He walked a bit further through the village, observing the residents dressed in various ways and feeling the gazes that turned toward him as he passed.
"Maybe it's my clothes?"
He noticed that, as he advanced, some doors and windows were discreetly closing.
The few people he encountered were busy with tasks — some were carrying baskets of vegetables and herbs, while others were hauling wood to what seemed to be a carpentry workshop.
He also noticed something: aside from the three children who had spied on him earlier, he hadn't seen any others.
Maybe their parents were keeping them indoors because of his presence?
Soren moved through the narrow alleys and streets of the village, sidestepping piles of firewood and barrels of water scattered along the path.
The ground, damp and muddy in some spots, made his steps sink slightly, leaving footprints in which small insects scurried.
"I need to find something to wear on my feet soon..."
The familiar smell of wet earth and burnt wood mingled in the air, and the sound of hammering and muffled voices filled the surrounding silence.
After wandering for a few minutes, he arrived at a more secluded area where a small, rustic wooden building stood out. It was no larger than a stable, with a simple, almost makeshift structure, and a low slanted roof that seemed patched in several places.
In front of the entrance, a robust man was working with concentration, holding a wide-bladed cleaver. The blade was stained with fresh blood that dripped slowly, forming small drops that fell with a hollow sound onto the wooden board at his feet.
On a makeshift wooden table beside him were large pieces of meat.
With each movement, blood stained the ground around, forming a dark and sticky circle.
The man appeared to be just over forty, with a thick, graying beard that descended to his chest, tangled and unkempt. His eyes were small and shrewd, deeply set in a sunken, weathered face.
He wore a coarse linen shirt and a stained leather apron, hanging heavily over his broad, muscular torso, revealing the strength accumulated from years of labor.
Upon noticing Soren approaching, the man raised his gaze for a moment, his eyes scrutinizing him carefully.
He wiped the cleaver's blade with a piece of already stained fabric and continued to stare at Soren in silence.
His expression indicated that he did not seem pleased with Soren's presence.
"What are you looking at, outsider?" The man lifted the cleaver, and Soren took a step back.
"Ah, sorry. I'm just... getting to know the village." Soren kept his hands in view, trying not to arouse further suspicion.
If he were attacked here, he wouldn't have anyone to turn to for justice. Looking at the cleaver in the man's hands, he swallowed hard.
A death by that thing seemed painful, and he didn't want to experience it.
The man huffed, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his blood-stained forearm. "You're the kind of thing we see once in a blue moon around here." He muttered, his eyes assessing Soren with distrust.
"The elder allowed your stay in the village, but don't think everyone is as kind as the elder."
"I promise I'm not here to cause trouble." Soren replied with a smile, trying to sound friendly.
The man merely grunted, swinging the cleaver back to his work. "Great. Then get lost." Without another word, the man returned to slicing the piece of meat, blood splattering.
Realizing he wasn't welcome, Soren gave a slight wave and continued on his way.
He kept walking through the village, trying to ignore the feeling of isolation that intensified with each suspicious glance he received.
As he turned a corner, he spotted a familiar figure.
It was the chubby boy, the same one who had lagged behind at the entrance of his cabin.
The child had his back to him, so he didn't notice Soren approaching. When he turned around, his face wore an expression of surprise.
Soren sighed, thinking about how to approach the boy without scaring him this time. "You again?" he said with a light smile, trying to sound friendly.
The boy, a bit embarrassed, scratched his head and murmured. "I... I was just... going home."
Soren noticed that he seemed a little more relaxed this time and seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation. "What's your name?" he asked, keeping his voice low and friendly.
The boy hesitated, glancing around before responding, "It's Jules."
"Jules? Nice to meet you, Jules. Did you get separated from your friends?"
The boy nodded, but didn't respond.
Jules seemed to be a mix of curiosity and fear, his eyes attentive as he continued to watch Soren with some hesitation.
Soren tried to soften his expression, crouching down to the boy's level and offering a smile that he hoped looked friendly.
"They must be playing somewhere in the village, don't worry. You'll find them soon." Soren reassured him with a smile, and after a few seconds of silence, he continued: "So, Jules, have you lived here for a long time?" He asked, trying to sound casual.
The boy just shrugged, without much enthusiasm.
Soren decided to ask another question, thinking he might get more useful information about where exactly he was. "And... do you know what the name of the country you live in is?"
Jules looked at him with an expression of pure confusion. "Country?" He repeated, as if it were a foreign word.
Soren frowned, realizing that the boy had probably never thought about something so big or abstract.
He only knew the village and maybe, at most, the surrounding areas.
But even if that were the case, a child should know where they lived, right?
"Oh, don't worry about that." Soren said quickly, changing the subject so as not to press the boy.
"And is your house near here? You live with your parents, right?" He hoped that seeming interested in Jules's daily life would help relax the child, but the effect was the opposite.
Jules's eyes widened, and he took a step back, as if Soren had asked something terribly wrong. "I... I live there, yes, but I... I... need to go!"
He looked around, visibly nervous, and continued: "If I take too long, my parents will get mad. They don't like it when I talk to strangers."
Soren sighed internally, realizing he had pressed too hard in the conversation. "Sure, sure, I don't want to cause you any trouble." He replied, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Jules took another step back before turning to flee, casting one last frightened glance at Soren before running down the dirt road.
He left so quickly that Soren barely had time to say goodbye.
Getting up, he watched the boy disappear around a bend in the road.
"How strange..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around.
Some villagers were staring at him.
He smiled and waved at them before leaving, heading back to his cabin.
When he arrived, he remembered something.
'How could I forget that!' Soren gave a light slap to his forehead, scolding himself. How had he not thought to ask the boy if there were other children in the village?
It wasn't a big deal, but seeing only three children in this village really made him uncomfortable and curious. He should have asked the boy if there were more of them around, just to put that thought to rest.
But with no opportunity presenting itself, Soren relaxed in his cabin. Inside, he realized how monotonous life was without modern conveniences.
With nothing to do, he spent some time standing by the open window, watching the movement outside.
The lack of distractions seemed to amplify the silence around him, and he couldn't remember the last time he had been so bored.
Lost in thought, time passed. When the sun was nearly high in the sky, he noticed a familiar figure approaching through the window.
The figure still wore a straw hat on his head, his boots sinking into the earth as he walked with a sharp gaze.
It was old Durand.
This time, Durand wasn't carrying his hoe, but his demeanor remained serious and unperturbed.
Upon reaching the door, the old man turned his head and looked at Soren through the window with a scowling expression. "The elder asked for you to go to his house. It seems he wants to see you there."
He said in his dry, straightforward tone, without bothering to knock.
Soren nodded, still partially leaning out the window. He straightened up and gave the old man a slight smile. "Thank you. I was just wondering when I'd have something to do."
"You have a lot of work to do, or did you forget you need to fix your wagon and leave this place?" The old man narrowed his eyes.
Soren slapped his forehead, chuckling. "I almost forgot about that!"
He hadn't really forgotten. He didn't want to go back to that strange, suspicious wagon, but it didn't seem he had many alternatives at the moment.
Looking at the village situation, it was obvious there were no cars or any other form of transportation.
At some point, he would need to return to that place.
Durand didn't respond. Without another word, he turned and began walking back down the dirt path.
Soren closed the cabin window and locked the door, preparing to head to the elder's house.
***
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