of fire slowly wearing down my determination to spend as little time in his company as possible.

I opened the door slowly. His back was facing me as he cooked another duck over the fire, the piglet once again chasing his tail as it swished back and forth.

But something new caught my attention. Beside the fire, over the bed of grass and chamomile he’d made for me, was a very full looking backpack and what looked to be clothing.

It might have been an attempt to lure me out, and it worked.

I was cold, and supplies were worth swallowing my pride for.

The smell was the first thing I noticed, then the blood. The fabric of the jacket was torn, the insulation spilling out of the split in the synthetic material. Beside it were the knife I’d dropped near the wall, and the backpack I could now see was also stained with old blood.

It should probably have given me pause, but whoever these things belonged to, they clearly didn’t need them anymore. As for what had happened to them, I was pretty sure I already knew.

I tipped the bag out to examine the contents. A first aid kit, water bottle, sleeping bag, hammock, cookware, flashlight, utility knife, insect repellant, sunscreen, and some more clothing including a flannel shirt and some socks. And some granola bars. I exhaled in relief.

The red flannel shirt was quickly pulled over my exposed skin. It was a little tight, and smelled a bit musky, but it was still preferable to nothing. The sleeping bag was in a similar state as I pulled it from its cover and spread it out over the grass. The stubborn wrinkles in the fabric indicated it had been tightly packed for some time, but it was definitely still usable.

When I turned back to Tusks, his ears were folded down, his expression cautious.

Was he worried I was still mad at him?

“Did you kill whoever owned this stuff?” I asked.

His head lowered and ears drooped further. That was a yes, then.

It did bother me, I supposed, but not nearly as much as it should have. After all, I’d killed things too.

I sighed. “Right, well… I guess… thanks? For bringing me things.”