The Way It Is

making friends - part 1

"Welcome." I give a military nod towards them.

In hopes of an early meeting and getting this over with, I had set up camp last night, just outside the borders of the compounds. Not too far, though. Just far enough that these people would agree to meet.

For some reason, they are dead set against coming within the boundaries of the compounds. Perhaps they think it looks like a prison. It sort of does. But it keeps us safe. That's what is important.

As it was, all we had out here to scare away the wild predators lurking in the trees is my pathetic fire. It is too hot to make it very big. We used it mainly for cooking and smoke to keep animals at bay. But starving animals don't care about a fire. So, we are also well-armed.

"Hello." The woman speaks first, hesitantly, as she quickly moves to reclaim her offspring. She looks utterly mortified about something. "Sorry, I had to bring them. Some are not well at camp. They may have..."

"Nadia!"

The old guy has a strong voice for looking three short breaths from dead. He is sitting half propped up in the makeshift bed. Old patched-up stained blankets piled on him.

It is bloody hot here, and I honestly can't fathom how he can be cold, but then again, I have never been a walking skeleton before either.

He has wrinkles on wrinkles, old yellowish-grey skin, white hair long to his shoulders, a beard down to his waist, and beaded sunken, pale grey eyes. If he wasn't so fascinating to look at, he would be terrifying looking.

"Welcome. I am Marshal Zea. May I ask your names?" I welcome them again, but this time instead of addressing them as a group, I address the old guy. I get the feeling this will go faster if I do.

"I am Tomthas. That's all you should need to know for now." His creepy little eyes narrow at me.

OK. So that's how it is, then. Fine.

"Why are you outside our borders?" I look into his eyes, feeling like I am challenging him to a deathmatch, using the in-charge voice that I usually save for my men. My eyes are daring the scary old creep to try and intimidate me. Hopefully, he isn't stupid.

The crotchety old bugger smirks instead. Well damn.

"We need supplies." His clipped tone held an air of indifference.

"You mean you wanted to steal our stuff?"

Yes, I have heard the term, you get more flies with honey, from the Humans here. I understand the concept. However, I don't like this old dusty bastard. Something about him is seriously off.

And if they are lying thieves, I am not above imprisoning their asses. We will save them as per our orders, keep them from starving, but it will be in confinement in Compound 1, where I can personally keep an eye on them. So I want to see how he reacts to my blunt question.

His eyes turn cold. He is looking even paler if possible. I see his jaw work for a moment before he answers.

"We don't steal. However, I will concede, some amongst us are less honourable than others, and they may have." He bites out the words with visible disgust in his voice. "Not that it is your business, but I do not condone such behaviour in my people, and if we find someone has stolen from you, they will be punished." His head bobs once in affirmation of his claim.

Whatever that meant. I sit down on a log by the fire, across from Tomthas, stretching out my legs. I regard him closely for a moment, but I sense no falsehood or fake pretences from him. I have no idea what his idea of "punishment" is, but he is sincere in his statement—okay, moving on.