Entrepasto

Cautiously striving in between what seemed to be a halfed camp of simple hunters, the two of them turned to their sides; on both, they saw broad, round cloth tents, their tops only having a minor peak, slightly flattened by their frame, ash stuck on top of the cloth that spanned their peaks, tainting the light beige to a dark grey. Midas silently watched as a broadly built woman carried curled-up Furr into one of these tents, its inside slimly visible, as its entrance was slightly opened, a warm orange light escaping from it.

Next to the tent was a woodenframe, wooly skin was nailed into its frame, the metal visibly sticking out from the wood it was hammered into, able to easily be removed from the wood again. In front of it stood a man, busy scraping the flat, skin side with an elongated blade, holding it horizontally against the stretched, straight surface. Next to him was a wooden bucket; whatever was scraped off of it landed inside of the wooden container. The fur the short man wore on him was exactly the same white-greyish color.

Fahin was not only used as a source of meat but also served as a source of leather, fur, and possibly even string. The people living in this region most likely profited from their trades, selling sources like meat to the south while supplying the north with fur and string. Living in between the steep cliffs, high peaks, and the generally rough terrain seemed more plausible now; their business with the water kingdom must also work out well, given they hold back the brawlers clothed in black and red after they began to march into the region.

Midas didn't want to voice his thought of the guards initial reaction to Inaya's masked face, the possibility of the camp's residents reacting the same way, misjudging her for one of the brawlers; the thought of this misunderstanding leading to possible conflict made Midas want to race down the central path that stretched out in front of them, his eyes darting around the plumb shapes of the setup camps; not many seemed to roam the street, either busy storing and preparing their goods or out in the wild hunting more Fahin.

"There... A bunch of them are gathered here... Do you think they might be surrounding them...?" Haya quickly bumped into Midas again as he scanned the street ahead of them, whispering his concerned thought into the boy's ear just as Midas laid his eyes on the tiny crowd that had formed right in front of another tent, this one much broader. Smoke escaped its open roof, and blue banners held up by thick rope marked its importance, inscribed with foreign characters Midas hadn't seen in the desert.

The both of them were quick to stick themselves onto the side of the tiny group of hunters that had formed around the tent's open entrance, Midas's face distorting in concern as he found the three of them right in the middle between the camp's residence and the wooden frame of the entrance to the broader tent, their clothing sticking out from the grayish-white fur the hunters wore on themselves. "You see, Graf... No matter if she is Gihin—just the fact she originated from the desert alone potentially makes her a threat to these people." 

Midas's eyes lit up in despair once he looked up to the voice that resounded through the street; his teeth clutched as his ears detected the heavy accent of the northerner that spoke to the other half of the group; he knew the silk scarf the man had worn. In utter despair, he watched himself match up more characteristics with the person in front of him to the northern commander that raided Alma's fort, ending his life. The scar on his young, bleak-skinned face a reminder of Almas's passing, struck down by the same saber that now rested inside the fancy sheath strapped to his slim, light brown belt.

The reality of Midas having no real chance against the murderer in front of him was bitter; attacking him would most definitely backfire, as he was no match in regards to short-range fighting. His one-armed fighting style was easily overwhelmed by the rapid stabs of the commander's saber; an outright attack would only burden the rest of them more, proving the point the northerner announced. All the young boy was able to do was stare right into the long, slim scar that ran across his right cheek, slightly bending, as his almost white skin warped around his prominent cheekbone.

The both of them weren't able to do much but stare at the man in front of them; the dark wooden frame of his glasses rested on his ears and short nose, its lenses dark, as he took slow steps around Graf. Glancing down to Inaya in front of him, the younger girl hid her face under her arm as she hugged her leg. "Graf, you originated from Cascrender... entering and leaving the southern part of the desert whenever you see fit. I wonder—do you spy for the enemy inside our territories...?" Slowly striding around the three of them, he voiced with a clear tone, stopping shortly behind Graf, his head turned to the side, neither facing the viewers nor the driver as he spoke.

The handful of people that formed around them began to whisper, mumbled words intercrossed into each other, a flat murmur of hushed sounds and thoughts that resounded from the hunters, stressing Midas further. Haya, unable to tell why his partner didn't act, laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, giving him a reassuring glance. "Sorry... We just have to hope for the best here; I don't know what or how he does it, but he controls water somehow..." Midas went through the foggy memories and pictures that came up in his mind upon seeing the commander's face, unable to keep himself from looking at his scar.

Grafs's eyes sternly locked onto something in the distance, breathing slowly at the almost teasing words of the commander, his fingers balled to fists without him even noticing, a way to deal with the stress, waiting a moment before responding. "I'm sorry to make you believe that—the southern desert seemed promising in expanding my influence as a salesman... So the frequency of myself passing the border increased." Not glancing back at the commander's sudden movement, his head almost instantly turning to read him once he finished speaking, the salesman replied. 

Trying to read the stern impression of the bald man while viewing him with a much more lighter, yet still serious glance, the commander turned away, taking slow, seemingly planned-out steps around the three of them while stopping once again to look down at Inaya's mask. The two girls, barely able to move, Inaya's hand softly caressing the curly hair of the youngling hugging her, trying to calm her. "And what about the Fort...? And the quarry...? Once we had taken control of it, many had told us of you—a salesman bringing goods from their base to the fort—perfectly matching your description."

Shutting his eyes for a while, his brows still sharp under the pressure applied by the young man, who now directly spoke to him across the others ears, Graf gave another rough-toned answer, "I merely transported and sold crude ore; I exploited the region's need of metal and stone... I never would've dared to squabble in the water kingdom's foreign relations—unknowing of what I would cause." His head sunk as he found his words, unable to keep his sight straight.

Only able to hear the footsteps, the light leather boots sounded onto the dry, rocky soil surrounding them; his lowered eyes eventually saw both of the pair stop in front of him, their pointed fronts in his direction. Broadening his chest slightly, the commander found a solid position, starting to ask another question, "I appreciate the honesty..." A light grin only he could enjoy began to form on his face. "Now, tell me. Why bring these two people from the desert with you..." His eyes wrinkled to focus on the slowly rising gaze of the driver.

"They are slaves." His awnser was direct, clearly voiced, a direct awnser which hit him just like his eyes which locked onto his, making him almost nod in sadisfaction. Hayas's gaze quickly softened in confusion; perplexed, he looked up at the driver, then to Midas, the boy quickly meeting his look to softly shake his head. His hand still behind his back, the young commander waited a while to muster the driver's older facial features, eventually grabbing his shoulder lightly, rattling him with yet a more prominent grin.

"I guess I must have had a wrong impression of you. Well then, have safe travels... I'm sure we will meet again sometime; I'm sure your wife is waiting for you." His tone almost making the man staring at him seem like a friend to him, the young commander ended his interrogation, turning his body to face the tent once again, retreating inside of it.

"This guy is sickening." Graf mumbled to himself, viewing the commander's back sternly as he slowly stepped back into the open entrance of the tent.