The fire and the dogs were behind him now but he knew that he was not yet safe. Perhaps he would never be safe. Perhaps his life would be one long run from danger. He knew nothing about the land beyond the forest other than from the tales of danger that they had all been brought up on, tales spoken as they huddled together around the communal fire. There were people here quite unlike his own, people who would not take kindly to a stranger in their midst if the tales were true.
It would be evening soon and then his first night alone in this strange land. His head told him that he needed to find shelter. His stomach told him that he needed to find food. His body told him that he needed to rest. His fear told him that he needed to press on, to put distance between himself and his past. It was the fear that called to him most strongly.
He looked about him. Behind, he could see only trees, pressing together like a dark wall, and the sky above filled with dark clouds of smoke obscuring the land behind. He knew what lay that way of course – home, or at least the land that he used to call home. He was lost to that now. A small shudder ran through his body. He didn’t spend long looking back. To his left, the hummocky terrain of the ridge, dotted with grasses waving gently in the breeze, dropped down to the sandy plain, and beyond that was the sea. There was nowhere to go in that direction and there would be precious little shelter, but there would be food. To his right, the sandy hills, if you could call them hills, reached inwards almost as far as he could see before giving way to distant mountains; the same mountains that as a young boy he had sat and gazed at in wonder when he should have been helping his brothers with their work. He’d received a few smacks around his ears for indulging in those moments of contemplation. He certainly could go inland, but to do so would keep him close to the forest and having worked so hard to escape its grasp he felt that he needed to keep moving away from it now. Besides, he knew that it wasn’t unknown for scouts to be sent out to the forest’s edge or even sometimes a little way beyond it to spy into this land and he couldn’t risk being seen. No, he needed distance, and that meant turning his back on the forest and continuing forwards along the coastal ridge.
His escape from the fire had brought him up to a high point and so he was able to see that the ridge stretched for miles ahead of him, sea on one side, sandy hills pockmarked with clusters of green on the other. As it stretched ahead, the ridge curved slowly and steadily to his right, seeming to wrap its way around the interior lands. It was not easy terrain, but where the landward side of the ridge dropped down there were trees and greenery and in one or two places he thought he could see the silvery glint of water. The natural undulations would offer him some shelter, the trees some shade and there was a good chance that there would be seeds and nuts, perhaps even a rabbit if he could trap one and risk lighting a fire to cook it over. Staying up on the ridge gave him a clear route to follow, easier ground to move over and by dropping down off the ridge, access to this safety. It also gave him the option to forage on the shore and at the higher points a chance to scout ahead; and, of course, to check behind…
He looked down at his body. His clothes were smudged black from the smoke and in a few places the deep red of his blood showed through. He would have to take a proper look at the damage, but that was a job for later – he couldn’t afford to linger too long. He stood up and carefully lifted each leg in turn, testing each joint as he did so. There was a burning pain in his ankle which was worse when he flexed it but it was holding his weight and he could walk without too much discomfort. He would strap it when he got a chance. There was blood on his leg seeping through his leggings and a sharp pain if he pressed the area but it was bearable. He would have to deal with that later too. He stretched over to one side and then the other and reached his arms upwards. His left arm was fine but it was a struggle to raise his right arm above his shoulder and both arm and shoulder on that side throbbed painfully. He knew he’d been lucky to slide under that tree but his shoulder had certainly paid a high price for that luck. He lowered his arms and looked at his hands in front of him, first opening and closing his fingers to check their mobility and then turning his palms downwards to inspect the slicing cuts of the thorns. There were still several embedded into his skin and he gently plucked these out with his fingers and placed them in a small metal tin taken from the pocket of his pack. Thorns that sharp could scratch a mark or serve as a fish hook and he certainly wasn’t going to throw them away. He couldn’t, of course, see his face and his head, and so this was another job for his fingers. Carefully he ran them through his hair feeling the curves and bumps of his skull, checking for places of pain and apart from one tender area just above his right temple everything seemed okay. He already knew that there was blood on his face, he’d tasted it in his mouth as he had come through the thicket and now he could feel the slight crustiness on his nose and cheek. But whatever holes had been punched into him seemed to be minor and his body had already set to work closing them up. He would wash the dried blood from his body when he felt safer and could find a pool of water. So there was certainly damage – his ankle, leg and shoulder would need some attention – but he had been lucky, miraculously lucky in fact, and he couldn’t quite believe it.
Crouching, with his pack on the ground in front of him, he reached in and pulled out a small cloth bundle. Holding it in his left palm he unfolded it carefully and took out a small handful of tree nuts and a couple of pieces of dried fruit. It had been a last minute decision to grab these supplies from his family’s stores and they would not last long. He had not imagined that he would be running so far; they had driven him here. He was grateful now for his foresight. He tried to take his time and to savour the tastes but he was hungry and it was impossible not to just rush the morsels down. Then he slid his wooden bottle from its holder on the side of his pack, twisted open its lid and peered inside. It was perhaps half full and he allowed himself two swigs only before sealing it up and pushing it carefully back into its home. He would need to find water before nightfall or certainly before striking out the next morning.
He placed the small metal tin back into the pocket of his pack and slung the strap over his left shoulder before reaching across with his good arm to feed his injured arm through its own strap and pull the cords tight. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, drew himself up to full height and scanned the terrain ahead. There was only really one way he could go but he knew he’d move better if he had a target to aim for. Far ahead, pretty much at the point where he could see no further, the ridge seemed to lose its identity and the lower land to the right was lush with small trees. At its end, he could see an area of higher ground, a kind of bluff, and on top of this were four trees, tall pines that stood like sentinels over the surrounding ground. It was a long way, and it would take him days to reach that point, but it felt like those trees were calling him there. He would respond to their call.
Next: Chapter 3 – Conlaodh’s Journey
Previous: Chapter 1 – Fire Chase
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