Chapter 4: The Unwelcome Grounds
The cut on his flank burned, a persistent, stinging reminder of the lizard-folk's blades. Kaelen walked with a slight limp, the thirst returning worse than before. The canyon walls eventually gave way to a different landscape—a vast, arid flatland dotted with strange, skeletal trees and patches of tough, grey-green grass. The air smelled different here, drier, dustier, and carried a faint, acrid tang.In the distance, he saw them. A herd.They were centaurs. Like him. Their bodies, powerful and equine, kicked up small clouds of dust as they moved. Some were practicing with spears, hurling them at weathered wooden targets. Others simply stood, their humanoid torsos upright, scanning the plains. A tightness in Kaelen's chest, one he hadn't realized was there, loosened slightly. A sound almost like a sob caught in his throat. Others.He took a hesitant step forward, then another, out from the cover of the canyon's mouth. The hope was a fragile, fluttering thing in his ribcage. Maybe here, with his own kind, the chasing would stop. Maybe they would see the boy inside. Maybe they would understand.The nearest centaur, a massive male with a weathered face and a necklace of animal teeth, turned. His eyes, dark and sharp, fixed on Kaelen. There was no recognition, no welcome. Only a cold, assessing stare. He snorted, a sound of pure contempt, and pawed at the ground with a heavy hoof.Another, younger one, noticed the interaction. He trotted over, his gaze sweeping over Kaelen's form with a critical sneer. He said something in a guttural, barking language that Kaelen did not understand, but the meaning was clear. The young centaur gestured with his spear, a sharp, shooing motion, away from the herd.Kaelen stood his ground, confused. He made a gesture with his hands, a weak, human attempt to convey helplessness. "I... lost," he whispered, the words sounding pathetic even to his own ears.The younger centaur's sneer deepened. He took a threatening step forward, jabbing the air with his spear tip, closer this time. The message was final. You are not one of us. You are not welcome.The hope shattered, leaving a cold emptiness. He was an outsider even here. A stray. A weakling. The massive centaur turned his back, dismissing him entirely.Defeated, Kaelen turned away from the herd. He began to walk, skirting the edge of their territory, his head low. The thirst was a raging fire now. He had to find water.He caught the scent on the wind—the faint, promising smell of damp earth. He followed it, his limp more pronounced, toward a rocky outcrop. There, nestled between the rocks, was a small, muddy spring. Relief flooded through him.He didn't see the other one until it was too late.A lone centaur, smaller than the others but wiry and tense, was already there, drinking. It looked up as Kaelen approached. Its eyes widened, not with fear, but with a possessive rage. This was its water. Its territory.With a shrill cry, the centaur charged. It wasn't the coordinated hunt of the lizard-folk or the professional aggression of the soldiers. This was raw, territorial fury. It lowered its head to butt with its humanoid torso, its hands clawing at the air.Kaelen had no fight in him. He stumbled backward, away from the water, his own weariness making him slow. The smaller centaur's head connected hard with his chest, knocking the wind from him. Claws raked across his arm.He turned and ran. Again. The frantic, panicked flight was now a familiar ritual. The smaller centaur chased him for only a short distance, its angry cries echoing behind him, content to have driven the intruder from its prize.When Kaelen finally stopped, his chest heaving, the cut on his arm stinging alongside the one on his flank, the reality of his existence settled upon him like a physical weight. He was alone. Truly alone. The world had no place for him. Not with friends, not with enemies, and not even with those who should have been his kin. The plains stretched out before him, vast, beautiful, and utterly unforgiving.