Doing a mental shake, I stand up, siphon out the temperate bubble, and start stretching. I'll give them a head start, then follow along jogging. And that is how our morning warm up went. We jogged for a couple miles, racing the sunrise. They drilled me through their designed routine, and by the time we returned to the camp zone the sun was shining in full illumination upon the camp zone. People I left asleep are almost all awake now, going through their wake-up rituals of washing their faces, and shitting in the surrounding fields. The central fire station had five setup camp fires, flames dancing upon them, heating the pots above. 

“Guardians of the night, join us in breaking your fast.” voices shout out from many fire pits, and as they should, I guess. Uncle and Aunt were pretty famous with this group by now, seeing as how most of the people here owe them their lives. And especially after how they, after the attack, refuse to sleep even one day, opting to keep watch every night, even against my requests or orders for them to switch with me.

I'm actually more surprised that they were not more sleep deprived, but upon hearing this they'd assured me that they were more than capable enough to withstand the sleepless nights and traveling days. Those sleepless eyes now look at me, and I see the clash of hesitation in them as they look towards me in solidarity, but I also hear their stomachs growl at the smell of the fresh foods. Initially, I was a little confused at their hesitation to eat, but after a look around the camp all my doubts were dispelled. I comprehended the situation upon seeing the pointed gaze the people at the cooking pits gave me. Last night's incidents seem pretty fresh in their minds. 

My conclusions are proven further when I see the last cooking pit offer food to my thief, well, to his lackey. He takes two bowls of food as he leaves the pit and heads towards the surrounding forest. “Go,” I tell them finally. They still hesitate, but leave when their stomachs growl a second time.

“Miss Amani,” calls out a voice. I turn to see a piping hot bowl of food being shoved into my field of view, “Here.” says the voice. 

I back up a little so as to not accidentally tip over the bowl of precious food, and in doing so, I get a good look at the face of my benevolent supplier. It's the head of the camp, Elder Arfan, I think. He’s one of the few who have been friendly with me since day one. 

“Don't mind their stares,” he says. “Miss Amani, we are but flawed beings. Quick to forget the good, and attack the bad. They'll soon come to their senses, or at least that's what I hope,” he says. Turning back, he retrieves his own bowl from his fire pit and directs me to a secluded seating spot at the edge of the circular clearing. “One should always be allowed to eat in peace.” He leads, I follow. Uncle and Aunt get up to follow too, but I sit them back down with a small Mansomi hand sign.

We take our seats on two thick trucks of laden trees. He sits before me, and I behind him. “I must once again thank you, Miss Amani, for the aid that you gave us the other day. As you can see,” he waves his hand over the area in front of us, emphasizing his words. “We are no fighters. Just a ragtag group of refugees tossed around biannually from one country to the next, with the barest courtesy of providing an escort to ‘help’ us on our way. When in reality, their escorts cause us more harm than good.” He sighs, gulps down a little of his food. Twirls his wooden spoon around before pointing it at an individual. 

“Take Sonya as an example,” he says, pointing to a girl sitting in the corner, at the other end of the clearing. She sits with her head tucked in between her folded legs, gently rocking back and forth in sobs. “She's a recent addition to the group. She, and some others, are one of the few survivors we've seen from the Polwa Village. Now that I think about it, I think she's acquainted with those idiots who tried to rob you last night, but that's besides the point.” He picks another spoonful, gulps it down. Urges me to take my meal too. He then turns back to the poor woman, continues. 

“She, in her own tongue, was living a peaceful and quiet life in her village. They had green crops, lush forests and lands, and even a giant farm of their own. In her words, they were in heaven. But then the War between Lillova and Amanova landed on them. The waging war had swept through their heavenly lands with its mindless violence and destruction; leaving their lush land barren, most of their residents dead or dying, and the rest of them fleeing for life.”

He shifts in his seat, takes another bite. I sit stiffly, my appetite depleting by the minute. “When she first came to us, she had a three year old son with her. The little boy wouldn't leave her sight even for a minute, such a mama's boy he was. Full of joy and excitement, something we had lost quite a long time ago,” he says, his eyes gleaming. “The child had given us hope for a better future.” But then, his eyes drop, his smile fades.  

“After our last refugee hike, before the escort group left us, they wanted to take her son with them, so she offered them herself instead. In the end, they took her son and her dignity with them. Now, she just spends her days bawling her eyes out, muttering her son's name over and over again.” He gets up, his porridge finished.

The Elder starts to leave, but stops after a few paces, turns back to face me. “The reason I am telling you this, Miss Amani, is because I sense nobility from you. And it is my hope that that nobility of character might translate into some influence amongst the nobility of the country we’re heading to. Now, as I make it a habit of not prying into other people's business, I shan't ask who you are, but I plead with you to please help us. Help us in this, and we shall be forever grateful to you, and if you ask, I shall gladly lay down my life for you, Princess.” Winking at me, he leaves. 

Shocked, I begin to get up, but he gestures to me to stay seated and eat. With his free hand, he draws–in the air–the rune of secrecy, the one the royalty of Moreun use to close off their most solemn vows, the one that magically binds the user’s heart to his vow. Further shocked, I slump back down on my makeshift seat. The land beyond Amanova, so he's from there. 

Minutes pass by as I stare into my bowl of porridge, occasionally stirring it. Clashing thoughts clog my mind, a war raging between new conceptions and prior misconceptions, a divide between what I‘d been told and what I’ve experienced thus far. With my appetite completely evaporated, I begin to get up when I hear a crack sound in the bushes behind me. Immediately I spread my sense awareness into the surrounding area while continuing to casually stir my bowl, so as to not give anything away. I locate the intruder, oh, it’s just that guy. “Back for a second helping?”

“What? How did you . . . N-no I'm not, don’t attack me, I’m just here to ask for forgiveness, Miss Amani.” Quivers the lackey. I turn to face him as he comes out into the open, and I see him properly for the very first time. He’s dressed in plain peasant clothes that are dirtied with grime and riddled with small holes, and he himself is covered in scar marks that looks like they're from cuts and slashes. He hesitates to step forth, and I contemplate on whether I want to let him come any closer. ‘Uff, Amani, I hate having to repeat myself, but I’m telling you this again: as a future ruler of this great kingdom, you must learn empathy, and exercise it on everyone. Learn to give people a second chance,’ I hear my father's teachings reverberate within my mind. They clash with the Duke’s teachings, but I feel like I should follow my father’s words in this situation. 

So, I nod him my permission. As he comes closer, however, I see a bad cut on his right arm, the surrounding area gone cystic green. He notices me staring, hides his hand behind himself. “What is your name?” I ask. 

“I-Its Conin, Miss Amani,” he says, voice a whisper.

“Right, Conin, come, sit before me,” I call him to me, to take a seat on the trunk in front of me, but he sits himself on the ground before me. I blink, thinking on whether I call him up or not, but the Duke's lessons spring to mind and I chose now to follow his instead. I let him be. 

“How did it happen, Conin? Your arm I mean.” I ask. 

Subconsciously, he crosses his hand, covering the wound. Placing his head in the hollow of his hands, he doesn't speak for a while, and the stretch extends for so long that I begin to wonder if he will, but then he breaks the silence. “I . . . It happened on the day they attacked my village,” the lackey says, “I, like many others, had to discard all my belongings and run for my life. Most of my family and relatives, screaming, fell like logs to the left and right of me. Men, women, and children slaughtered like cattle. Some of those monsters even used some of us as target practice, and one of those flying arrows went through my arm. I pulled it off, but since then my arm has been rotting like this. Some nights I can't even sleep because of the pain.” 

He pauses then, struck in a stupor. His gaze looks through me, past me, his eyes cloud over. Suddenly, as if jerked back to place, he stares around, discombobulated. He sees me, begins to sit straighter, placing a hand on either side of him, as if to help balance his failing body. He continues, “I had wanted to kill each and everyone of them bandits, or what I had first thought to be bandits, because we have frequent attacks from them. It turns out that they were soldiers. I imagined them to be soldiers from Amanova, our neighboring country, a barbarian country we were told. So I was hoping to join the army to kill as many of those Amanova bastards as possible, but then I overheard our own country's soldiers laughingly discussing about their pillage on our village. Apparently they were clearing out the field for our annual war with Amanova.” 

“Miss Amani,” he says, getting up. He brushes his pants, it stays dirty still. “We weren't always like this. We were simple farmers in a simple remote little border corner in our Lillova. If we had met in Polwa, I would have personally taken you around the village, fed you from my day's bounty, and offered all of you sleeping quarters in my own home. But sadly, that is not how we met.” he says, his voice filled with remorse. 

He looks down, absentmindedly scratching at the cystic wound. “I don't wish for forgiveness from you–I don't think what we attempted should be–but I do beg for your empathy. Me and Paddy had just learned that the people who hunted us down were our own country guards. And even though that is no excuse for what we did, we still attempted it, and for that we are sorry. I'll take my leave now.” He says, and begins to walk away, but halts after he spots something to my right. “You gonna eat that?” 

. . .

“ALRIGHT PEOPLE, STAND IN A LINE, HEADCOUNT IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!” shouts the elder.

After packing up the scattered utilities, the migrating group starts filing themselves into three separate lines, each line headed by one of the leading people. The elder, Aunt Cassandra, and Uncle Malova.

I revolve around the clearing, initially making sure nothing is being left behind, and once I’m done with that, I begin completing my real task—trace removal. You see, a few days back, raked by a deep overload of emotions, I had isolated myself from the group, only returning right before we left that camping zone. Uncle Malova had asked me then if I had finished with my half of the tasks, and I had lied that I had. That one lie had almost cost me my life. The bandit attack that followed would have massacred half of our group had there been any mages amongst them. 

“Done with your tasks, Miss Amani?” asks Uncle Malova as they are done with the headcounts. I affirm that I have. He looks over at Aunt Cassandra, she nods, and then he relaxes. I guess it’ll take some time for me to regain his trust, I mean, I don’t blame him, but still. Duke Fernandes stressed the importance of keeping an image of competence in front of your subordinates, lest they lose respect for you. And leading is all about that, fostering and retaining the respect of your retainers.

“Next destination?” I ask Aunt Cass, our resident cartographer. She turns to me, her face painted with annoyance, but upon seeing me, a toothy smile stretches across her face.

“Oh, it's you, Miss.” she says as she begins sifting through her travel bag. She retrieves a small rolled up parchment and opens it, examines it for a while, and produces a name. “It's good news,” she says with a smile, “we’re finally close to Ja’na.” 

A reciprocating smile breaks on me. The last leg of our little escort journey is coming to an end. “I can’t wait to see Arsha and Omar.” I say. Aunt Cass agrees.

Arsha and Omar. It’s been almost four months since we last saw them. We parted ways upon reaching this border city of the Guellan Kingdom. They had to go back to Eyjavo in response to a summon, but said they'd be back by the time the escort mission was over. 

So, with the good news received, I feel a jump in my steps. A sense of joy spread through me, something I haven't felt for days. I can’t wait to see them again.