Amukelo: The Burdened Path

Amukelo emerged cautiously from his hiding spot beneath the tree roots, his body aching from the tension of staying hidden and the earlier battle with the griffin. All he wanted to do now was to rest, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach was louder than the fatigue, pushing him forward. 

Amukelo moved slowly, his eyes scanning the ground for tracks or any sign of prey. After some time, he stumbled upon a small stream. Its crystal-clear water flowed gently over smooth stones. The sight of water was a relief, but what caught his attention next was even better.

Downstream, three beavers were hard at work. They darted in and out of the water as they gathered sticks and placed them meticulously on their dam. Amukelo crouched low, his breath slowing as he assessed the situation. His eyes narrowed as he studied their movements, calculating the distance and planning his approach. 

As he approached, one of the beavers paused, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Amukelo froze, his heart hammering in his chest. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger, and he barely breathed as he watched the beaver's reaction. The creature turned its head in his direction, its beady eyes scanning the area. Amukelo braced himself, fearing that it would sound an alarm or dart away, taking the others with it.

But after a moment, the beaver seemed to lose interest. It let out a small grunt and returned to its task, chewing on a stick before placing it on the dam. Amukelo exhaled silently, a wave of relief washing over him. "I guess it's not scared of the smell of blood," he whispered to himself.

He moved a few steps closer, his eyes locked on the nearest beaver. When he was within range, he drew his dagger and took careful aim. With a swift motion, he threw the dagger. It spun through the air and struck the beaver cleanly, the impact causing the animal to collapse into the shallow water.

The other two beavers snapped to attention, their heads jerking up as they registered the danger. They bolted for the water. Amukelo didn't waste a second. He pulled out his second dagger and threw it at the next closest beaver. The blade hit its mark, and the creature fell into the stream, its body bobbing slightly in the current.

The third beaver, however, managed to evade him, darting into the water and disappearing from sight. Amukelo let out a frustrated sigh but quickly turned his attention to the two he had successfully caught. He approached the stream, wading in to retrieve them.

One of the beavers had fallen into a deeper part of the stream and was beginning to drift away. Amukelo didn't notice it immediately as he focused on retrieving the closer one. He let out a small breath of satisfaction as he grabbed the first beaver and placed it on the bank. When he turned to retrieve the second, he froze. It was already a few feet away, caught in the gentle current. 

"Damn it," he muttered, his body tensing as he moved quickly through the water. Just as it was about to float out of reach, Amukelo lunged, his hand plunging into the water and grabbing the beaver's body. He pulled it back with a grunt. 

Amukelo dragged both beavers to the bank. He placed them side by side and studied them for a moment. "They'll be perfect for food and their skins," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. But his moment of satisfaction was short-lived.

As he looked at his bloodied body, a memory flashed in his mind—the troll sniffing the air, looming closer and closer to his hiding spot. He shuddered involuntarily and muttered, "I need to pay more attention. First the goblins, now this. I can't afford to be careless."

Amukelo's eyes drifted to the stream, the clear water reflecting the sky above. He bent down and splashed his face. Then, with a grimace, he began cleaning his hands, scrubbing away the blood that clung to his skin. The water turned red and then clear again as he worked.

His clothes were next. He removed his tunic and rinsed it in the stream, wringing it out and repeating the process until the fabric was clean enough. The cold water seeped into his hands, numbing his fingers, but he didn't stop. He knew the scent of blood could attract predators, and he couldn't risk another encounter—not in his current state.

As he worked, Amukelo glanced up at the sun. It was climbing higher into the sky, casting a warm glow over the forest. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he took in the peaceful scene around him. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel a small measure of calm, the sound of the flowing water and the chirping birds providing a brief respite from the dangers that lurked in the wilderness.

Once he was satisfied that he had removed the scent of blood from himself and his clothes, Amukelo donned his tunic again and picked up the beavers. As he began the trek uphill, his mind wandered to the tasks that lay ahead—skinning the beavers, preparing the meat, and fortifying his cave even further.

Despite the lingering fear and exhaustion, Amukelo felt a flicker of determination. He had survived another day, and though the mountain continued to challenge him at every turn, he refused to give in. Each step brought him closer to his temporary sanctuary, and as he trudged onward, he silently resolved to keep fighting, no matter what the wilderness threw at him.

Amukelo dragged himself back into the cave, his body aching from the exertion of the day. He set the two beavers down beside the fire pit, which had smoldered down to faint embers during his absence. The flickering light cast soft shadows on the cave walls, making it feel a little more like home, if only temporarily.

With a heavy sigh, he crouched down and began skinning the beavers. The process was messy but necessary, and Amukelo worked with practiced efficiency, though his arms ached and his fingers were still stiff from the cold water earlier. The first beaver's pelt came off cleanly, and he laid it beside the fire to dry. The second one was a bit trickier—the skin tore slightly as he pulled it free, but it wasn't beyond use. He patched it as best as he could with strips of sinew and placed it alongside the first. 

He glanced at the fire and fed it a few more pieces of wood, watching the flames leap to life and illuminate the cave more fully. "That was close," he muttered to himself. "Way too close for comfort." He shook his head, brushing off the thought as best he could. "I need to heal before I think about going out again. If anything else happens, I at least need to be able to run."

Amukelo skewered the chunks of meat he'd cut from the beavers and set them over the fire, ensuring they would cook evenly. The smell of roasting meat soon filled the cave, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of hunger as he watched the juices drip into the fire. While the meat cooked, his attention drifted to the pile of materials he had accumulated during his time on the mountain. His gaze settled on the hog skin he had dried earlier, now tough and ready for use.

He pulled the hide closer and spread it out on the ground, inspecting its texture. It wasn't perfect, but it was sturdy—sturdier than anything he currently wore. Amukelo glanced down at his shirt and frowned. The fabric was ripped and tattered, especially across the back where the werewolf had slashed him. It barely offered any protection now, and he knew it wouldn't last much longer. "Might as well put this to use," he murmured, picking up his dagger and examining the hog skin again.

Carefully, he began cutting the hide into manageable pieces, envisioning how he could fashion it into a crude shirt. He wasn't a tailor by any means, but survival didn't demand perfection—only functionality. After cutting two large pieces for the front and back, he made smaller sections to use as connectors. He pierced holes along the edges of the hide with the tip of his dagger, spacing them evenly to ensure they would align properly. 

Amukelo threaded a thin cord of sinew through the holes, tightening it as he worked to stitch the pieces together. He grunted in frustration when the cord snagged or twisted, but he pressed on, determined to finish the task. 

After securing the sides of the shirt, he draped it over himself like a loose sack to determine where additional cuts were needed. The hide was stiff, but it already felt more protective than the flimsy fabric of his old shirt. Using his dagger, he marked where the armholes and neckline would go, then set to work cutting them out. It took longer than he anticipated, but eventually, the shirt began to take shape. 

He slipped it on again, testing the fit. The shoulders were a little tight, and there were no sleeves, but it covered his torso well and offered a layer of protection he hadn't had before. Amukelo ran his hands over the rough surface of the hide and allowed himself a small smile. It wasn't elegant, but it was functional. "This should hold up better against claws," he muttered.

By the time he finished, the meat was fully cooked, and the rich aroma filled the cave. Amukelo's stomach growled as he grabbed one of the skewers and took a bite. The flavor was simple but satisfying, and he couldn't help but sigh in relief as the warm food filled his belly. He leaned back against the cave wall, letting his muscles relax for the first time in hours. 

As he chewed, his eyes wandered to the makeshift wall and door he had constructed. It wasn't perfect, but it made the cave feel secure. 

Amukelo smiled faintly as he recalled the events that happened since he had left the village. "Mom always used to say, 'A true warrior kneels before he stands,'" he said aloud. He took another bite of meat, savoring the warmth it brought to his body. "I think I'm starting to understand what she meant."