The Non-Human Society

Chapter Forty Three - Renn - Ruvindale

      The large city was finally in front of us... and to be honest, as excited as I should be to finally get to rest and relax... I was anything but.

I was now worrisomely nervous.

My stomach knotted and complained, and not because of a lack of food. Vim had let us stop this morning at one of the small inns along the road, and so I knew my stomach ache wasn't from hunger.

"Don't stress," Vim said.

We were walking side by side, and I was glad that the road had gotten a little larger. We were now just two of many on the road. Carts, horses, and people came and went. If the road had been the same size as the one we were on a day ago, I'd not be able to walk next to Vim as I was.

"How can I not?" I asked.

"Do you have something to stress about?" he asked me.

"That's the problem, I don't know," I said honestly.

Vim raised an eyebrow and nodded, as if he somehow understood my meaning.

I wanted to voice more complaints, but decided against it. Vim already knew full well what I was worrying about, and at this point didn't seem to be wasting any time worrying about it.

Either he'd find I was innocent, or find I'd die.

To him it was that simple.

Just as simple as killing those men.

I flinched and closed my eyes as an odd ache ran throughout my body... sourced from my stomach. It even gurgled a little, as if hungry.

"Need to relieve yourself?" Vim asked, a little too naturally.

"No," I said simply. This wasn't that kind of issue.

"Hm..." Vim didn't seem convinced, but said nothing more.

Groaning a little, I wondered why this was bothering me so much.

Even when I had taken the letters to Vim I hadn't felt this bad. Worried, yes. Scared, sure... but this...

This felt as if I was not only going to die or get hurt, but that something horrible was going to happen.

Something unfixable. Something wrong.

Glancing at the one who was most likely the main cause of these strange emotions and feelings, I tried to focus on his hands.

They looked normal. A little calloused, which was normal for men. Especially since most worked hard labor. If anything they looked a little... too untouched. Most men in today's age didn't just have calluses, but had old injuries. Missing fingers, or scars from chunks of skin being torn or scraped off. Fishermen especially had such hands.

Yet he had no such scars or wounds. At least, none I could see from just a glance.

Which when I took into account his true age, and his true profession...

Gulping a dry mouth, I looked away from his hands when he glanced at me. He said nothing, but I knew he had noticed.

He always noticed such things.

Blinking heavy eyes, I for a moment saw the scene again.

Men charging at us. Naked men, on top of it.

Then I saw them dying. One by one.

I could kill a man. I have. But I wasn't proficient at it.

Nor was I used to it.

Vim hadn't just killed those men; he had done so with precision and... surety.

After seeing him kill those men, I knew now that his title wasn't just for show.