Where can someone go when the world is on the hunt and there seems to be no safe harbor? -- Deathshead419
The thing with running was... you had to keep running. Stop and relax, and they would catch up with you. You learned a thousand ways to stay out of sight. You learned a hundred ways to avoid notice. And you had to learn what was safe to eat more than once. Especially if you wanted to survive for one more meal.
When the world truly is out to get you, paranoia is a survival skill. The only ones you can trust are those like yourself.
The Unwelcome find their way to havens that other Unwelcome have made. Ghettoes in the cities. Hovels in the outskirts. Forgotten places so far out of the way that others would have to work very hard to find them. And occasionally, some venture back to leave signs for others.
Gitgon, chased from the town, huddled in a scrape of a cave as ze choked down half-rotted berries and nuts. Ze was alone in the wilds with little more than the clothes on hir back and a stout stick in lieu of a club.
Ze also had a small sign scratched into the rock wall. It looked like the typical No Hellkin sign... very similar to the crude goat-head sillhouette with a human face. The normal one had a line through it. This one was smiling, and looking in one direction. Next to a symbolic sun.
It was the direction of the dawn.
With little else to hope for, Gitgon scurried along the deer trails, heading eastwards. Eyes and ears open for anything that could attack. Sure that they could hear hir from miles away. Careful to maintain a catlike tread on the forest floor.
Ze and a random deer managed to scare the shit out of each other.
Another smiling Hellkin sign, scratched into a rock in a pile of other rocks pointed Gitgon to a half-ruined hovel, mostly grown over with plants. Easy to miss by other eyes. There were crocks, there, and a cauldron. Signs pointing to a stream of fresh water.
And, come the night, a visitor who shared Gitgon's horns and tail. Sort of. They were different shapes. "Gods, they're getting smaller and smaller," said the stranger.
Gitgon flinched, raising hir stick in warning.
The stranger showed their hands. "Easy now, little. If Hellkin can't trust Hellkin, who can we trust?" To prove their point, they put their backpack down and brought out a fat dumpling, breaking it in two. They offered one half on bended knee while taking a bite out of the other. "You look half starved to death, little."
The smell of the rich stew inside lured Gitgone forward. The stranger stayed still and quiet, nibbling on their half in tiny bites. Occasionally, a forked tongue flashed out to catch some gravy on their lip. Gitgon snatched the offering and bolted for the furthest corner, cramming it into their mouth before the stranger could think of trying to take it back.
"Name's Concord," said the stranger, absently lighting a fire in the hearth with a word and a gesture. "From the looks of you, I'm guessing you only have what others called you. Kids like that come here with names like Shaddup or Fekkof. It's all right. You can find a better name with us. One that fits the real you."
Gitgon chewed enough to swallow and speak. "They call't me Gitgon afore they run me out. I dasn't go back."
"That's fine. I know plenty of folks who'd like to have a kid like you. They'll even help you find a name." There were other things in the pack. Clothes made enormous, but with lots of drawstrings to bunch them up, and what looked like leather pouches.
Gitgon watched as Concord wadded fluff together with thread to produce something like a shoe sole roughly Gitgon's size. In all other ways, Concord remained harmless and calm.
"These are for you," murmured Concord. "Your poor feet are five scars away from getting some kind of sepsis. I'll need to help you wash those before we go on." This time, he offered a full dumpling. "Try to eat slowly or you'll get a gutsache."
Gitgon didn't know what a sepsis was, but ze could guess from Concord's tone that it was bad. Ze knew what 'gutsache' was, and trusted Concord enough to follow their advice.
By the dawn, there was plenty of trust earned with simple kindness. In the morning, they walked together to the hidden rift in the mountains, and into a shelter for the Unwelcome. They called it Dark Sanctum, and it was where those cast out elsewhere, flourished in shadows.
[Photo by Matt Tsai on Unsplash]
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