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I take out my map of Nagaland then and start looking it over.
I am still awake when the sun is rising. I am not exhausted at all. Instead, I am fueled by my rage and disappointment.
Fueled to move forward with my plans.
I start writing letters upon letters, none of them addressed to Lasta or Slyth.
And by the time I am finished and walk outside, the post is almost complete.
I’ll have to find someone I trust to give instructions to,I think to myself.
I survey the area. We will continue staying in tents because the post is just large enough for us to work out of.
It becomes more and more clear, with every passing minute, how little respect Lasta and Slyth have for their loyal soldiers.
To think that tents would suffice. To think that tents would be good enough.
Anger rattles me, and I clench my teeth to stop myself from screaming.
Their day will come,I tell myself.
Day after day passes, and nothing happens. We have secured the territory, but we have had no word from Lasta or Slyth.
I have sent off all my letters, and I am waiting for an answer, but my hope is starting to wear thin.
And day by day, my hatred grows. Hatred for Lodra’s royal family. Hatred for humans. And especially, hatred for those half-breed babies, who do not deserve the comfort they’re living in.
Luckily, one of the soldiers brought a bottle of zhisk along, which I confiscate and take to my tent.
By the time a month has passed, I have become almost reliant on the burning liquid, which I take a sip of every day.
“What else is there to do?” I mutter tiredly to myself as I survey the land around us.
Some of the soldiers have gone hunting. One of them died yesterday after eating a poisoned berry that we foraged for.
We cannot even send his body back to his family because it would rot before it got back to the center of Lodra.
Now he is here, buried alone, without the blessing of his family.
Their day will come. And it will come very soon.
THE END.
