The reedy, mournful notes of the unseen flute drifted through the valley of Glyndŵr for the rest of that day, a ghostly accompaniment to the gnawing hunger in their bellies. The music was unnervingly skilled, its melody simple but filled with a wild, melancholic beauty that grated on their already frayed nerves. It would fade, only to reappear from a different direction, sometimes seeming to circle their pathetic tower, a constant, invisible reminder of the "others'" presence, their patient, watching eyes.
"What do they want with that... that noise?" Griff whispered, his voice tight with fear, as he huddled with Owain near the barricaded entrance, staring out into the oppressive woods. "To drive us mad," Rhys growled, his one good eye restlessly scanning the treeline. He hadn't eaten since the previous morning's meager crust, and his temper was visibly shortening. "Or to lure us out, like rabbits to a snare. Think we're stupid enough to chase a pretty tune?"
Cadogan, leaning against the cold stone wall for support, his own stomach a hollow ache, suspected Rhys was right on both counts. The music was a form of psychological warfare, designed to unnerve them, to break their already fragile morale. And it was likely a cover for movement, or an attempt to draw one of them into an ambush. Their last crumbs of Morfudd's hard bread had been consumed at dawn. The relief from the good water was fleeting; their hunger soon became an overriding misery that settled over them all. Dai struggled for each breath, his coughing spells leaving him more depleted each time. The terror that had once animated Owain and Griff had leached away, leaving behind only a dull listlessness and pale faces. Madog's usual stillness was now tinged with a visible effort, a subtle weariness that even he could not entirely conceal.
"We need food," Cadogan stated, his voice low but carrying in the tense silence between the flute's eerie phrases. "The water will last a few more days if we are careful. But without food, our strength will fail entirely. We become easier prey." "And how do you propose we find it, lordling?" Rhys sneered, though the usual venom was diluted by exhaustion. "Ask the piper to share his lunch?"
Cadogan ignored him, his mind racing through desperate, improbable options. Hunting was out of the question – they were the hunted. Foraging for unfamiliar roots and berries in a hostile, likely barren forest, while being stalked, was equally suicidal. His gaze fell on the area just outside their crumbling palisade, where the undergrowth was thickest, leading towards the woods. Small animals might still venture there, especially at dusk or dawn, perhaps drawn by the dubious scent of their own meager settlement. "Madog," Cadogan said. "Those snares we saw on the journey here… crude, but effective for small game." Madog nodded slowly. "Aye. If there is game left to snare." "Could you fashion something similar? With what we have? A few traps, placed just beyond the palisade, in the deepest cover? We wouldn't need to venture far to set or check them." It was a pathetically small hope, but it was something. The "others" might not expect them to try something so close, so mundane.
Madog considered this, his eyes thoughtful. "Some cordage from our packs. Sharpened sticks. It is possible. But risky. Setting them means exposing ourselves, even for a short time. And they will see the disturbance." "Everything is risky now," Cadogan said. "But doing nothing is the greatest risk of all." He looked at the scout. "Can you do it? Tonight, under cover of darkness, when the piper hopefully rests?" Another slow nod from Madog. "I can try."
The rest of the day was an agonizing wait. The flute music continued its ethereal, mocking dance. Hunger gnawed, making coherent thought difficult, fraying tempers. Rhys became increasingly agitated, pacing the small confines of the tower floor like a caged wolf. Owain and Griff lapsed into a fearful silence, starting at every sound. Dai seemed to be fading before their eyes. Cadogan forced himself to observe, to think. He made the youths drink more of the stream water, hoping to combat their lethargy. He rationed the last of the ale – a mouthful each for a fleeting illusion of sustenance. He tried to engage Dai in conversation, asking more about the symbols on the wall, about any old tales of survival in these lands, but the old man was mostly incoherent, his mind wandering.
As dusk began to settle, the flute music finally, blessedly, ceased. The silence it left behind was almost as unnerving. Under the cloak of a moonless, star-dusted night, Madog slipped out of the tower alone, armed with his knife and a few crudely fashioned snares made from scavenged cord and whittled branches. Rhys, Cadogan, and a terrified but resolute Owain (Griff being too overcome) manned the barricade and the upper breach, every sense strained, listening for any sound that might signal Madog's discovery or his demise. The wait was interminable. Each minute stretched into an hour. The wind whispered secrets through the stones. Cadogan could hear Rhys's harsh breathing beside him, Owain's small, stifled whimpers from above. He clutched his rusty sword, knowing it would be useless against the true dangers of this night.
Just as he was beginning to fear the worst, a shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the palisade. Madog. He slipped back inside, silent as a ghost. In his hands, he carried two small, limp forms. Rabbits. Scrawny, but undeniably meat. A collective, shaky sigh of relief went through the tower. It was not a feast. It was barely a mouthful each. But it was hope. "Two snares," Madog reported, his voice low. "One was empty. The other… held these." He paused. "There were fresh tracks near the snares. Not animal." The "others." They had been close. Perhaps even watching him set the traps.
The small, desperate hope guttered like a dying flame. They had food for one more day, perhaps. But the enemy was all around them, aware of their every move, their every desperate attempt to survive. The piper might have fallen silent, but the dance of death in Glyndŵr was far from over.