Unfamiliar Territory - Chapter 6 (Early Access) (Patreon)

They set up camp when the sky began to dim. Tove didn't comment on how far they'd managed to travel on their first day. All Chloe knew was that it wasn't a distance to boast about. And that the remainder was a mystery.

The wood collecting duties were divided not-so-equally between the two of them; Tove sourced thick branches to make a shelter while Chloe was assigned twigs for firewood. Tove let her take a few cracks at fire-starting while she twined reeds into thin ropes. They appeared flimsy until she yanked them tight around the long branches, breaking off slivers of the papery outer layers with the harsh binding. When she was finished, clapping her hands as though dusting them off, they had a two-walled shelter that she lifted on both sides to hook over the highest point in her reach - halfway up a young tree with relatively smooth grounding around it, the roots not thick enough to break through the dirt, yet.

“Would you like to set up your bed?”

Offering Chloe an out from the fire she hadn’t managed to start. It wasn’t as easy without matches. She understood the science of fire, and the magical theory of fire. Put into practice, it was much harder to replicate. She was giving all of her kinetic energy to twiddling the twigs, why wouldn’t it yield any thermal energy?

With a nod, she relented, offering up her sticks to Tove and pulling open her backpack. Tove’s smile made her feel just a little less embarrassed. Squatting at the entrance of the shelter, Chloe laid out her blanket and rolled some clothes into a makeshift pillow, binding them with the tassel of one of her skirts. The space looked only slightly less pitiful when a warm glow blossomed at her back. Her shadow laid in the centre of the blanket, demonstrating how little room there was under their wooden tent. The thought occurred that if she had been out here alone, there would be no shelter, and she should be grateful for what she had. She wouldn’t be out here at all if it weren’t for Tove’s insistence on returning to her pack, Chloe reasoned. And you wouldn’t be tied together if it weren’t for your own dumb decisions, her conscience snapped.

“What would you like for dinner?” Chloe called over her shoulder. That was one thing she could provide. Her pre-made jars of preserved stews and soups would keep them fed for at least... maybe… one full day.

“I’ll eat anything that isn’t seasoned with soot berries,” Tove answered with a kind laugh. Beside the fire, she had laid out some of the twigs in a line, not quite near enough to catch. Drying out the less-than-usable options Chloe had found.

Chloe joined in with her laugh, awkward and nervous. Her fingers skipped over the jar of home-made stew and snagged the metal lid of the store-bought soup that had a paper label guaranteeing freshness until unsealing. Twisting on the spot, she dropped her butt to the dirt between the campfire and their shelter. Tove’s eyes were on her, always. She held the jar aloft, triumphant.

“What will we cook it in?” Tove inquired politely, although there was humour in her eyes.

Chloe froze.

“I didn’t bring any pots,” she whispered.

“I noticed,” Tove whispered back. She settled herself down on the ground as well, hiking Chloe’s skirt up to the tops of her thighs and crossing her legs. Only the campfire between them kept her dignity.

“Well…” Chloe glanced about hopelessly. “We could put the jar close to the fire and let it slowly warm up…”

“We won’t be able to tell if the jar is getting too hot too quickly until it cracks and we lose our dinner,” Tove advised, poking at the fire.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Tove significantly less concerned than Chloe at the prospect of cold soup..

“Is there something we can use as a buffer?” Maybe mud or reeds or-

“Water works well for heating glass, but you’ll need a pot to hold it,” Tove answered cheerfully.

Chloe sighed. Tove put out a hand for the soup jar.

“It’s quite warm already,” she said, rolling the glass back and forth between her palms. “I wouldn’t take the risk trying to heat it.”

“Okay, backpack-temperature soup for dinner, then.”

“Is that so bad?”

Chloe huffed. “I just-” She threw her hands down in her lap, feeling childish. “It feels like everything I do makes this situation worse.”

Tove laughed as she popped the lid off the jar. “You fret yourself into fits - why?”

“I don’t even understand that question,” Chloe answered, breathless. She dug around her bag for utensils. Just the smell of the vegetables that had been released when the lid popped had renewed her stomach’s loud complaining. Carrots and potatoes and peas and green beans… so simple and yet she was fighting not to drool into the fire. “There’s so much in the last two da-”

“Nothing catastrophic has happened since we’ve met, little Chloe.”

Chloe held out a spoon over the fire. “You were shot,” she reminded her.

Tove snorted. “That was before we found each other,” she corrected. She accepted the spoon and scooped herself out a helping of soup. “And that is not a catastrophe.” With one big bite the spoon was clean again. She offered the jar back, but Chloe couldn’t force her attention back to the food.

“How-” Chloe sputtered. “What would you consider-”

“Until I am being worn as a coat…” Tove shrugged. “I try not to worry too much.”

Chloe bit her lip and leant in a little closer, lowering her voice. “Should we be looking out for them?”

“The guy that shot me?” Tove asked, as if this was insignificant.

Chloe nodded.

With a scoff, she said, “Nah, I gave him a warning bite before I hid. He’s probably at home being pandered to by a hungry wife and kids.” She shook the jar in front of Chloe, encouraging her to take it. Chloe obliged, digging her own spoon in deep.

“Have you encountered hunters before?” she asked, stuffing her face with the best soup she’d ever tasted. Temperature be damned.

“Usually you smell them before they get too close.” Tove shrugged. “I was caught off guard, and I paid for it.”

Chloe licked her spoon and handed back the jar. “Could you smell me before I reached you?”

"The magic folk don't hunt out here in the woods," Tove said slowly, adding, "only humans,” with a half-full mouth. Her mouth movements were always dynamic, like a drawn character, but trying to eat and speak had her lips pinched and curling. Chloe managed not to laugh. “And human sweat is… unique. I could smell something coming, but I didn’t know what, since you don’t share the human hunter scent.”

“Oh no,” Chloe gasped. “Magic folk would never go hunting.”

Tove tilted her gaze. “They don’t hunt anywhere?”

She shook her head in answer. Magic folk leaving the cities and killing animals for food would be the equivalent of using a battering ram on an unlocked door. Magic wasn’t as simple as a knife or a bow and arrow; using magic to kill something meant a very painful death or total destruction. The only scenario Chloe could imagine leading a witch to hunting would be… well, a situation like hers: trapped in the wilderness in some way. Or maybe those strange groups that like to live like humans on the weekend. Their belief was that magic folk were too dependent on their magic. Maybe it was true, but magic was built into them, it wasn’t going anywhere. Why learn to live without it? You didn’t practice losing any other part of your body just in case it happened. They’d be better off spending their weekends hopping, or with an arm tied behind their back.

The soup jar traded hands again. “Why not?”

“It would be overkill for us to hunt with our magic. And we don’t learn to use non-magic weapons, it’s a waste of time.” Chloe laughed a little awkwardly. "Magic folk aren't so inclined to manual labour. We pay humans to hunt and farm and build things.” She frowned. “Not that they should be hunting in these woods, they are supposed to be protected under our laws."

"'Our' being magic folk or humans?"

"Magic folk."

"But humans follow your laws also?"

"Of course. We share land, laws, everything.” Apparently not their sweat, though. “Humans and magic folk have always stuck together."

Tove drank straight from the jar, spoon forgotten where it rested on her bare knee. "But you have them do the jobs that you don't want to?"

"Magic folk have skills they don't,” Chloe explained carefully. “We do the jobs they can't and they do the jobs that would waste those skills." There was a flare of defensive energy in her gut. A part of her that could feel exactly what Tove was insinuating.

"And is that fair?"

"They are not being held captive, they are free to go and build their own cities." The jar returned to Chloe.

"Are they? If the magic folk have dictated by laws where people can hunt, does it not dictate where they can live?"

"Well, we must ensure that certain ecosystems are not disturbed. There are so many things to consider for the protection of wildlife..." Chloe sipped from the rim and handed back the last dredges.

Tove’s spoon clinked against the glass as she drew the remaining soup into one spoonful. "So, they are free to do as they please within the laws that your people have set?"

Chloe grimaced. "You are twisting good, protective laws into something ugly and cruel."

"I'm doing no such thing." Tove smiled teasingly. "I am simply curious." She leant forward over the fire, offering her spoon, and the last mouthful of soup. Instinctively, Chloe widened her lips and let herself be fed. When Tove released the spoon, it dangled from her mouth for a brief, mortifying moment. Chloe pulled it out with a ‘pop.’

“Well… I am curious, too,” she said, hurrying to move the conversation along. Ignore the burning in her cheeks. The fluttering in her chest.

“What about?”

So much, but Chloe opted for what seemed an easy enough ask. “Why do you call your non-wolf form ‘human,’ when you are not a human?”

“If it stands on two legs and has no scales or wings, we call it human,” Tove admitted with a laugh. “I’m not a wolf, either, but when I’m four-legged and furry then that’s what you’d call me.”

“I have no scales or wings, and I stand on two legs,” Chloe reminded her with a cocky coo.

“And you want to separate yourself from humans, why?”

“We’re not human.”

“You are humans with magic.”

Chloe scoffed before she could catch herself. Never had she heard something so ridiculous. “Then, by your made-up logic, the fae are birds with magic.”

“More like butterflies, I would say,” Tove mused.

Chloe hoped she didn’t look as jealous as she felt that Tove may have seen a faerie. A real, living faerie. She could be teasing again, but even the possibility was incredible. Instead, she said, “If I’m a human, and the fae are butterflies, you’re a dog.”

This didn’t displease Tove. “And the lizardfolk?” That wide, wonky grin.

“You’re going to have some silly answer that isn’t just ‘lizards,’ aren’t you?”

“All I’ll say is if you took off the scales-”

“Don’t say human.”

“You see it, too?”

Chloe groaned. Tove laughed.

Their conversation continued on and on while their surroundings got darker. No matter the topic, Tove found a way to tease and Chloe managed to get flustered. Their eyes would glance about at the night around them, the silent question of whether they should wind down, end the subject there, go to bed. Talking late into the night was a bad idea - they wouldn’t rise early to get a head start on their journey, they could attract predators, they were drying out their mouths and using up all the water…

But neither took the initiative to suggest a stopping point. Chloe could only hope Tove was just as enamoured with her company as she was with the werewolf’s. Her opinions were odd, her observations fascinating, and her tales just wild enough be entertaining while believable. She never included her age at the time of the anecdotes, but it felt from the vast library of stories she had that she had been adventuring young. Chloe hadn’t explored the outside world, and probably never would. Her life consisted of her home and the academy, maybe a few outings around town. Art and history and hobby activities were heavily infused with her childhood, but always within the confines of the city walls that her house stood within.

No one called it a night. Instead, Chloe found herself sinking further and further down to the ground. Cheek in hand, then elbow on knee, then legs stretched out parallel with her head. Her eyes stung. She wasn’t tired, it was the smoke from the fire. She didn’t need to sleep, yet, she wanted to hear more about Tove’s time in the mountains. As brief as she claimed it was…

Chloe woke when the sun forced its way into the shelter. She and Tove were back-to-back, squeezed onto her blanket. The campfire was charred and cold.