Kavio

Three days out from the tribehold, Kavio found his first fight. Rovers, men who had left their birth clan, but not yet married into a new allegiance, often traveled together in packs, like wild dogs, and like dogs, they hunted. Sometimes for need, sometimes for pleasure.

Three dropped onto the path in front of Kavio. One was missing his nose and ears, which meant he was probably a mariah, a captive destined for human sacrifice, who had escaped in the middle of his torture. The other two were undoubtedly exiles like Kavio, judging by the whip marks on their backs, though they did not wear their mud and ashes, and he assumed had no compunction against carrying out more of the crimes which had won them expulsion.

To his surprise, the rovers didn’t attack. They invited him back to their campfire. Shrugging, he accepted—was he any better than they? He found their lack of either resentment or awe oddly refreshing.

“Do you know who I am?” Kavio couldn’t help but ask them.