Cultivating Ink 5

It was the first time in his life Alaric felt the true happiness was he returned to the slums, but the sea of shanties and makeshift dwellings told him that he actually succeeded. The smell of food that the edge of rotting mixing with thick smell of smoke from the open fires had never been this sweet.

It was the smell of survival and freedom.

For a moment, he paused, enjoying the long shadows of the afternoon soon. He hadn’t realized the passage of time while painting that portrait of the young lord. Comparatively, the chase barely lasted two minutes.

Alaric was aware that it was the only reason he actually survived. If he dared to dally even for a minute, the desperate mob that was trying to get rich would have realized that even if they were able to capture it, they wouldn’t be able to keep it.

Ironically, the number of people after him was the only reason he was able to escape in the first place.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the disgusting tang of the endless smoke that seemed to be a constant part of the slums, along with the endless garbage. When younger, he often wondered why people didn’t bother keeping the slums cleaner, but as he got older, he realized the desperation and hopelessness had a way of sapping the will of people.

As he walked, he could see several veteran hunters that couldn’t work anymore, often lacking a limb, their gaze blank. People were tense around the cooking fires, their grip around the kitchen knifes tight to dissuade anyone that might decide to steal their food.

Even the children running in the streets lacked the joy. As he painted earlier at the marketplace, he had seen many small children accompanying their parents, with an expression of wonder and excitement on their face.

In the slums, their faces were grim and dour as they watched, waiting for an opportunity. Two of them darted toward Alaric as if they were playing the chase, only to collide against him and to reach his money pouch.

For a moment, Alaric was tempted to let him succeed. What he was reaching was one of the dummy pouches with just a few copper coins. He was too familiar with the signs of hunger to miss the absolute need.

However, by doing so, he would encourage him to steal more, which would have been the worst thing Alaric could do. Not because he had any kind of moral objection, but because letting a kid believe that he was a good thief when he was not was the same as killing him, only slower. Sooner or later, he would reach a target that didn’t see his fellow orphans end that way.

Instead, Alaric grabbed the wrist of the child, crouched down as he did his best to look scary. “If I catch you again, I’ll cut your wrist,” he growled.

The tears on his eyes as he run away was the proof of his success, no that Alaric was proud of it. “You’re still too soft,” Lucian said as Alaric stood up. “You need to beat them up for them so they learn not to tangle with you.”

Alaric shrugged. “Not everything can be resolved with a punch,” he said.

“Not with those arms,” Lucian responded, flexing his arms with a smirk. Arrogant, but with his arms almost as thick as Alaric’s legs, he had a point. Unlike him, Lucian had a real talent when it came to fighting, which allowed him to stick with the hunting team.

For all the dangers, one thing a hunting trip didn’t lack was food. Hunters never consumed the best cut themselves, but the worst parts, the ones that was not worth bringing back ended up in the stomach of the juniors like Lucian.

“Not everyone has an ox in their ancestry,” Alaric responded.

“If only you can use a spear as well as your tongue,” Lucian countered, which triggered a little banter as they returned. Alaric couldn’t help but smirk. For time times Lucian teased him about having a sharp tongue, he could always fight back well. Not enough to keep up with him, but much better than what Alaric could do in a fist fight.

“So, any idea what that commotion was about,” Lucian said after several chosen insults that explored the possibilities in their ancestry.

“It has to be something big to make the guards leave their post, so I’m guessing some kind of big smuggling case,” he responded. The last thing he wanted was to stand here and discuss it, but he couldn’t just skip to his tiny shed and hide unless he wanted to raise suspicion. He wasn’t the only one with a sharp nose for the opportunities, particularly after such a big commotion, and he couldn’t afford someone to notice anything.

He had seen people tortured for less.

As he chatted with Lucian, he wondered where to hide his things. Anywhere in the slums was out. His shed, along with any others, had been picked clean by the orphans the moment he left. It wasn’t a lesson he had learned by falling a victim. He grew up like that, his small size allowing him to squeeze into spaces the others could not.

That was enough to teach him just how dangerous to hide anything, which was why he had been keeping his painting supplies in the city, and why he had never brought one of his paintings back there. He knew how they would end up.

Maybe he could use the excuse to having to forage after an hour or two, and search a place in the wilderness. Doing so was risky, but not enough to carry along that warm stone that sent the city whirling into chaos.

Still warm against his sides from where he pinned it.

As they rounded the corner, he caught sight of a group of men gathered around a barrel fire. The hunter team Lucian worked with, cooking some kind of stew. “Do you want to join us?” he offered.

“No, I still need to forage. It’s a good time to find some roots and mushrooms,” Alaric replied, creating an excuse to leave to the wilderness.

“You can always eat with us,” Lucian offered.

“I appreciate it, but no,” Alaric replied, not willing to take the favor. They were a dangerous thing to accept from the people that was stronger. Not that not owing them a favor would keep Alaric safe if they needed something, but there was a difference between that being the first person they would think.

He might be more ambivalent if he was stronger, but with his size, the only thing he could do well was scouting ahead. Hunting was dangerous enough without splitting from the group.

“Your call,” Lucian replied as he went toward the rest of the group and waved his hand.

He went to his shed first, and picked his club. It was a poor weapon, one that even the thieves didn’t bother to pick. Neither was his tiny, smelly blanket. It was the extent of his possessions he didn’t carry constantly.

Especially now that his stash in the city turned inaccessible for a foreseeable future — maybe forever.

With his club, he started walking away from the slums, toward the wilderness. He hated the necessity, as the monster filled wilderness was not safe. It was why he had to gather a small fortune to pay a caravan if he ever wanted to travel rather than just trekking for a few weeks, which was a certain death sentence, even for someone much stronger than him.

Of course, the danger around the cities nowhere as high. Not only the city sent regular patrols to clean the worst of the danger, but also the hunter groups always targeted any large beast that drifted closer.

At least, the ones that was active during the day. The night was a completely different issue. Even the immediate immediate surroundings was not safe.

Still, he didn’t bury the stone the first place he saw. He wasn’t the only forager that went into the depths of the wilderness, nor he was the first one to think about hiding his things in the forest. It wouldn’t even last a day for them to find it if he simply buried on the ground or put it under a rock.

As much as he hated the danger, he moved deeper into the wilderness, the grass around him getting taller, his grip tight around him. Even the weakest monster was a threat to him.

Then, as he moved, the tall grass moved in a way that wasn’t didn’t conform with the wind. His eyes widened as he threw himself back, only for a shadow to pass where he had been, stopping only after a roll.

Alaric gulped as his gaze fell on the grumbling beast.

A shade monster. Not a full grown one, and wounded to booth, a dark cloud bubbling around it. For any hunter, it would be a godsend treasure.

For him, it was a date with the shadow of the death. His grip tightened around his club…