Sol wasted no time. He knew that whatever had made that grunt... be it a dinosaur, a giant boar, or just a really angry rock... wasn’t going to stay gone forever.
He stripped the bush with frantic efficiency, shoving handfuls of the bright red chilies into his sack until it bulged. He even managed to uproot a small sapling, wrapping the roots in a large leaf to replant later. This was his golden goose; he wasn’t going to leave it to chance in the wild.
"Got it," he whispered, tying the sack to his waist.
For the way outside, he didn’t walk, or stop to appreciate the primitive beauty. He ran. He ran like a madman, without stopping once. Thanks to his improved physical health due to the recent "cultivation" sessions, he didn’t feel much exhaustion, and even if he did, he didn’t dare to stop. The fear of being turned into a snack kept his legs pumping like pistons.
He just continued his sprint, tearing through the tall grass, vaulting roots, and dodging thorns, only stopping when the familiar, comforting silhouette of the tribe’s wooden palisade walls came into view.
By now it was noon, the sun shining brightly overhead, baking the sweat onto his skin. He gasped for air, hands on his knees. He didn’t expect it would take so long to get chilies, and more so, suffering so much terror for a bit of spice. Even now, just thinking about the snake and the grunt, he felt wronged.
He stood up, turned around, and glared at the wilderness.
He raised both middle fingers high in the air.
"Fuck you, wilderness!" he shouted, his voice cracking with indignation. "Just you wait—I’ll get stronger and come back to fuck you up! I’ll eat your ancestors!"
ROAR.
The words had barely left his mouth when a thunderous, ground-shaking roar rolled back from the distant tree line. It sounded like a challenge.
Sol’s bravado shattered instantly. He yelped, crouched low like a guilty child caught stealing sweets, and scuttled backward toward the tribe.
"I was joking!" he muttered frantically, eyes darting around. "I swear... don’t take it seriously! Just a prank!"
Reaching near the tribe’s perimeter, he stayed low, moving carefully toward the hidden entrance in the rock formation. He checked left, checked right, and squeezed himself into the narrow gap.
He shimmied through the dark, tight tunnel, holding his breath as the stone scraped against his ribs.
When he popped out on the other side... the safe, boring, village side... he let out a breath that rattled his entire frame.
"Civilization," he almost kissed the dirt. "I love you. I will never take walls for granted again."
He sat there for a moment, hugging the ground. Then, remembering his prize, he carefully unwrapped the sapling.
He couldn’t bring the plant into the village. If the Elders saw him cultivating "Fire-Devil’s Droppings," they’d burn it and probably him along with it.
Looking around, he found a good spot near the hidden entrance... a patch of soil shielded by two large rocks and a curtain of hanging vines. He dug down with his hands, planting the chili bush carefully.
"Grow strong," he whispered, patting the dirt down. "Papa needs your childrens."
From his memories, he knew no one came this way. Even when he used to hide here in childhood, he doubted anyone other than him knew about this place. It was a sheer coincidence that he had found this spot while playing hide-and-seek years ago. It was the perfect secret garden.
With the sapling safe and the harvested chilies hidden deep in his sack, he stood up.
He dusted himself off, adjusted his loincloth to hide the scratches on his legs, and smoothed his hair. He took a deep breath, letting the panic drain out of his face, replacing it with a vacant, harmless expression.
He assumed his persona of the "innocent, slightly eccentric invalid."
Shoulders slumped slightly, gait relaxed, he walked out of the secluded area and back onto the main path leading to his hut. To anyone passing by, he was just Sol, the weak boy returning from a short, tiring walk.
But inside the sack at his waist, the fire was waiting.
After finally slipping back into his hut, the adrenaline of the chase finally fading into a dull ache in his muscles. He was covered in dirt, sweat, and the lingering musk of fear. He looked like he had wrestled a mud beast and lost.
He carefully hid chilis in the makeshift utility room.
"First things first," he muttered, peeling off his grimy loincloth. "Hygiene."
He used the water from the clay jar he had filled earlier... thankfully, he had brought enough for a bath. He soaked a rough cloth and scrubbed himself down, washing away the evidence of his terrified sprint through the wilderness. As the cool water hit his skin, he felt the Ash Gray energy inside him hum contentedly, seemingly pleased that its host was no longer caked in filth.
He dried off and changed into a fresh set of clothes... well, as fresh as a primitive wardrobe allowed. It was another loincloth and a simple tunic made of cured hide, but it was clean and didn’t smell like swamp water.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to tame it into something resembling a style. He caught his reflection in the surface of the water jar. The face looking back was still young, a bit too pretty for a rugged tribesman, but there was a new sharpness in the eyes. The fear that used to haunt his predecessor’s gaze was gone, replaced by a calculating, hungry glint.
"Not bad," he winked at his reflection. "Cleaned up nicely."
He stepped out of the hut, squinting against the mid‑day sun, hanging high in the sky, in its full power. Remembering about his promise to Evara last night, he looked towards the direction of her hut, gulping in anticipation, as he hurried towards it.
As for his genius business plan to capture tribal women?
"Tomorrow," he decided. "The business empire starts tomorrow."