Irin waited on the riverbank until the water settled. The flowing current swept the blood that had stained the surface of the river downstream.
Irin thought it was best that he use the water to wash himself. He could not go on like this. Even wild beasts would track him because of the stench.
He crouched at the riverbank and gauged the water temperature with his fingertips.
The water's temperature was too cold. He gently pulled his hand back.
He took another look around, instinctively surveying his environment. Everywhere felt so open.
The idea of someone watching while he bath struck him as absurd.
"Who would even be out here?" he remarked, speaking to himself.
So he stood at the riverbank and undressed.
He slipped out of his clothes until he stood bare in the winter air.
He felt goosebumps appear all over his body at once as he cautiously stepped into the river.
"Ah-" Irin gasped immediately when the cold water touched his skin. Despite the cold, he pushed himself into the river until the water touched his waist. His teeth clattered uncontrollably.
He repeatedly poured water over himself while washing his skin with trembling hands.
His hands felt numb after he finished cleaning himself.
He put on his last two layers of clothing and strapped the pouch of fruit to his back. Irin took one last look at the river before he walked away.
He continued walking until the terrain became rocky, which was snow-free. The air felt warmer around him.
Finally, as the sky turned orange and purple at dusk, Irin spotted rooftops.
He realized it was a small town on the outskirts of Marhan.
"Finally," Irin said in relief.
He walked down the slope and entered the town. Stalls and houses stood sparsely spaced on the street, cobbled with stone. The streetlamps had no light, which made the entire atmosphere gloomy.
The place was eerily quiet. Every house he walked by had its doors and windows shut. The few individuals seen walking had their shoulders hunched and their heads down.
Irin walked further and came across posters plastered on the walls. The townsfolk had nailed many posters to the wall and even pasted some over the older, fading posters.
The poster featured a variety of faces, including those of children and adults.
'Names... Dates… Last-seen locations… Missing…' were the inscriptions written on the poster.
He felt a tightness in his chest.
"So many of them are missing… What could have happened?" he whispered.
A man passed by without looking at him. His body was thin due to hunger. Shortly after, a malnourished-looking woman arrived, carrying an empty basket.
One could see the hunger on these people's faces.
Yet, despite old houses making up most of the town, only one building stood out from the rest.
It was a massive building, and the surrounding houses were tiny in comparison. Its structure was still intact and well-maintained.
At the door of this building was a symbol: an eight-pointed star with the bottom edge pointing downward like a needle.
'What is this building used for?' Irin wondered. He turned and left before his curiosity could get the better of him.
He came across a small cottage, a little further along the street, that was set apart from the other houses.
A woman sat outdoors near a small fire stand. She was stirring the contents of a pot on the fire. A child, who couldn't have been more than five years old, sat next to her, wailing.
"I'm hungry," the child sobbed, tugging weakly at his mother's cloth.
"Mama, I'm hungry."
Ignoring her child, the woman stared into the fire without moving an inch.
Irin frowned.
'It's a mother's duty to provide comfort and sustenance for her child.'
Clearly upset, the child cried harder until his face turned red with distress.
Without conscious thought, Irin's hand reached for the pouch on his back. He unstrapped the pouch and approached them.
"Excuse me," Irin said gently.
The woman looked up with eyes that were tired and hollow.
Irin knelt down, opened his pouch, and took out some red fruits. "Here."
The child stopped crying instantly as he grabbed the fruit with both hands and bit into it eagerly.
The woman felt both surprised and happy at the same time. She bowed her head slightly.
"Thank you," she said, trying to contain her joy. "Thank you so much."
Irin smiled faintly before the pot on the fire caught his attention.
"Why didn't you give him food?" he asked, pointing at the pot. "You're cooking."
"There's nothing in there," she solemnly replied. "I filled the pot with rocks."
"Rocks?"
The woman laughed bitterly. She stood up and opened the lid of the pot.
The pot contained brown rocks that were bobbing uselessly in boiling water.
"I filled the pot with rocks," she explained with regret.
"Since rocks aren't food and they tend to boil longer, he believed I was preparing dinner. I planned to keep him hoping for food till he gets tired of hoping and eventually falls asleep."
Her words struck Irin like a blow.
"Why?" he asked.
Tears formed in her eyes. "People started disappearing," she said.
"Farmers first. Then adults and children. As many of us are farmers with land close to the mountain, those who ventured out to cultivate or harvest crops never came back."
"The mayor told us to stay inside and stop farming. The ones who ignored the warning never returned. Therefore, we had no choice but to comply. Then hunger came. They promised to solve the problem and supply us with food from other cities or towns. But that never happened. I wonder why."
The Widespread hunger, deserted streets, and posters plastered everywhere signaled that something had halted the town's usual activities.
Irin realized what was happening when he looked at the distant mountain away from town.
The cannibals were responsible. The tree where he got the fruits was a clever trap set by the cannibals to lure unsuspecting townsfolk who had ventured deep into the mountain out of hunger, looking for something to eat since they could no longer farm.
'It's not surprising they had knives, axes, sickles, and different weapons when they attacked me. Those tools belonged to the inhabitants of this town, many of whom were farmers the cannibals had murdered.'
The pieces fell into place with awful clarity.
"They won't come back," Irin said.
The woman looked at him. "What? I don't understand."
"Worry no more," Irin said without explaining further.
"It's late," she said, following a brief silence. "You should stay with us. The night isn't safe."
After considering her offer, Irin accepted.
She gave Irin an empty room containing a small bed.
Just before Irin went to bed that evening, the woman knocked on his door and came in with a neatly folded piece of clothing in her hands.
"These belonged to my son," she smiled with pain in her eyes. "He was around your age. But he went missing two weeks ago when he went to look for food for all of us."
Irin knew what that meant and felt sorry for her.
"You don't have to-"
"Go ahead and try them," she interrupted Irin. "You need to stop wearing those old clothes."