Playing The Victims [BL]

Chapter One Hundred & Eleven | Fourth World

They remained in the same hut as when Hawk was initially brought in injured. Ordinarily he would have one which was on stilts, like the Chief's own, but as it would be too strenuous to go up and down the stairs all the time, Hawk decided to stick where he was. Further solidifying a humble image about him.

Finch couldn't complain, since being amongst the other huts made it warmer than being open to the elements. Still, he had to hitch the ends of the furs closer to his skin and make himself look small to try and conserve the heat. He looked like a moving pile of fur.

Everyone was moving at a slower pace, but still moving nonetheless. Slaves were expected to be working, especially with the Chief's urgency to get everything ready for the ceremony. One which had originally meant to be quick and small, but snowballed into a large-scale event.

When doorways parted, smoke billowed out of huts. As Finch walked passed, he heard the grumbles of the clan's men scolding those that let it escape. The snow fortunately didn't last long, it was the frost that did the most damage. The crisp, unrelenting cold air was the killer and as it had only just arrived, the clan was feeling sorry for itself after getting used to the blazing heat only weeks before.

Finch made his way towards the location of the food. As was predictably the case, food began to be rationed as soon as Chief's orders were spoken. And usually, it was delivered to Hawk's hut by another slave who once offered to cook. Hawk had either become reliant or dependant, but he turned the slave down and asked for Finch to prepare it.

Which had left him in a sticky situation. Since Finch wasn't that great at preparing foods— nevertheless with questionable ingredients— he pretty much only knew the medicinal values of. So Hawk used the opportunity to laugh at his bewildered expression. Eventually, after truly grasping how terrible Finch's culinary skills were, he vaguely guided him.

Over the many occasions when the man demanded food, Finch had gotten gradually better at cooking. He ignored, each and every time, as the recovering man grumbled about how his insides were eating themselves as he waited for Finch to finish the simplistic meal.

But Fahren, who had come from a privileged background, was pleased with himself. It was only in the second world where he was able to cook for a short time, before his lover promptly put an end to it before he burnt the house down with their children and themselves inside of it.

Finch didn't realise his face was showing a gentle expression— although the emotions weren't as tangible anymore, he still remembered every detail. And his trip down memory lane continued, baffling the tall man who walked towards him with intention. It took no effort at all to crouch down and fling Finch off his feet.

"Wha— hey!" For a moment, Finch had completely forgotten his role. But since he technically wasn't a slave, he wasn't going to let himself get manhandled. So as he was tossed over the man's shoulder, he flailed about and kicked his legs furiously.

Stubbing his toe on the man's body left him feeling dejected at how weak Finch's body truly was. He was a glorified handbag.

Thinking that maybe he could call out to someone familiar, as the man surprisingly carried him back towards the direction of Hawk's hut, Finch wasn't too worried. But the man made a sharp turn when they came to a fork in the path. Now heading somewhere else entirely.

"Put me down!" Finch thumped his fists against the man's lower back. The thickness of the fur that wrapped around the man's shoulders, meant that Finch made very little damage. He hadn't even faltered in his steps. The only time he came to a stop, was when he reached a hut and parted the furs before stepping through.

On the other side, Finch felt the heat of the room prickle at his cheeks. He didn't have time to look around, as he was hitched off of the man's shoulders and dumped onto the ground. He landed heavily and swiftly winded himself.