“I can’t let you out in broad daylight, or else it’ll cause a big fuss. So just behave yourself and tonight I’ll untie you again. You’ve got to wait until then! Got it?!”
“I understand.” Gaius nodded obediently. Fog tied him up once more, then left the hut.
The difference between the darkness inside and the brightness outside made her squint. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it looked like there would be no need to worry about rain today. “All right then,” she said to herself as she took a look around.
She turned to the west and saw the two small, rocky mountains at the edge of the plain. The mountains basked in the sunlight, showing off their craggy skin—not only were they a pleasing sight to the kobolds’ eyes when they’d discovered this place, but they’d become something of a symbol of the village as a whole.
Next, she looked to the north. If you continued a long, long way in that direction, you would reach the heart of the Greatwood. Mountains loomed in the distance. Some were sharp and craggy, others blanketed in greenery. A mountain known as the Great Anvil sat in the heart of the forest, but it wasn’t visible from the village.
Of course, Fog had never gone that far into the woods. She only knew the name from the village elder’s stories. If someone went out there, they’d certainly become food for much larger, stronger magical beasts than bugbears or tree-eating lizards.
As one went deeper into the woods, the trees became strangely tall and sinister. It made Fog realize once again that the place they all lived in was only the barest edges of the Greatwood.
The kobolds could never survive in the depths of the Greatwood. That being said, there was nowhere for them to go outside the forest, either. The only place they could exist was here, this place that was neither inside nor outside.
We’ve gotten pretty used to this sight by now, Fog thought to herself as she made her way to the village square, leaning on a cane to compensate for her injured leg.
She was soon stopped by an older kobold calling her name. “What do you want, Elder? I’ve got places to be.”
“Fog, when are you going to kill that human?” the village elder asked, looking over to the storehouse with eyes filled with hatred.
“...I was just thinking about how to finish him off, so you can shut it already.” Fog glared at him, hoping to stop any further questioning along these lines. “You’re not even our chief or anything. I’m the one who caught him, and I’m the one who brought him here. At least let me decide what I’m going to do about him.”
The village currently had no leader; the previous chieftain had been killed in the human invasion. Ever since then, they’d survived by combining their strengths to come to one another’s aid rather than deciding on a new leader. Perhaps they felt hesitant to elect someone new, and in doing so say farewell to their old village, lives, friends, and families.
They called this kobold “Elder” because he was the oldest of the survivors, and out of respect for his position as the strongest shaman in the village, but he was not a real leader.
“Even so, Fog—”
“I’ll convince the others. And if they don’t listen, I’ll beat them up until they do. You think anyone in the village is stronger than me?” She bared her fangs in a grin.
“‘Caught him’? He brought you along with him. You even thought he was a troll.” Fog’s irrational argument failed to sway him.
“Shut it already, gramps! Don’t sweat the small stuff! That’s why your farts stink just like your breath!”
“Wha—Everyone’s farts stink!”
“Excuse you! Mine smell fine!” This time, she bared her fangs threateningly. She growled at him for a while, before turning away with a hmph! and walking off, leaving the elder behind. He continued blathering on about something or other as she left, but she ignored him.
However, Fog did have to concede to herself that the elder did have a point.
Fog herself had lost her husband at the hands of humans. Not just him...her family, her friends, her neighbors. She’d lost so many. If the village hadn’t been attacked, many of their children would still be alive. She understood how the elder felt.
And yet, despite that, Fog didn’t see Gaius in the same light as the humans that had attacked them.
It wasn’t just because he saved her, or because he had troll blood.
The elder, everyone in the village...any kobold should understand. Yes, they should understand. They should understand, and yet...
Will I have enough time? It looked like Fog would have to let Gaius escape while keeping everyone, especially the village elder, distracted. Fog thought about all this, and as she clumsily limped along on the still-unfamiliar cane, she considered plans to let Gaius escape that night.
＊
A group of kobolds had gathered in the village square, where a pair of deer carcasses had been laid in the center.
The kobolds, who only knew life at the fringes of the forest, didn’t realize that deer weren’t a native species—they typically lived outside of the Greatwood. Magical beasts and enchanted trees dominated the further you went into the woods, but in this area, so close to the edge, plants and animals would crossbreed with outside species.
“Yo, Fog!”
“Morning, Rain Grass.”
Rain Grass was around the same age as Fog. He had been given his name during his early childhood—whenever he got caught in the rain, he wouldn’t even attempt to dry himself off. His parents had decided that his wet fur looked like rain-drenched grass.
Kobolds often named their children in their infancy after their physical traits, behavior, or personalities. One only had to look at White Fog to see why she had been given her name. As a child, she used to sulk over not having a more imaginative name she liked better, but ironically enough, she ended up giving her own child a traditional name as well.
“What’s the news on that human?”
“He’s been behaving himself ever since yesterday. I got someone else to take over watching him...but forget about that. This is a great haul for so early in the morning. Isn’t this amazing?” she asked Rain Grass, dodging the subject.
“Yep. Fell right into the traps we set yesterday.”
Fog nodded emphatically. “Then no one has to go out hunting today, huh?”
“We’re going to go cut some trees down instead.”
“Ah, right. That needs to be taken care of.” Fog agreed, considering the current state of village housing.
The village’s houses were all makeshift and crude, having been built hurriedly, and there weren’t enough to go around. This meant that, depending on the size of the home, several families had to crowd into one dwelling. This was their first summer in this place, so although they’d managed to get by, winter was not that far off. Building proper homes was their second-most important task, right behind acquiring food.
At present, most of the kobolds’ houses were tent-like structures made from thin trees and branches. The next step would be to cut trees into support pillars, build frames from them, and turn the tents into pit-style dwellings. That would allow them to endure the wind, snow, and cold.
“You don’t have to come, not on that leg. You wouldn’t get very far if some magical beasts showed up.”
“I’d feel bad, though...”
“You’d feel even worse if you pushed your luck too far and died on us. And then we’d all be in a real bind.”
This was certainly a critical time for them. The survivors had to survive long enough to begin cultivating fields, hunting for food, and rebuilding their homes. They also needed to have children, and raise them. After all, the village was still down to one-third of its previous population. Losing any more could mean life or death for the rest of the village.
“We need every last bit of help we can get.”
“Yeah, that’s true.” Fog slowly nodded, a glum expression on her face.
＊
There was a tree native to the Greatwood called the black shina. It was unusual in that its wood was pitch-black all the way through to its core. Naturally, so was its bark. As lumber, it was too brittle to be of much use for building, but its bark was traditionally sought after by kobolds. They made thread from it by finely shaving the bark’s fibers, drying them, then twisting them together. Unlike typical tree bark, they didn’t treat it by boiling or soaking it in water, because the kobolds were after a very special substance contained within the bark. That substance repelled water and lasted a long time, despite being an organic material, so it made for exceptionally durable rope.
Back at her home, Fog twisted some of that material into rope. Her young son and slightly older niece were sound asleep at her side. They were the three residents of this small abode.