Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 532 - 98 Migration

The weather was pleasantly warm, the wind carrying a slight hint of moisture.

Winters sat on a wooden box, looking bewildered as the felt tent he lived in was dismantled by others.

The removal of the hides and the unbinding of the framework turned the cozy felt tent into a pile of sticks and several bundles of leather in an instant.

Suddenly, many people appeared in the camp, and the pastoralists spread out over several kilometers all came over.

Strangers speaking unfamiliar languages moved about, swiftly taking apart the entire camp, tying and loading it onto the backs of oxen.

Although it appeared chaotic, in reality, everyone knew what they were supposed to do, and each was busy with their tasks.

They were familiar with this routine, no words needed—except for Winters.

Erhulan was busy taking inventory of items, and for the time being, she couldn’t attend to Winters.

As for Little Lion, he simply wasn’t in the camp.

Winters sat there, feeling as if he were a child who had lost his way in a crowded square, surrounded by strangers.

By coincident, a few children with runny noses stood a few meters away, gazing at him curiously.

When Winters turned to look at them, the children ran off as fast as their legs could carry them.

They confidently left Winters among the women, children, and elderly, without even assigning any guards to watch him.

Women and the elderly passed him by, nodding respectfully and calling him "Hestas."

The few injured men remaining in the camp watched him with wary eyes and reverently referred to him as "Paratu Child."

Paratu Child was an honorary title for warriors, usually placed after a name. It embodied the idea of toughness, and perhaps it could be translated as Paratu the Tough.

Gossip spread rapidly, and now everyone knew that Winters had killed a Paratu Child of the Terdon Tribe during the Mak’gora ceremony and had consequently made enemies with the Fire Starters.

However, the actual pronounciation of "Paratu Paratu Child" was quite a mouthful and soon it was shortened to a loud, two-syllable word: "Batu!"

Erhulan came over with a pot of hot mare’s milk, her crescent-shaped, willow-leaf eyes forming smiles: "Would you like some hot milk?"

"No need," Winters shook his head: "Water is fine for me."

Morning cow’s milk, noon mare’s milk, evening sheep’s milk, and then repeating the cycle.

Faced with this repetitive consumption, even an officer accustomed to a higher intake of dairy products couldn’t handle such a diet.

A heaven of milk flavor? This was sheer dairy hell.

"Have just a little, we won’t have time to make a fire on the road," Erhulan coaxed Winters: "The healer says that drinking more milk will help your wounds heal faster."

After a fierce inner struggle, Winters took the copper bowl and started to gulp down the milk.

"That’s good! I’ll get you some milk cake to eat on the road," Erhulan left, turning away with her belt’s bead decorations spinning like flowers.

"Where are we going?" Winters asked.

Erhulan came back, frowning as she explained, "We should be meeting up with the old camp first, then heading to Hanlan River? I’m not really sure either...

"It’s okay," Winters reassured her.

"Don’t think of me as a bad person, I wouldn’t hide anything from you," Erhulan, sensitive as always, immediately understood Winters’ mood.

Feeling somewhat sad she said, "When I first saw you two years ago, Little Lion and I had just returned to the tribe. We both don’t understand much about migration."

It was then Winters remembered that Erhulan and her brother had lived in the slave plantations of the archipelago for at least eight years, with Erhulan even speaking fluent Common Language.

Having been away from home for so long made them almost like strangers. Perhaps she sometimes felt like she didn’t fit in?

"Don’t be sad," Winters said softly: "How could I blame you? I’m only grateful to you."

Erhulan grew even sadder, her eyes reddening, as she left sobbing.

In a little while, she returned with a bowl of milk cake for Winters, and then left again in tears.

...

Although Winters was not adept at interacting with women, he was not obtuse.

On the contrary, he was quick-witted and observant, capable of detecting many subtle emotions.

He was not unaware of Erhulan’s affection for him, yet he chose to feign ignorance.

Winters had no intention of staying in the wilderness for long, and he did not want to hurt this sincerely kind woman.

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His heart was filled to the brim by Anna, leaving no room for another.

What was Anna? Anna was a bonfire in despair.

When he was becoming numb and cold, it was those beautiful memories that protected the last shred of his humanity: family, homeland, and Anna.

For Winters, Anna represented the most beautiful part of his life.

He dreamt countless times of resting his head on Anna’s lap while she softly stroked his forehead, dispelling blood, death, severed limbs, and the grotesque faces of his enemies...

Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder, "Is Anna really as good as I remember, or am I endlessly idealizing my memories, creating an unreal person who can’t exist in reality?"

This thought filled him with fear and anxiety, "If that’s the case, when I reunite with Anna, will I be disappointed?"

But setting aside Winters’ anxieties, he was unable to accept another person anyway.

He even dared not get too close to Erhulan, as she too was very good.

When he first saw her upon waking up, Winters felt she was as bright and warm as sunlight.

Although he didn’t know exactly what Erhulan liked about him, this admiration was surprising to him.

Winters was "winter," and he feared melting.

In fact, to his own alarm, he realised that he had developed a dependency on Erhulan.