I meet his eyes, trying to ignore the twinge of dread in my gut. These men aren’t warriors, or hunters, or fighters. They are strong, but their bodies have been broken repeatedly, and they lack technique.
“I think we should use these slave pens as stockpiles. We’ll be heading to the other dozen pens that remain. We will liberate them, take their supplies, and bring them here.”
Unease stirs inside me.
“Each will be harder than the last. This one was easy because they did not know we were coming. The same grace won’t be extended to us twice. It will be a bloody way ahead,” I say grimly.
El Lobo and the men around him shift their weight uneasily. Then, a young one in the back speaks up.
“You are right, but the life our kind has been forced to live for over a century must stop. The simpering half-life of serving others must stop.”
My heart clenches. “I agree.”
“So we fight,” El Lobo states firmly.
I nod.
“Everything is in chaos right now. We should go to the next pen while the giants are still reeling,” I suggest.
The men behind him nod in unison.
“It will help spread the word of our cause to the other humans, too,” another man chimes in.
I agree, “Let us gather the men.”
Chapter 40
MELISA
Nine Days Later,
Smoke continues to billow up around Zlosa, far worse than when we arrived. Hundreds of women have been gathering in our secluded area, spilling out from the small, broken cabin and into the surrounding forest.
Mercifully, Ra’Sa sent word before his three day mark.
The rebellion must be going well, for we are mostly left alone. I try not to think about the worst while I spend my days watching Wren and Thea and tending to more wounded with melted snow and all the leaves we can forage.
By day five, the hundreds had turned into around two thousand. Worry pierced my heart over the increasing numbers and limited resources, but then an army of human men appeared, weary and armed, and said they would begin the trek to Enduvida.
Small mercies. And within a day, the forest was mostly empty of people.
They asked me to go with them—said their leader requested that I leave with the girls.
I didn’t need to ask to know who they meant.
Ra’Sa.
I couldn’t. Not yet. Not when no one would make me feel as safe as Ra’Sa.
So, even as our camps slowly fill up again with women and children, I work hard to help feed them with what we scavenge and the men hunt. We makesopa de carne?1 andbola de hoja?2 until I can’t see straight. Then, just like the first group, they leave.
However, Daria and Alisa are still missing. Ra’Sa’s voice is quiet, and his absense drenches me in unease.
This morning, the girls act like little fleas, clinging to my legs as I help to tend to a woman who arrived with cuts up and down her back. Another comes in with one of her arms half gone, and I send the girls away so I can stitch her up with a makeshift needle.
The blood makes me nauseous, but I try to remember the animals that I cared for in my old life. Blood doesn’t mean death. I can help them with the few skills I know.
Luckily, a woman named Maria arrived yesterday, and she knows all about the medicinal herbs the forest provides. She brings leaves that help to ease the pain and moss covered in sap to bandage the wounds.