Messenger

His feet were nimble and paced. A heavy canopy spread out for miles over his head as he took off under the trees. It seemed as if the thicket would never end. He had to hurry, despite that. He had to relay the dreadful news to his queen at once. The empty scabbard at his hip clinked with every impact and blood dripped along the leaves as he pushed on, ever deeper. The pain in his flank didn't hurt much. At least, he couldn't feel it. No, he made an effort not to feel it. To ignore it, even if it was bad for him. Treatment will be sought after he delivers the message. The Shaman will see to him. Still, it would've been easier to push the nag of the stinging away if it weren't for the strange creature right behind him, armed with a muzzle roar-stick thing. His sword hadn't stood a chance. And the creature wasn't even large, half his size actually. To be honest. But this weapon, this roar-stick thing, it was powerful. There was a hole of his flank now because of it. But he couldn't stop, the queen had to know! She had to prepare them all... he couldn't rest. Just a little more. If only he gave it more thought, maybe this wouldn't have happened. If he didn't lead the creature right to the tribe, maybe they'd been alive right now. But then, life works in strange ways, and hasty decisions can be disastrous. Maybe Her Majesty would have forgiven him. If she'd still lived. Maybe... The campfire was bright, and he pushed that thought away. No. He wasn't going to remember what happened then. If he was branded the traitor, so be it. So what if his tribe were dead? So what if it was his fault? Huh. Let them rot in hell for all he cared. Nobody had cared about him anyway. He rolled over under the covers, a tight frown on his slightly tanned face. Heh. The middle son of twenty three children. Yes, nobody cared. So what if those foreigners bought unworldly weapons into this land? He stared at the teenage female across the fire from him. So what if they spilt blood across this holy ground? He was on their side now. If he was the traitor, so be it, so be it! He'd learn to use those roar-stick things and fire them and kill. Swords didn't matter anymore. It was all muzzles and slaughter slaughter slaughter. For all he cared. As long as he was alive, it would be alright. Even if the foreigner creatures had him point out the other tribes and lead the raids and deceive everybody he once knew. But then those were burned years, years he chose to forget a long time ago. They came back every while to haunt his sleep. He was never able to be at peace for a one-shot. Every night was long, boring, and quiet. He'd wait it out. Voices would scream at him from the darkness: "Liar! Traitor! DEMON!!" He narrowed his eyes and stared at the fire. His fifteen brothers and seven sisters all sat there, in the flames, staring back at him with a blank gaze and bloody faces. Yes, it had been him. Their faces were skinned, they were melting. He rolled over again and turned to the dark forest. Shadows danced on the thickets from the flames like devils, beckoning him. Screaming at him oh God, the screaming! He could never shut it out. He envied anyone who could sleep soundly, including his female companion. He was to show her the depth of the forest, which he knew well. They had come looking for rare herbs, and he had been in the business the last ten years. Eleven actually, if not twelve. No, thirteen. Yes, that was how much it was, thirteen. They pay well. As long as he tried to blend in with them, nobody treated him differently. Or maybe they just didn't care. Or maybe they liked that he considered himself one of them and stripped himself of his previous title as the primitive tribe's messenger. Won't Majesty be tossing and turning in her grave now? She would be cursing him. The entire tribe would be cursing him. His family were always cursing him. Good. Now where to go? Where to hide? If he was killed, he'd head over to join the deceased, and he definitely wouldn't like that. They'll just kill him all over again. But maybe if he went to a different world... yes. Back with the strange foreigner creatures. He'd be spared this torture. He'd do it. He'd ask his companion in the morning if he could accompany her back to her motherland. She wouldn't understand if he told her the truth, but he sure as the sun can lie. They are the only ones who can set him free now. He can turn to them for salvation. He's already lost himself once, why not do it again? Anything to stop his dead tribe and his relatives from terrorizing him. After all, it wasn't intentional. He never meant to start the war, but he did. Nothing could be done. And he's joined the "enemy." Well good riddance. He was done here. With a sharp huff, he turned towards the fire again and shut his eyes to sleep.