A Mouse Among Giants
Nyx and Kanne might have been born under ceilings of very different heights, but they shared one undeniable fact: both had grown up in Loudhill. Men who had held reins before they ever touched a sword knew nothing of a society that did not grow alongside horses.
Louis, on the other hand, was a man who had moved there with his wife and children after turning thirty. Though it had been more than ten years now, he still remembered the world outside Loudhill well enough to occasionally offer advice to these foolish young knights.
“Having companions who can’t ride is certainly a nuisance. But do we have any spare carriages? Whatever the pimp took with him, if we put that woman in the empty space he left behind, it should fit perfectly.”
The man spoke lightly. Though the way he treated a person like mere baggage left a sour taste, even Tichite had to admit that her place was exactly there.
She accepted the position Louis had assigned her. And so she climbed into the second cargo wagon pulled by three Mountain Horses.
The carriage rattled endlessly whether on dirt roads or stone paths. The one Tichite rode in was less a carriage and more a moving warehouse. Since it had not been built to carry people, it had no windows. No breeze entered, and no sunlight reached inside. Within a single hour, she already regretted the decision to squeeze herself into this place.
Inside the dark, stifling wagon, the air smelled of dust mixed with leather. Motion sickness was inevitable.
Sleep would have been the best escape, but there wasn’t enough room to lie down, making even that difficult. Throughout the journey, she had to crouch between crates of various sizes, curled into a shape that matched their angular forms.
The only breathing hole was a narrow gap where two planks failed to meet perfectly. She pressed her eyes, nose, and mouth against it in turns, barely managing to breathe the outside world. Through the finger-width slit, the scenery shifted from open fields to forest paths, steadily moving farther away from any sign of human dwellings.
Sunlight stubbornly forced its way through the slender crack. By the time its color began to deepen into red, the carriage finally came to a stop. Tichite woke from her shallow doze as her body lurched forward.
Someone yanked open the cargo door. The massive panel swung upward from below, slamming one edge against the ground with a heavy thud. The glow of sunset poured over her face. She blinked eyes more accustomed to darkness than light and tried to clear her foggy mind.
“Hey, get up and help set up camp.”
The driver who had brought the wagon this far tossed the words out casually before turning away, as if waking her had fulfilled his only duty.
“You can keep sleeping in there if you want.”
Tichite stretched her legs, feeling a headache and stiffness. The door the man had lowered formed a convenient ramp for unloading cargo. She slid down it as if riding a playground slide.
Camping, huh.
When she looked around, everyone except her was moving busily.
Some pulled grass for the horses, others searched for suitable trees to tie knots, a few carried water buckets toward the river, while others stripped branches into feather-like shapes to make them burn better. Men gathered firewood. Each seemed to have a predetermined task and moved with practiced ease.
She felt an unspoken pressure that she ought to help with something in order to earn her dinner, yet nowhere could she find anyone who actually needed her assistance.
The men here were all strong and capable of handling their own work. Their voices were loud and boisterous, and every conversation flew well over Tichite’s head.
Even for a single night of camping, certain things could not be neglected. Fire and water were essential; food came next.
They lit as many campfires as there were carriages, so that everyone could share in the warmth.
People gathered around the fires, pulling out their individual rations from pockets and bags. Tichite wasn’t particularly hungry, but watching the men chew on jerky still made her swallow reflexively.
The meal ended quickly and simply. The men who had finished early began moving off to prepare their sleeping spots. The dancing flames and flickering shadows alternately fell across Tichite’s face and then lifted away again.
She had once heard that northern Endel people had larger hands and feet and taller stature than those from the south. Today, she confirmed with her own eyes that every word of it was true.
Surrounded by magnificent horses and towering men, Tichite felt like a tiny mouse. Bumped from one side to the other, constantly dodging to avoid being stepped on—she was exactly that pathetic creature.
I need to get used to this new environment quickly.
So many things felt unfamiliar. So many things felt awkward. Everywhere she looked, there were only men. It seemed she was the only woman here. Rather than feeling special, the realization brought discomfort—an alien sensation that she did not belong in this place. The strange sense of alienation she had felt all along was undoubtedly caused by this extreme gender imbalance.
Her unavoidably conspicuous presence drew people’s eyes. They stared at her openly, without hiding their curiosity. Some looked at her with wariness, others with clear appraisal.
Tilamin woman. That woman. The woman. She could hear the whispers coming from every direction. Before her race, her gender itself had marked her as something special and unusual.
This was the first time she had ever felt this way because of her sex rather than her skin color. Being blatantly othered for any reason was incredibly stressful for the person on the receiving end.
Unwilling to mingle with people who looked at her like a monkey in a zoo, Tichite cleanly gave up on dinner.
She wandered aimlessly in the direction away from the campfires. On that short walk, she encountered Kanne. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say she merely saw him.
He was the only person in this unfamiliar group she could call an “acquaintance,” yet approaching him now and striking up a conversation was something she could not even imagine. The sight of Kanne laughing and chatting with the others felt impossibly distant. As obvious as it was, he had his own place here—unlike her. He existed in a glass-walled space she could never hope to reach.
Tichite suddenly felt deeply lonely. She hadn’t expected to feel quite this isolated and cut off.
She was so lonely that she even found herself thinking of Nirgi—the man she had hated and cursed with every fiber of her being only yesterday.
When she had first left her homeland and been forced to adapt to a new land and new culture, at least Nirgi had been there. She had not been this utterly alone, without anyone to rely on.
Still, I have to adapt. What else can I do?
Just like on that first day she had stepped onto dry land.
…Will I ever be able to get close to those people?
But honestly, she had no confidence. Inserting herself into their firmly established masculine social order would not be easy.
As if to pour cold water on her already meager confidence, a knight began loudly badmouthing her where she could clearly hear.
“I was the one who bought that woman. She was the whore I purchased, you know? But then Kanne snatched her away, and after that the commander stuffed the pimp’s arms full of gifts and sent her back. I’m the only one who got no compensation at all.”
Tichite’s heart sank. Without needing to turn her head to check his face, the content of his resentment alone told her exactly who he was.
“If you feel that wronged and bitter about it, why don’t you go tell the commander right now? Say you didn’t even get to taste her, let alone pierce her, and ask if he’ll at least let you have one round. Or maybe he’ll reimburse you the brothel fee himself.”
Another man answered with a cackling laugh. There wasn’t a trace of seriousness in his voice—only mockery.
A third man spoke up next. He offered his advice in a serious tone.
“If you mention in front of the commander that you were still frequenting the brothels right up until we departed, you’ll earn at least three months’ worth of contempt. I can already see him looking at you like you’re garbage.”