Scrubby oak woodland characterized the top of the plateau the pair had scaled on their second day of travel, but the well-maintained trail meant the pair could cross the remaining distance to Benuun over mostly flat ground in merely several hours’ time. Namo continued to act her usual self for the most part, but Martin felt that she seemed a bit more subdued than usual. It seemed as though her banter and singing over the day was directed inward, as if she were trying to entertain herself than trying to entertain both her and Martin. She examined a few plants along the way, and even uprooted a stalk of a plant she said was good for boosting focus, going so far as to, after wiping the majority of dirt off of the root bundle and chew on the roots raw. Martin was reminded of her penchant for eating raw plant material in the absence of other food options. Nevertheless, she didn’t disturb Martin with any plant lessons, and politely chose to keep her observations to herself.

Martin, on the other hand, was miserable. Each night of their trip had spelled progressively worse sleep, in which he battled nightmares of the past, the threat he faced by the mysterious man who held a gun to his back back his Fordham, this man’s relation to Ms. Afzal. More than once, he awoke in a cold sweat. In addition, the tremors, aches, and craving for liquor compounded his anxieties about the woman they pursued. Nevertheless, the man willed himself onward, pounding within his skull be damned. If Namo noticed his sorry state, she did not outwardly indicate it.

Judging based on Namo’s explanation, Martin had expected that they, or at least she, would be welcomed warmly into the village, as was the typical faun custom. Upon approaching the outskirts of the village in the early afternoon, several of the first of the wooden lean-tos they passed, which were tied to canvas, cotton, and oilcloth coverings richly died in similar geometric primary color patterns as Namo’s clothing, sat vacant. In some cases, discarded toys, meals in preparation, and hastily discarded looms indicated that the people here had moved in a hurry. The pair passed one, then, four, then a dozen such empty shanties without encountering so much as a single soul, with only the occasional lizard-bird flitting from tree to tree or squawking in the canopy, uncaring about the events unfolding in the terrestrial space below.

As they continued along the trail, one of Namo’s large, floppy ears twitched, then lifted at attention. “I hear folks talkin’ that-a-way,” she said excitedly, pointing straight ahead. “Lots of people. It sounds like they might be gatherin’ at the center of town, maybe?” Namo led the way toward the source of the disturbance. As the pair approached, Martin saw more fauns than he had ever seen in one place—which, to be fair, was only one—clamoring amidst each other in shouted voices and general confusion. Dozens of fauns of all ages, shapes, and sizes milled about in the village square, from children no taller than Martin’s waist, to elderly village residents with grayed fur and creased faces. People were embracing each other. A few were openly weeping. Others simply shouted back and forth at each other amidst the chaos. It seemed that many members of the group were distressed: sobbing fauns notwithstanding, the animated chatter accompanied expressions of worry and confusion painted on many of the fauns’ faces. However, seeing as how the two-legged cervine folk were likely speaking in their native Kepmuun, but also their voices blended together amidst the bedlam of the scene, Martin couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. “Can you translate, Namo?” Martin asked, as they closed the distance.

“Um, there are so many people shouting, it’s hard for me to focus on any of them. But it sounds like.. People are confused, um, they’re talking about searching the area, wondering why they would do this—I’m not sure who ‘they’ is…” she trailed off. A faun, a large man about a head taller than Martin, looked over at him. He had hard features, likely hewn from a hard life, with close-cropped gray-brown hair that matched the thick fur along his arms, legs, and beard that dangled from his chin in a narrow braid. His face, gaunt and imposing, was twisted in a grimace toward Martin. His chest was bare save for a sash draped over his left shoulder, his sun-kissed skin covered in scrapes and scratches. He raised an accusing finger and shouted something in the travelers’ general direction. Several of the other fauns of all ages and sizes looked over at him simultaneously. Martin felt the weight of several dozen collective stares bear down on him. Not speaking the language didn’t prevent Martin from understanding that he had stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time.

As one, seven or so fauns approached while more turned to watch the crowd move upon them. “Uh, Namo? What’s going on?”

“Um, I… I dunno! They just said that you’re a human and to grab you. But, um, not if I can help it!” She stepped between the human and the other fauns as if to block them from detaining him. She shouted at them in their language, causing the man who had pointed at Martin to shout back. It was clear that the distress many of the fauns had felt had given way to anger. Over the course of the heated conversation between Namo and the man, the throng closed around them, and after a cutting remark from the outraged faun man, Namo’s expression turned frigid. “The chief died suddenly last night. A group of humans stopped by, spent the night here resting, and then left in the middle o’the night. When folks here went to check on the chief the next mornin’, he and his wife were dead. They say the humans had something to do with it.”

“Well obviously I wasn’t one of them. Tell them that!” Martin said, more than a little worried by the hostility he was feeling from the fauns encircling them.

“I did, and they said you still can’t be trusted. They want you, um, they wanna use you to lure the others back.”

Martin scoffed in exasperation. “That’s ridiculous! You know as well as I do that wouldn’t work even if I was a part of this group of mysterious attackers. Well, can’t you be trusted? I mean, you know I wouldn’t do something like that.” Then, Martin remembered what Namo had mentioned before they had left Fordham. “Wait, don’t you have friends who live here? Maybe they can vouch for you and stop all this.”

Namo nodded without hesitation. “Good idea.” She asserted herself to the group of fauns, who paused and look amongst themselves. The anger from the man’s voice diminished as he replied, and Namo’s expression shifted again, her courage faltering.

“What? What did they say?” Martin asked, alarmed at her sudden change in demeanor.

“It…” Namo tried to find the words. “Last night, my, my friend, Uno’opan, was staying with the headman. She is the wife of his son.” Her voice cracked. “She was killed alongside them.”

Martin was almost without words. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Namo.” He knew in a way few could express how the faun woman must have been feeling in that moment. If the circumstances were different, he wished he could have given her a hug, or perhaps just a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Namo choked back a sob and covered her face with her hands, a gesture which seemed to disarm the furor of the crowd who sought to apprehend Martin. Another faun man, equally as tall as the last, pushed his way through the group and called out Namo’s name. This man was similarly clad in a geometric sash and kilt dyed in earth-tone geometric patterns. He was paler than the other man, with fair skin save for the dark freckles that pocked his round, scantly-furred face. His mop of sandy blond hair gave him an almost boyish look despite his tall, broad frame, accentuated by brown eyes that held the same warm quality as Namo’s. Nevertheless, the ashen color of his face left no doubt in Martin’s mind that the man had been crying. Namo looked up and gave a small, grateful smile before the interloping faun ran up to her and pulled her into a tearful embrace. They exchanged a few words and Martin realized that this must have been one of her other friends in town. At least he’s alright, Martin thought with some small measure of relief.

After a moment, the two fauns ended the embrace, and Namo introduced them. “Martin, this is Uyutuk, an old friend from when I lived in Jeju. Uyutuk, kojoona Maa’ko upuutebe sino’oto.” The normal lilting cadence of her voice was sullen, somewhere between complete numbness and carefully suppressed near-hysterics.

Martin held out his hand to shake, realizing that Uyutuk might not recognize the gesture, but Uyutuk grasped the human’s five-fingered hand in his thick four-fingered mitt and squeezed firmly. “Kuube Maa’ko! Ke’eponuunamo mokote Jejusn’a oso’omatuuba.” Though he couldn’t understand what the man was saying, he gathered it was a pleasant greeting of some form. The man was clearly trying to be pleasant despite the difficult circumstances he and the other fauns currently faced.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you too. I’m sorry for your loss.” The human did his best to be respectful of the recently deceased, despite the throbbing in his head. Martin looked around at the rest of the group and noticed that most of the several dozen faces he could see were looking at the three of them, and that the roar of the crowd had dulled to several simultaneous conversations. The antipathy toward Martin had mostly vanished from their faces, replaced by bemusement and curiosity. Martin waited patiently while the pair conversed, watching their facial expressions shift from joyful, to forlorn, to a dull melancholy. He guessed that they were discussing the past in broad strokes, followed by current events. After a spell, Uyutuk proclaimed something to the broader group, gesturing first at Namo, then at Martin. There were a few grumblings from the crowd, but nobody disputed Uyutuk’s apparent testimony as to their—or Martin’s, more specifically—innocence. Martin released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. It seemed they were safe, for the moment.

Uyutuk managed to persuade the fauns who had gathered in the village square of Martin’s presumed innocence, and to allow him to lead the travelers to his hut. The walk wasn’t far, merely five minutes from the village square; nevertheless, Martin felt accusing stares from all sides. He had heard that fauns, while generally insular as a people, were nevertheless welcoming to outsiders who deigned to visit. His current experience did not match the claims Namo had made in their few days of traveling together.

Upon arriving to Uyutuk’s family home, he explained to Namo, who translated: “my wife and son should be back soon. They are caring for our crops at the moment. Please, make yourselves comfortable. You can eat and sleep with us tonight.” Gratefully, Martin and Namo shrugged off their gear and enjoyed a brief moment to recuperate after the eventful scene while Uyutuk prepared dinner. Sitting on carefully folded cotton mats designed for the outdoor living these fauns seemed to be accustomed to, Namo and Uyutuk chatted in their language while the former untied her flaxen hair and meticulously brushed loose all of the tangles she had accumulated over the day’s travel. While Martin tried to follow along at first, his thoughts meandered to Namo. He reflected with some level of dismay that she had all but literally carried him through his journey southward. Between scraping together enough money for them to get the gear they needed to travel south, to keeping him from being held up by the fauns of Benuun, the man couldn’t shrug off the sense that he was dead weight to her. She had even tried to feed him and treat his wounded hand last night. And how do I repay her? Martin mused. By snapping at her and pushing her away like a child?

He turned his head toward the faun woman. She was carrying on in animated conversation with Uyutuk, her short, broad snout curled in a smile, seemingly its default state, despite hearing not more than an hour ago that one of her friends had been torn from this world before her time. Shame and inadequacy settled in his breast. He looked toward the other lean-tos established in the shade of the forest.

A gentle breeze had picked up, carrying the scent of fire and forest. Martin noticed that the voices of the fauns had grown softer, almost hushed, as if they were sharing a secret. Martin couldn’t imagine why; it wasn’t as if he could understand them anyway. The solemn tone of their conversation suggested that Uno’opan, her friend that had passed in the attack, may have been the topic of discussion, but something seemed off. For one, Namo was doing most of the talking. Watching Uyutuk’s expression, it seemed as though whatever she was saying was coming across as nothing short of a shock.

Midway through her monologue, Namo lost her composure again, and Uyutuk leaned over to catch the sobbing faun as she threatened to fall on her side. The large man stared at the ground without staring at anything in particular, the numbness of his gaze confirming that whatever secret the woman had shared, it wasn’t information that the other faun had been privy to. Martin did his best not to stare. He wished he could help, but between not wanting to be nosy and being paralyzed by indecision with how to appropriately respond, he couldn’t help but watch as Uyutuk’s tears joined Namo’s in the umber dirt.

Though the breeze had picked up, carrying with it handfuls of short, flat conifer needles and the occasional golden sycamore leaf, Martin realized that his trembling hands had stilled amidst Namo and Uyutuk’s lachrymose discussion. His nausea, however, had persisted unabated. Whether the tightness in his stomach was borne of his physical need for drink or an empathic need to shoulder some of his fellow traveler’s pain, he remained uncertain, and so the man merely listened as the pair shared in their grief.

By early evening, Uyutuk’s wife and son returned from laboring in the fields, where they introduced themselves to Namo and Martin. His wife, So’onuu, was slightly taller than Namo, but built in the thickset way of a person accustomed to both to long hours of manual labor as well as enjoying the literal fruits of said labor. Weariness creased the skin around her green eyes, likely borne from the recent events that had wracked her community. Even still, she donned a forced smile to introduce herself to the travelers. Like her husband, she wore a kilt dyed in earth tones of burgundy, umber, and green. Also like her husband, she wore nothing but a sash over her chest; her voluminous cream-colored chest fluff did well enough to preserve whatever modesty she cared to. Their son, introduced to the pair as Sonoko, was a timid young man, probably no more than three years old, who hid behind his mother upon seeing the strange human intruding on their space. His body had not grown into his large ears and feet yet, it had seemed, and they wiggled nervously as he bashfully greeted the pair.

It was clear to Martin that she immediately recognized that something was amiss with her husband, mysterious travelers appearing while she was out notwithstanding. After the group made introductions, Uyutuk served dinner, a bean and squash stew that was a bit bland but plenty filling. Curiously, over dinner Uyutuk shared with his spouse—in similarly hushed tones—whatever secret Namo had shared, causing So’onuu to cover her mouth and pull Namo into a hug.

Tension pervaded the atmosphere as Martin awkwardly sipped his stew. The conversation eventually shifted, and the five of them conversed about their travels and their shared history with Namo, in a mixture of Kepmuun and broken English. Martin already knew that Namo, Uyutuk, and the late Uno’opan were about the same age and grew up together. However, he learned that their three families were united under the same clan, meaning that they had somewhat of a blood bond—a fact which, when revealed, caused Namo to quip about how it was lucky they got along so well. About five years ago, Uyutuk, followed by Uno’opan, made the journey west from Jeju to settle in Benuun, where both had married, and Uyutuk welcomed a child. For the most part, Benuun had provided a happy life for the pair of Jejunian emigres up until this point, but the faun man relished in the tales Namo provided from the eastern banks of Sundered Lake. The human noted it was curious that Namo had decided to stay behind in Jeju while her friends made the trip west.

Uyutuk expressed interest in the pair joining the family for a formal village meeting. He reasoned that it would be a chance for them to hear the report of the events that had transpired the previous night. Namo was uncharacteristically but understandably solemn about the whole affair; he would have been solemn about it too, were he in her proverbial shoes. Martin dryly acknowledged to himself that the analogy didn’t work as well for a hoofed people that, as far as he had noticed, didn’t wear any form of footwear.

After the blazing disc of the sun had sunk nearly completely below the horizon, the village assembled by firelight to discuss the matters that had transpired the previous evening. Martin got the sense that much of the information had been disclosed amongst the members of the village earlier, at least informally. Judging by the arrangement of people in rings behind five apparent authority figures who gathered in the center, facing each other, It seemed that this meeting served the function of a more formal town hall gathering. As if to confirm his suspicions, Namo whispered to him: “The old woman by the fire with her back to us? That’s Lan’snaa, So’onuu’s grandma. She was good friends with Osojuu’sno—the leader of the village.”

Martin settled into a seat behind a tall man that mostly blocked his view of the group of five representatives seated around a large brazier. “You’ll translate for me, right?” Martin asked.

“Oh, you betcha. I’ll do my best to, anyways.”

The sun’s descent cast long shadows over the crowd, and the torches arranged in regular intervals around the circle added to the gravity of the event. When Martin leaned sideways to see past the shoulder of the faun in front of him, the flickering of the brazier’s flame in the center of the circle cast dancing images on the faces of the five representatives of the village.

Townsfolk continued to gather around for the next several minutes, many of whom gawked at the human with a variety of expressions. Each spoke of the “wheel” that the villagers were seated in looked asymmetrical in both length and width, and Martin guessed that, assuming the majority of the village was in attendance, that the population of Benuun was somewhere between five and seven hundred individuals. Were the spokes differing in the number of people indicative of perhaps differences in representative power? Did the fauns in each spoke elect a representative? Martin pondered these and other questions about the system of government for this village while Namo chatted with Uyutuk to their left, until the five individuals in the center shouted over the din of chatter, presumably calling order to the meeting. The chatter died down, though Uyutuk had to direct Namo’s attention to the meeting: it seemed she hadn’t paid attention to the call to order.

The representative from one of the other spokes was the first to speak to the broader crowd as a whole. “What’s he saying?” Martin asked.

“One sec…” Namo whispered, listening carefully. “Um, he says thanks to everyone for gathering… he and the other maknuuk—uh, I guess you could call them elders—share in the sadness that Benuun feels… he hopes to help people understand what happened.” Namo paused while the man continued to speak. Martin found the elder’s ability to project his voice impressive, considering his back was facing the spoke they sat in and he could still hear the man clearly.

“Tomorrow, we wish to establish a day of rest in remembrance of our beloved leader and the family that we lost to this violence. We will hold a memorial service after the rise of the sun, as we honor their lives and pray for their protection by the multitudes of our ancestors.” Murmurs of affirmation rumbled from across the assembly. “Today, however, we call you here to explain what we know happened, and what we believe is the way forward for our people, the people of Benuun.” The faun recapitulated the events that had transpired the night before, or at least, what was known or suspected. An entourage of six amonuunkep—humans—had stopped by on their way west, envoys from Fordham. They had behaved amicably toward the fauns, providing gifts of silver, medicine, and tools. They had danced and sang with the fauns into the night, and were last seen meeting with Headman Osojuu’sno and his family late in the evening. When morning came, Clan Leader Jakuun found Osojuu’sno, his wife, his three children, and his two children-in-law, all murdered “by blade and deceit”, in Namo’s translated words.

Another clan leader resumed the recapitulation of events by describing the suspects - six humans, three men and three women. Namo stumbled a bit, and said “they’re having a hard time remembering what the people looked like and are asking for what people remember.” As if on cue, members of the audience began shouting tidbits. Namo did her best to keep up. “Um, two had dark skin, two had light skin, two had medium skin. One had yellow hair and one had orange hair. One, um,” she paused. Martin waited for her to process.

“One of the women had a silver dagger on her hip... Oh my goodness, Maa’ko, could that’ve been the woman I saw on the road?”

Martin’s arms went numb, his breath nearly hitched in his throat, and the hairs on his nape stood on end. The world shrank around him. It’s her. She’s here. We’re following her. Does she know we are heading this way? Is she here still? He was interrupted from his anxiety spiral with a nudge from Namo. “Maa’ko? Are you with me? Do you want me to keep translatin’?”

Martin did the best he could to compartmentalize the maelstrom of emotions he was experiencing. “Yeah, I’m fine, please, keep translating.” He said, trying desperately to pretend everything was normal, that he was fine, calm, collected, whatever. With a slip of the tongue, he tried to reassure the woman: “If it’s really Afzal, I need to know where I can find her.” He looked straight ahead, trying to piece together additional clues from the way the clan leader described the identities of the assassins. When Namo still didn’t continue translating, Martin wrenched his gaze away from the clan leader and to his faun companion. “Uh, Namo?”

Namo was staring at him with a concerned gaze that could penetrate a concrete wall. She had the characteristic look of a person who had assembled a mental puzzle from carelessly-strewn pieces. “Martin… You said you were visitin’ a friend the other day, right? Back in Fordham?”

Martin swallowed. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Terror and disappointment crept into the subtle creases around the faun’s eyes. She whispered, a sob threatening to choke through her wavering voice: “…was that her? Is this woman your friend?”