Wherewithat 5

Marthi Flaardvoorst stumbled along the narrow forest track between the two women, Hope nimbly leading. He reacted anxiously to every sound in the trees on either side and constantly tripped over branches, briers and vines that littered the path.

Varta softly called to Hope to slow down. She too was anxious - aware that nearby dogs might pick up the scent of the wound on Marthi's arm. But bandits were also an occasional hazard along the more well-used trails, and the commotion of his frequent falls concerned her.

"Slow down, Hope. Steady him."

Banditry in the outlands was haphazard and disorganised. The people known to inhabitants of the communes as outrunners had long ago realised the futility of war and plunder. Little was gained, the main beneficiaries being the dogs and wild pigs that quickly scented blood and overran the scenes of skirmishes.

Hope suddenly disappeared from the trail and Varta had to hold Marthi by the arm to prevent him running past the ditch that she had scurried into. She steadied him through bushes to a small shelter of interwoven reeds and branches, based around a dull silver box.

The box was oval in section, with large holes where the fragile metal had succumbed to the elements. At one end rose a slim blade, completely overgrown and now wedged into mature trees. Marthi tried to read what looked like letters faded beyond recognition.

"This is our home." said Hope, by way of a welcome.

"You will be safe here." rejoined Varta. "Hope, light a fire and heat some water." She looked carefully at Marthi's wound.

"Where did you get this? Were you attacked?"

Marthi lowered himself onto a fallen branch. "I did it myself."

"Why?" asked Hope.

"It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with you."

"I have seen this before." Varta said quietly. "You have come from the commune."

A flash of anger came into Marthi's eyes. His sense of survival fighting with his fatigue. "You don't know anything. You are a savage."

"I know that you are sick. Your wound is infected and you have not eaten. If you have come from the commune, you will not be able to tolerate some of the things that we eat. This is also why you are sick. I know that you will die, Marthi Flaardvoorst, if we do not help you."

The fire in Marthi's eyes became a pleading.

"We don't want you to die here." Hope said quietly. "Your corpse would attract every predator and scavenger for half a days walk around us. Why did you bring him Varta?"

"Because he would have fallen to the dogs. Could you walk away from that? Heat the water."

Hope busied herself building a small wood fire and drew water from a nearby spring. Varta walked towards the woods, carrying her sharpened staff and a heavy knife.

"Varta?" called Marthi.

Varta stopped briefly and turned.

"Thank you."

She looked at him as though weighing his chances and turned to walk into the woods.

© Copyright Kevin Buckle 2012