The gnomes belonging to the red group huddled forlornly on and around their stranded vehicle. At the fore, two children whispered with their heads together, both of them swaddled in overlarge hooded cloaks. They were sneaking food to their group’s badger, Helga, from a stash kept somewhere in their clothing. Poor Helga chomped on the treats, patiently awaiting further instructions despite looking half-drowned and miserable.
Nails, the group’s leader, was crouched beside one of the wagon's front wheels. Dovetail the carpenter was beside her; rain dripped from her feathery hair as she shook her head.
Here we go again. I sighed.
My avatar's fur was soaked. Her muscles were beginning to ache, and her usually bushy tail now curled sadly behind her like a waterlogged worm. Yet she trudged toward the wagon without complaint, her back straight and her shoulders set stoically.
Nails' group let out a ragged cheer as Ris'kin approached. As always, my avatar's presence lifted my denizens' morale, and the flagging gnomes drew upon new reserves of energy as Ris'kin directed them into position. With her strength added to theirs, Ris'kin and the others were able to lift the wagon clear of the mire for long enough to shuffle forward and place it down onto firmer ground.
They rolled away, wheels making wet sucking sounds in the mud. Ris'kin gazed down at the drenched, mud-splattered fur of her legs, fighting off a shiver, then followed Nails' group.
It had only been a few hours, but the shelter of the Grotto already seemed a distant memory. As soon as we left, I'd sought refuge from the open sky in Double Sight. The colossal expanse above still induced a violent sense of vertigo whenever I thought too much about it, but anchoring myself within Ris'kin's body at least helped me feel less like I was about to fall into the clouds and float away forever.
I had to admit, though, I was growing weary of the accompanying sensations—particularly that of cold mud soaking the pads of my feet and squelching between my toes. Thankfully, the darkness—perhaps because its opaque blackness could almost make me believe it was just a really, really high cavern ceiling—made me feel safe enough to finally return to my god's-eye form. I relinquished my hold on Ris’kin with some relief and looked down critically at my straggling cavalcade.
A line of bobbing illumishrooms snaked ahead, marking the gnomish convoy’s route. Glowing auras visible only to me indicated the exodus group leaders. Of the 101 gnomes that made up the tribe, the majority had each been assigned to one of six main groups.
Longshank set the pace; his group were our vanguard, a tight-knit array of green dots on my map. Close behind them was the yellow group, led by Emrys the nurse, followed by Hammer's purple group.
Hoppit's blues and Graywall's oranges mingled together; they'd joined forces when Hoppit's wagon had broken beyond repair after careening into a ditch. Now the blues' younglings shared a crowded-looking cart along with the orange children, with the supplies from the blue wagon distributed among the warriors and stronger workers of both groups.
The last of the 'main' groups was Nails and her reds. The latest delay had set them much further back than where they'd started out, though they still weren't at the very rear of the procession. That position was reserved for—who else?—Swift and Cheer.
Unlike the rest of the tribe, the two scavengers had somehow avoided being assigned to a larger group. Both appeared as gray dots on my Augmentary map, and both were plodding far behind the rest, weighed down as they were by the layers of junk they'd insisted on bringing with them. Honestly, it was a miracle they hadn't sunk into the mud beneath it all.
Bekkit had said the exodus groups were determined by social ties within the tribe. Perhaps Swift and Cheer had not been assigned to any because they had none, except to each other.
It's probably for the best, I thought, as I watched them stop yet again to readjust their luggage and fiddle with their boots. They really don't play well with others. And their constant ‘emergency’ halts would be enough to try even Helga’s patience.
Sandwiched in the very center of the convoy was the final, most important group. Gneil and his five acolytes—Gnarl, Gnorm, Gnoah, Gnils, and Gnella—were pure white. On my map, that was. In reality, they were as drenched and mud-spattered as the rest, despite their relatively sheltered position atop the chariot. The lid of the ark had miraculously stayed in place, but rain had crept into the box via the loose joins and my gem now wallowed ignominiously among muddy straw and sloshing water.
Ignoring the discomfort, I focused my attention further ahead. We were approaching the edge of a thickly wooded area, but it was impossible to tell how deep the trees went, and Benin and Coll were yet to return from scouting ahead. Assuming they hadn't decided to just abandon us altogether.
Should we go around it, or through it?
I tried to rise higher but bumped the invisible barrier of my Sphere of Influence. I kept forgetting it was no larger than it had been when I was a tier one God Core. Its upper boundary was harder to judge without the presence of an actual ceiling to mark it.
It had better go back to normal when we find our new base.
If we find it.
My inability to access the full range of my powers was also proving tougher than I'd imagined. Of course I understood the logic of (for example) not being able to command the construction of new buildings until we'd found a safe location. Just because it made sense didn't mean it wasn't immensely frustrating.
Having my mana revoked was
