What are they?

The morning had passed in a blur with the two returning to the house, the sun already beginning its descent toward the horizon. Whiskey-Jack had spent most of the day with Vix, his thoughts divided between helping his little brother, and the strange message from the squirrel. But for now, it was time to focus on Muskrat, he was finally ready for his first real training session.

They moved out into an open clearing near the camp, Whiskey-Jack set down his gear, his eyes scanning the area. He had planned a basic strength trsining workout, something to ease Muskrat into the physical demands of survival. It was the method his father had once used on him, a steady approach to building strength.

"Alright, Muskrat. Let's begin with the basics," Whiskey-Jack said

Muskrat slouched, "Ughhh, this is going to be so boring," he groaned, throwing himself onto the ground in frustration. "Why do I have to do this? It's all so stupid."

Whiskey-Jack couldn't help but smile. His little brother had always hated physical training. Despite his toned, muscular frame, Muskrat had always been naturally gifted, his strength seemingly appearing out of nowhere, as if he was born with it. But even so, it wouldn't hurt to work on his discipline.

"Trust me, Muskrat," Whiskey-Jack said, "Dad trained me with this method, and it helped me become stronger. You just need to trust the process and be patient. Besides, this is nothing compared to what you'll face out there."

Muskrat sighed, his voice faltering. "I miss him… I hope he's out there somewhere. Safe… I keep staring at the night sky, thinking I can feel his presence. Like he's watching over us."

Whiskey-Jack's expression softened. He had heard those words before, the sadness and longing in his little brother's voice. But he knew they couldn't afford to dwell on it too much, not if they were going to survive.

"Let's focus on making him proud," Whiskey-Jack said, placing a hand on Muskrat's shoulder. "We can't bring him back, but we can honor him by being the warriors he knew we could become."

He looked at Muskrat he knew, he would grow into a force to be reckoned with, one day as massive and powerful as their father had been. But Whiskey-Jack had always felt different. His body was strong, yes, but it couldn't compare to the raw power Muskrat or their father possessed.

Muskrat wiped his eyes and nodded, rising to his feet. They continued the training for another hour, Muskrat's progress was slow but steady. Whiskey-Jack saw his little brother pushing through the pain, even if he didn't love it. But soon, Muskrat's breath turned into gasps, his hands resting on his knees as he panted.

"Alright," Whiskey-Jack said, nodding with approval. "Take a break, you've earned it."

Muskrat staggered back, plopping down onto a nearby logs, Whiskey-Jack's eyes shifted, his gaze drifting to a familiar figure sitting in the distance. Midok was lounging comfortably in a chair near the house.

Whiskey-Jack had a question burning in his mind, he moved over to Midok, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"Midok, I've been wondering," Whiskey-Jack began, his voice low but steady. "Have you ever heard of the little people? Are they dangerous?"

The question caught Midok off guard. His brows furrowed, and he leaned forward in his chair, stroking his chin as if in deep thought.

"How did you learn of them?" Midok asked, his tone cautious but curious.

Whiskey-Jack hesitated for a moment, wanting to keep his secret skills from him, he made up a lie, "Dad mentioned them once when he spoke of the Creator," he said, hoping the explanation would be enough to avoid suspicion.

Midok sighed deeply and leaned back, his face softening. "The little people…" he began, his voice trailing at the words. "They're dangerous, yes, but they've been here longer than most of us. In fact, they may have been the first to appear, long before the other creatures."

He paused, displaying his fear, "They're sneaky, Whiskey-Jack. They sneak into people's homes to steal food and supplies, doing whatever they can to survive. But that's not the worst of it. If they feel threatened, they won't hesitate to kill. They live in groups, and they're incredibly fast and almost impossible to spot."

Whiskey-Jack absorbed Midok's words, a shiver running down his spine as he thought of his brother, still resting in the distance.

"They're difficult to kill," Midok continued, "and they're more dangerous when they work together. If you ever cross paths with them, it's best to turn and run. Trust me."

Whiskey-Jack's heart sank. "Their territory is near our camp… This might be troublesome," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Midok gave a heavy nod, his expression grim. "Be careful out there, Whiskey-Jack. The world is full of dangers we don't yet understand."