Hunter approached the entangled gnolls with no misconceptions. Gnolls can speak, but they are animals notwithstanding.
Driven by bloodlust, gnolls are permanently at war with every species around them. And whether they raid a town or a village or a camp or a school, there are never any survivors. There are never prisoners. Only meat for their pack.
Apart from some warning growls as Hunter circled them, the surviving gnolls seemed to have dropped out of bloodlust mode. This was good. Gnolls are not easy to talk to when they are calm. Talking to them when they are raging is impossible.
Hunter calculated the direction of the breeze and stopped on the upwind side of the pack. Moving in close, he opened his mouth and exhaled, allowing his limited scent to wash over them. Their noses flared involuntarily as their brains took in the information. Hunter’s interest was in the pack leader alone. He hoped his scent would provoke a memory.
“Pack leader,” Hunter said, addressing the strongest of the group. “Grrrrbu̇f,” he said, addressing him by name. “Grrrrbu̇f Pack far from White Mountain. Why come this place?”
Grrrrbu̇f was panting, as were they all. The adrenaline was wearing off and their systems were crashing.
“Grrrrbu̇f slaved,” the pack leader growled. “Pack slaved. Brought this place. Far from from White Mountain.”
“Hmmmm.” Hunter pondered Grrrrbu̇f’s words. “Who slaved Grrrrbu̇f?” he asked.
“You pack slave Grrrrbu̇f.”
Hunter considered the information for a few moments, then addressed the pack in the traditional way.
“Pack Leader Grrrrbu̇f. Strong leader. Many kills this night. Much meat for pack. Meat for pups. Many bones. Strong victory.”
Grrrrbu̇f inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest and let out a demonic growl. “Release pack now,” he roared at Hunter.
“Soon,” Hunter promised. “We go. Then Grrrrbu̇f pack go. Keep all meat. Keep all things. Strong victory.”
Hunter walked back to the camp, passing the shackled corpses as he approached the fire.
“Did you get them all?” he asked Scout, nodding toward the pile of corpses around the coffle chain.
“All but one,” she replied.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Other one’s in the river.”
“Should I get it?” she offered.
“Naw. Too risky. How are the kids?” he turned to Autumn.
Autumn shrugged. “Alive. Confused. Terrified.”
Hunter paused for a moment considering what to do next. At no point had he considered the possibility that this hunt would end with him being responsible for child slaves. Obviously, he wasn’t going to let the gnolls have them. He also wouldn’t take them to the Chateau. Nor could he take them back to Old Mill.
“You’re just gonna let those animals eat the dead?” LT demanded.
“This time… I think we needa let that happen,” Hunter said grimly. “Gotta look like there were no survivors.”
LT paused and considered the wisdom of Hunter’s unfolding plan. He understood the logic. It was a repulsive notion, but it was probably the right one.
“What about the horses?” LT asked.
“Gonna to have to leave them, too,” Hunter responded.
“And let the gnolls eat them?”
“Gnolls ain’t eat horses… less they starving.”
“Wait a minute?” said LT, stopping. “What am I going to ride?”
“Dead men don’t ride horses,” Hunter said over his shoulder. “You alive, they’ll be huntin for ya.”
It was a good point. LT had to allow it. Right now, dead was better than alive.
“There’s a village up the hill. Abandoned. But they’s some buildings still standin.” Hunter said to his daughter, “Take as much grub as you can carry. Hide these kids.” Then lowering his voice and nodding in LT’s direction he added: “Make sure he gets some rest.”
“Sure,” she agreed, understanding the instruction.
“Can you cover their tracks?” Hunter asked Autumn.
“You know I can.”
“Don’t leave em nothing to work with,” Hunter said. “Day after tomorra, they’ll be lookin.”