“What a BOAR!” hissed Heyra, again, throwing another rock into the lake. “A princess dignifies him with her attention, and he doesn’t even notice! A boar, all men are boars! I wonder who’s the peasant he mews after!”

She felt so humiliated that she wanted to burn all the Forest and never return to the camp. She had walked quite a long way away, though, and as Diago has warned her, the fire had transformed into embers and was barely visible now. A little scared to be alone in the woods, she prepared to affront her shame and return to the camp, when suddenly, a hand pressed her mouth shut, another swept her from her feet, and in two seconds and three moves, she was tightly tied by three very tall and thin humanoid creatures, all naked and covered in small tattoos. With a coordination worth of praise, if in another context, they raised her on their shoulders and ran at full speed into the depths of the Forest.

Heyra tried to shout, but for naught, they had gagged her with some moss and tied over her mouth a dirty rag.

Providence, I should not have gone so far from the camp! I’m so stupid!

Soon, the attackers stopped in a clearing and threw her on the soil. They did some circles around her, clapping between them in a strange tongue. One of them, probably the chief, the only one who had some feathers in his hair, kneeled next to her and extracted what it looked like a wooden bowl and a sharp obsidian stone from a knitted bag. He made a gesture with the knife over his throat and spoke a few unknown words to her in a calming tone.

He’ll cut my throat, but it will not be painful! Goodness! This is the end. Losing my head because I lost my head. Famous last words…

Her self sarcasm was not matched by her instincts. She tried to struggle, to shout, in vain. One of the creatures held her by the knees, another by the shoulders, and the third, the chief, approached her neck with the knife and the bowl. But at the same time, over the creature’s head, another head appeared; a black, monstrous one, with dirty orange hair and huge teeth. When the stone knife was only an inch from her neck, Pumpkin widened his mouth, leaned his head sideways, and bit on the chief’s head, crushing it to a pulp with a sickening noise. With a simple shake of his neck, he threw the limp body ten yards away then returned his attention to the other two creatures. Heyra could swear the horse smiled. In a blink of an eye, the two enemies ran into the Forest while Pumpkin began neighing.

In the camp, everyone woke up in an instant.

“Alarm, and come to me!” interpreted Diago the neighs.

Lau threw a few kicks in Monster’s butt because the dog was the only one still sleeping.

“This dog has no education at all!” he said.

“Where’s Heyra!” exclaimed her sister, panicking. “Heyra is not here; she must be hurt, oh Goodness!”

The spy jumped forward, running toward the noise, hitting trees here and there, but running ahead nevertheless. He had no weapon save a camp knife but didn’t care.

“Well, that’s not how things should be done!” frowned Diago, unsheathing a machete. “Such impatience! Let’s follow.”

When they reached the place, Istaìnn had already untied Heyra and was holding her up, patting her back to help her breathe and cough the last bits of the moss gag.

“Thanks,” she said with a hoarse voice.

“What happened, what happened?” asked Feyra, hugging her sister.

“She was abducted by three…. things! One dead by horse, two flew.”

It was Lau; he had examined the scene and drew the conclusions.

“Good boy, Pumpkin!” said Istainn while the horse gave him a mean look, like saying: Just try to pet me, and I’ll bite your head off too!

“What is this creature?” asked Diago, pushing the dead body with his boot. The kidnapper was so thin it barely stood out from the grass.

“It looks like a head-hunter,” explained the spy. “They are neolithic tribes of primitives which live in the islands of the South Seas. They hunt explorers for fun, and while it’s a common misconception they are cannibals, they are not; they just drink human blood because it has an intoxicating effect on them, like alcohol on us. That’s what we learn in spy school. I lived in the Archipelago for a few years but never saw one; they are not many and hide very well.”

“Beurch!” retched Heyra, seeing Lau taking out of the head-hunter’s bag a few shrunk heads, elves, for sure.

“The important words here are islands of the south,” continued the spy. “The head-hunters are famous for their tracking skills. I suppose they were brought here and sent after us. No way they could travel twenty thousand miles on the sea by themselves.”

“We have to move,” said Diago. “We take only the minimum minimorum; in a few hours, we can reach d’Ornia and safety.”

And they did just that, they took the weapons, and that was about all. The hammocks, the food, the kettles, all the things that made their journey pleasant, were abandoned. A few torches were already prepared for emergencies; they lighted them and hit the road. They stuck to the lake shores first because the terrain was open, but eventually, they had to get back to the Forest. Staying closely together, to be able to help each other, they pressed on.