On the second day after the refugee camps were established, the sky was dim and thick with dark clouds. A fine drizzle fell, its droplets small but bringing a damp chill that left the ground muddy.
So, early that morning, Chris had people put up more Three-Color Canopies in both refugee camps to shelter them from the wind and rain.
More refugees were still emerging from the mountains in groups, and over twenty large pots were constantly cooking mixed-grain and potato porridge.
Meanwhile, Isaac stood with his men in front of the men's refugee camp, calling coldly in a low voice to the refugees waiting in line.
"Next."
A refugee dressed in ragged hemp clothing approached him, trembling. As though inspecting livestock, Isaac gripped the man's mouth and first checked his teeth, then his palms, before giving his chest a hard slap.
"This one will do... next!
This one won't. Stay here. Next..."
To those death-knell calls of "Next," the refugees lined up and stepped forward, one after another, to be inspected by Isaac.
Someone earlier might have found Isaac's actions too humiliating, or perhaps he had simply been a troublemaker looking to stir things up.
As for the result... the longsword in Isaac's other hand was unsheathed, and a streak of crimson still lingered on its blade.
A corpse lay facedown at his feet, its blood seeping into the soil beneath it and staining it red.
What was Isaac doing?
Watching everything from beneath a nearby canopy, Chris could have given the answer... he was sorting the refugees, picking out the stronger men to send to Bich Town along with the rotating militia shifts and the newly appointed mayor.
Once they reached Bich Town, whether they became laborers or fresh recruits would depend on Mayor Diu Ni Leimu and