A New Beginning

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Reng, Hills, Kalen’s Farm

The herd moved down the steep slope, and clouds of dust rose into the sky as the heavy hooves of the horned beasts crushed the dry ground. Their power was palpable in the air, in the rumbling, in the vibrations of the earth. Reng adjusted his mask—it protected him from the choking dust but pressed uncomfortably against his face. Yet it was a gift. A symbol of his status as the youngest and least experienced wrangler.

"You'll be glad to have it. The air at the back of the herd is as thick as greenweed porridge," Borin had laughed when he first handed it to him. And he was right. Once the herd started moving, the clouds of dust swallowed everything and everyone. The position at the back of the herd was no privilege, but Reng accepted it without complaint. He knew his life could have been much worse if they hadn’t taken him in. Still, he was surprised at how different his expectations of a wrangler’s life were from reality.

Sleep was a luxury Kalen and his men could not afford. Days began early, before dawn, and ended late, with aching bodies and empty stomachs. They spent hours in the saddle, constantly on alert. The wild horned beasts, which had grazed without human contact for half a year, had to be driven back from the distant pastures to the farm, where solid enclosures and a quieter night awaited them. If they were lucky, they’d finish by evening and enjoy a warm shower and a bed. If not, they spent the night under the stars, guarding the herd from predators sharpening their teeth on the horned giants.

Reng wasn’t prepared for such strain. His body protested with every step. The loss of conditioning after his injury caught up with him faster than he expected. When he slid off the saddle after that first endless night, he felt his whole being screaming for rest. Sirnak wasn’t doing much better. The once untamed and defiant creature now had no strength for anything more than moving forward, and for the first time, there seemed to be a fragile balance between them.

And then, one morning, when Kalen finished counting the herd—over two thousand horned beasts—it was decided. The next day, they would all set out eastward together.

Their destination was the Oko Lahab oasis, home to the largest cattle markets. Reng looked forward to the journey. Not just for the change, but because Oko Lahab was a gateway to the greater world, practically the outskirts of Prim itself. The thought of getting so close to the great city kept him awake at night.

By morning, he was one of the first in the saddle. He pulled his mask tight and took his place behind the herd.

By the second day, they were passing Karhen Rouz.

The familiar outlines of the oasis loomed on the horizon, yet to Reng, it felt like looking at a foreign world. Not long ago, he had belonged here. Now he didn’t. Instead of nostalgia, he felt a cold emptiness. He had become a fugitive, but also a wrangler, trailing in the dust cloud behind a horned herd. The mask on his face was now a shield against anyone who might recognize him.

And yet, he found his eyes searching the onlookers who had come to watch the annual cattle drive, scanning the curious faces for one in particular.

Noel’s.

He wasn’t there.

Relief hit like an unexpected punch to the gut. Short and painful, but enough. He turned his gaze back to the herd and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

The days dragged on, one blending into the next, as the wranglers lost themselves in the grueling routine. Before dawn, they mounted up to gather the herd, driving the horned beasts forward with shouts and the cracking of whips. Though the year was waning, the sun still burned mercilessly, its light reflecting off the rocks and the scaled hides of kernals. Every night, they took turns standing watch while unseen predators circled the herd, drawn by the musk of the horned beasts and the sweat of the wranglers.

Reng always got the worst shifts. Dawn patrols in the dark hours, when the world remained shrouded in twilight until the first rays of light tore through the horizon. At first, exhaustion crushed him, his body sore and raw, but over time, he adapted. Pain became his new reality. His muscles, stiff and strained, accepted the toil like an old friend. In dirt and sweat, he found fleeting peace.

But even routine couldn’t fend off the dangers lurking around them.

As the Hills gave way to the Krop Plains, the first losses came. The smaller predators were more of a nuisance than a real threat—elners could be kept away with shouts and whips. But leerds were a different story.

"They’re smart," Noel used to say about them. "They watch. They learn. They adapt."

Reng remembered those words when he first spotted movement among the shadows of the rocks. A massive paw print in the soft soil. Dark eyes watching the herd from the gloom.

The horned beasts sensed them first. The animals grew restless, shifting in the night, stomping and snorting. Reng could feel their fear, and the tense unease settling between his shoulders made him keep glancing over his shoulder.

And then they came.

The attack struck just before dawn. Sudden, brutal, filled with blood and screams. Shadows burst from the mist, fast and terrifying. Eight, maybe ten, sleek bodies.

The hornbeasts bellowed, the herd broke into a panicked stampede. Sirnak beneath him jolted, but for now, let his rider guide him while Reng’s whip cracked through the air. The sound was sharp but nearly useless. The leerds were too fast.

A desperate shout.

Handsome, who had been holding watch with him, was in trouble on the far side of the herd.

Reng urged Sirnak forward, trying to reach him as he caught a glimpse of a leerd flashing through the darkness beside him, heading the same way. A glint of eyes, a deep snarl. He saw Handsome go down with a sharp curse, his cry cutting through the night.

Crack!

Reng’s whip split the air, and for a heartbeat, the predators hesitated. Just enough for the wrangler to push himself up from the dirt, snapping his own whip into a deadly rhythm to keep the leerds at bay.

“I got this! Go get the herd!” Handsome shouted, cracking his whip at the nearest predator. The beast yelped in pain and recoiled.

Reng doubted the crooked wrangler knew what he was talking about, but he obeyed.

The horned beasts had scattered in all directions, the ground trembling under their heavy hooves. Reng struggled to orient himself in the darkness filled with shifting shadows—he had no idea where to start. And then, he felt it.

A gaze.

Two eyes, glowing like lanterns in the night, locked onto him, whispering one thing—prey.

It was big. Dark.

There was no time to react.

The predator slammed into Sirnak with brute force, sending them both crashing to the ground.

“Shit!” he swore as he hit the dirt hard, barely avoiding being trampled into paste by his panicked kernal. He scrambled to find his whip, but his hands slipped on the dust-covered ground. Would it even help? He could tell—this wasn’t an inexperienced juvenile that would flee at the sting of a lash. This was the one leading the pack.

The alpha.

A sharp gunshot tore through the night, and instinctively, Reng pressed himself lower to the ground. He had never heard a firearm before—hadn’t known just how loud it was.

The predator let out a final, startled gurgle before collapsing lifelessly onto the dirt. Whimpers echoed from the rest of the pack in the darkness, but a few more shots silenced them.

Reng turned his head just in time to see Grid, their foreman, moving toward him, rifle already reloaded, prepared to fire again. He never hesitated.

“You in one piece?”

Reng just nodded.

“Then quit rolling around in the dirt and get back in the saddle!”

His voice was as hard as the boot tip that nudged Reng forward.

Reng obeyed, jumping to his feet. Relief flooded him when he saw Handsome already back on his mount, holding Sirnak’s reins—he had caught the kernal before it could flee.

Swinging into the saddle, Reng felt the adrenaline pounding through his veins. A wild laugh almost bubbled up—he was drunk on the sheer rush of being alive.

“We need to round up the herd before we lose them all!” Handsome called, spurring his mount forward.

It was nearly noon by the time they could finally get back on the road. Behind them, five bodies lay still—four horned beasts that had fallen victim to the attack and one leerd, collapsed in the dust.

In the daylight, the dead predator was still massive. Bigger than Reng had expected.

Before they left, he stood over the lifeless body for a moment, his hands trembling.

That mass of muscle and teeth could have been his end.

A wave of nausea hit him. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

He had survived—but only because of Grid.

And what if the foreman wasn’t there next time?

***

The following evening, they were another day closer to their destination, and this time, the camp was filled with the aroma of stewed meat. Vold was preparing a proper dinner for everyone in a large pot. The smell made Reng’s mouth water, but knowing it would still take some time, he moved over to Borin, who had just received Grid’s spare weapon.

After the previous night’s attack, the foreman had declared that whips alone wouldn’t cut it anymore. From now on, each watch would have at least one armed wrangler. But with only two firearms available—both belonging to Grid—the options were limited. The long rifle he had used the night before wasn’t something he was willing to part with, but he had a smaller, personal weapon he was willing to lend out, with the condition that during each shift change, only one of the pair would be chosen to carry it.

Reng held a firearm for the first time in his life. He had no idea how it worked, and Borin, noticing his curious look, eagerly took on the role of instructor.

“This is the chamber, and here’s where you load the spongus capsules,” Borin explained, loading the weapon with small rounds before pushing a capsule into place. Then, with a quick motion, he ejected it and handed it to Reng for inspection. “Always check if it's damaged before loading it. Even a tiny tear in the casing and…”

Borin suddenly threw his arms wide, making a loud boom sound to mimic an explosion. The message was clear—if you held a compromised capsule when it ignited, things wouldn’t end well.

“That sounds pretty dangerous,” Reng muttered, disillusioned. Until now, he had idealized firearms and never considered their risks.

“Of course it is. But what isn’t these days?” Borin scoffed. “Don’t worry, though. These capsules are tough.” To prove his point, he casually dropped one onto the ground, then picked it back up and showed Reng that it remained intact before clicking it back into place.

“It’s not hard to spot a leak. If there’s a hole, spongus will start dripping out. You’d have to be blind to miss it,” Borin assured him.

“Have you ever actually seen one rupture?” Reng asked.

“Yeah,” Borin nodded. “They’re useless for weapons when that happens, but back home, we used to mess around with them as kids. Since they weren’t any good anymore, they let us play with ‘em. If you throw one hard enough against a rock, it shatters, and then all it takes is a single spark—boom, like a cannon.”

He grinned, clearly fond of the memory.

Reng realized he had never asked Borin about his past—and he knew he never would. Among the wranglers, no one cared about what had been. Only about what was and what would be. But from the scattered hints, Reng had gathered that Borin hadn’t left home by choice. And that missing front tooth probably had something to do with it.

Meanwhile, Borin flicked a switch, and a small indicator lit up on the side of the weapon. He tapped it with his finger. “Without spongus, this thing won’t fire—it powers the whole system. You can check the level here, so keep an eye on it. Otherwise, it might catch you off guard. And after that, it’s just point, pull the trigger, and boom!”

Borin mimicked a shot and grinned in satisfaction. Then, for a brief moment, he seemed lost in thought—maybe an old, buried memory had surfaced—but he snapped out of it quickly. He secured the weapon, dismantled it, and handed it to Reng so he could familiarize himself with it.

Reng repeated his steps, carefully assembling it back together and making it ready for use in no time. The only thing he hadn’t tried yet was actually firing it, but he already knew that wouldn’t happen. Spongus capsules were too expensive—if the time ever came, he would have to trust himself to figure it out.

"Ever fired one of these before?"

It was as if Borin had read his mind. When Reng shook his head, Borin flashed a mischievous grin.

"You know what? Come with me."

He glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention, and then motioned for Reng to follow him out of the camp.

"Where are we going?" Reng hesitated. He had the distinct feeling Borin was up to something.

"Shut up and walk."

That crooked grin flashed again, and it did nothing to reassure him.

They didn’t go far, but far enough that no one from the camp could see them—or stop them—before Borin carried out whatever he was planning.

"See that rock over there?" Borin pointed, making sure there was no doubt about what he meant. Reng nodded.

"Good. Imagine it’s your target. Aim and shoot."

He shoved the weapon into Reng’s hands and added, "Remember, you only get one shot—because if Grid finds out, he’ll strangle us both."

Reng gave him a panicked look. Until now, he had successfully avoided the unpredictable moods of the grizzled foreman, whose mental state fluctuated between bad and worse. He knew it was only a matter of time before he became the target of Grid’s ire, but he had never considered inviting the wrath upon himself.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"I… don’t know."

"Shoot!" Borin barked, giving him a shove to make it clear that he wasn’t backing down.

Reng’s palms were sweating. He was nervous. But Borin’s taunting worked.

He raised the weapon, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

The recoil nearly wrenched the gun from his grasp, jerking his entire arm painfully. The deafening blast was even louder up close than it had been the night before—so loud it left his ears ringing.

“Ahaaaa! See? You did it! And you even hit the target!” Borin pointed at the black hole in the rock—but before they could celebrate, they heard Grid’s furious roar, just as Borin had predicted.

“Move! We’re outta here!” He grabbed Reng’s sleeve and dragged him into a sprint, making their escape before the foreman could get his hands on them.

They disappeared to the far side of the camp, hiding behind a ridge where no one could see them. Once they caught their breath, both of them burst into laughter.

“Guess we’re skipping dinner tonight,” Borin smirked once his laughing fit passed.

“Nothing new for me,” Reng said with amusement. He had kept his promise, always giving Borin his portion, just as they had agreed.

“Oh, right. So I’m the only one getting punished.” Borin peeked out from behind the rock, watching the commotion in the camp. After a moment, he ducked back down and shrugged, signaling that it still wasn’t safe to return.

“They can’t kick us out anyway. They’re short on people.”

They sat in silence for a while, waiting, when Reng noticed a thoughtful crease forming on Borin’s forehead.

“What are you thinking about?”

Borin hesitated, as if weighing how much he trusted Reng with whatever was on his mind. They hadn’t known each other for long, and in this ragtag band of wranglers, they were together mostly by chance. Still, after a moment, Borin decided to take the risk.

“I’ve been thinking about leaving for good. This is probably my last stop, and then I’m done.”

Reng was caught off guard. Until now, he had assumed Borin enjoyed this life.

“Why?” It was the only question that came to mind.

“I can’t keep going with Kalen. Choking on dust behind hornbeasts? I don’t have the stomach for it anymore,” Borin sighed. “I just… I want something more.”

Reng nodded in understanding. It made sense, though after everything that had happened in Karhen Rouz, life with Kalen didn’t seem all that bad to him. It was physically demanding, sure, but the rules were simple.

“I’m guessing you wouldn’t be the first to leave.”

“Of course,” Borin agreed. “Last year in Oko Lahab, Loshek stayed behind.”

“And what did Kalen say to that?” Reng couldn’t quite picture the old cattleman being pleased about his wranglers not returning home.

“He was pissed,” Borin admitted. “And if I leave, he’ll be pissed again. He’ll rage for a bit, then find someone new. There’s always someone desperate enough—like you, right now. Besides, if he’s short on people, maybe he’ll reconsider and won’t be so quick to ship you back to Karhen Rouz after this run. At least not right away.”

That unpleasant reminder of his conditional acceptance hit Reng like a thorn to the heart. He tried not to dwell on it, but sometimes, like now, despair crept in—reminding him that no matter how far he ran, what he was running from might catch up to him in the end.

“You really think he’d do it? Send me back?”

“Of course,” Borin shrugged. “He usually keeps his word. If he said he’d send you back, then he probably will. But he’s also got to think about himself and the farm. So, as long as I’m here, once Fiddler gets better, you’re out. That’s how it works, trust me. I know how these things go.”

Reng felt a sting of disappointment. Not just because of what Borin was saying, but because if he really did leave, Reng would lose the only person who treated him as an equal. With the others, he could feel the distance they kept. He didn’t understand why, until Borin had let him in on the truth—it wasn’t really about him at all. It was about Noel.

Reng had been genuinely surprised to learn just how well-known and respected the old man was outside Karhen Rouz. And that was a problem. He was the one who had defied such an important man—and nobody liked people who did that.

Reng’s only stroke of luck was that, for now, Kalen had chosen to prioritize his farm. And his farm needed working hands. That was the only reason he was still here.

And in that moment, Reng realized Borin was right. Once they returned from Oko Lahab, he wouldn’t be needed anymore. And then Kalen would keep his word.

“This isn’t looking too good for me,” he muttered.

“No, it doesn’t,” Borin agreed. Then, unexpectedly, he offered a solution.

“Maybe you should just run off with me.”

Reng blinked in surprise. Leaving with Borin? It sounded tempting. Freedom. The chance to disappear. But then what? Where would he end up? He wasn’t sure if he had it in him to face that kind of uncertainty again—not after leaving Karhen Rouz behind.

After a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head.

“I… I don’t think I can. I promised I’d see this through. I don’t want to turn my back on them, not after they helped me.”

Borin flashed that gap-toothed grin again, but there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“You’re the one helping him, not the other way around. But fine. Do it your way. Just hope you don’t realize your mistake when it’s too late—when you’re rotting back in Karhen Rouz.”

Then he stood up and peeked over the ridge.

The camp had settled down.

With a smirk, he turned back to Reng and declared, “Alright. Time to go collect our well-earned punishment.”