Plans

The snakish man meticulously sorted through the mushrooms and herbs gathered by Crim.

He discarded anything harmful and carefully arranged the edible ones to the side, all while wearing a sly grin. Onlookers marveled at his astonishing speed in categorizing the plants.

"This one's poisonous, this one's safe," the man declared, swiftly separating them.

He disposed of most with a cursory glance, but then his gaze fixed on a bright yellow mushroom. He studied it for a few moments before deeming it safe.

Crim, however, harbored doubts.

To him, this man seemed as untrustworthy as a snake. It was common knowledge that in the wild, colorful things often spelled danger, much like poisonous frogs.

Crim allowed him to work his magic, breaking away from the group and slipping into a thornless bush where he could hide while he rested.

The branches pricked at him, annoyingly, but he valued his life more than comfort.

"I never thought that arrogant guy would meet his end so soon," Crim mused, picturing the terrified look on the face of the man with long blond hair who had come to "help" him.

Though, in reality, all he had done was create more problems, albeit not as much as Crim himself.

He shifted, seeking a more comfortable position, and soon, as his idleness grew, his heavy eyelids succumbed to weariness.

Crim drifted into slumber, oblivious to the incessant chatter around him.

*** 

As Crim rested peacefully, the group engaged in a weighty discussion about their next move.

The snake continued to work diligently, sorting through the herbs. The burly, sociable man-made attempts at conversation, though his efforts fell flat as the others remained captivated by the herbs.

The young man possessed valuable knowledge in a world devoid of the internet, where information was a potent currency even for the most basic of skills.

Growing annoyed at the curious glances directed his way, the delicate man suggested, "Why don't you gather some twigs for a fire?"

His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of the elusive Knight. Unable to spot him, he withdrew his vaguely mocking words.

The young boy eagerly asked, "When's dinner?" His stomach thundering his atrocious hunger.

His mother responded with a warm smile and playful hand signals, indicating that it would be ready soon.

The boy, feigning a pout, flopped onto the muddy grass in mock defiance.

Rolling around, he tried to rid himself of the earthy scent, only to replace it with the musty smell of damp plants.

Meanwhile, his little sister lay nearby, her gaze fixed on the sky, seemingly lost in her world just like her mother. Beside them, a man with a limp rested against a tree, his leg numb from low blood sugar.

Each of them was occupied with their thoughts until another man, built like a seasoned hunter, produced a pocket knife and a block of wood, much to everyone's surprise.

"Did you have that all along?" the burly man asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

The man with the pocket knife chuckled. "Of course, I swiped it from that captain guy easily. I just pretended to trip and snatched it. You know the saying, 'Taking food from a corrupt family'?"

A few voices chimed in unison, "Food from a corrupt family?"

The Woodcarver declined to explain further, leaving the question hanging in the air as he continued to craft a finely detailed squirrel statue.

The hefty man let out a heavy sigh and posed a question of his own, his voice filled with concern.

"Have we devised a plan? Relying solely on that young knight to transport us, well, it's a gamble, isn't it? Even if he's bound by an oath, my best persuasive efforts won't sway him," he proposed. "Perhaps we ought to consider an alternative, something a bit more unconventional."

The family wore expressions of distress, while the other three simply gazed blankly at the sky or the chirping birds in the dark woods.

Together, they pondered their predicament, each lost in their thoughts.

However, the Snakes had only one objective in mind: survival. Unlike the others, he paid no heed to the hefty man's words, lost in his reality.

The child's innocent question hung in the air, and the mother glanced away, unable to meet their gaze. She rose, determined, and turned to the sturdy man, inquiring about alternatives. He merely shook his head dismissively, perceiving them as vulnerable.

The man grunted. "Listen, it's a choice between fleeing or taking the risk," he explained, cautious of the youngster. "Or we end up captured, sold to an auction, and forced into a life where wealthy folks, resembling penguins, harness our energy as a power source. Doesn't that sound dreadful?"

"Aha," The woodcarver suddenly stopped, setting aside his unfinished wooden sculpture with a grin. Encouraged by the man's words, he began crafting a contraption resembling a person running on a device that generated electricity through motion, similar to a treadmill but a bit more makeshift.

Finding the conversation tiresome, the poison picker lay down beside the injured man, deciding to tolerate their chatter once the sun's rays arrived. He withdrew his hands into the coarse fabric of his worn clothing, seeking warmth. It didn't take long for exhaustion to claim him.

The burly man sighed, and the woman, while tending to her sleeping children, wore a worried expression. The peaceful expressions on the children's faces brought a smile to the chiseled man's lips, though he tried to conceal it. He had a soft spot for children, that was certain.

As everyone settled into slumber, save for the lone wood carver keeping watch, the night passed swiftly beneath the shelter of the trees, shielding them from the thunderstorm.

A sudden clap of thunder startled Crim, his once lifeless eyes now shimmering with a mysterious yellow hue before returning to their usual vacant state. This marked the second occurrence of this strange phenomenon, and the young man remained oblivious to its meaning.

Thought, that would be soon revealed.