A Guest Through Famished Pass

20260118

Written for Luna Asli Kolcu’s “Myths of Winter - Week 7” event.

This didn’t make sense. Gravier had led caravans through the Famished Pass plenty of times before, and while the terrain being so barren made it a difficult route, it was a known difficulty. He’d made sure there was enough food and fuel to last for twelve days, and that estimate accounted for poor weather, which there hadn’t been. They’d made excellent time.
So why were the stores running out?
All the cooks swore that they’d been dishing out the allotted portions and no more. The guards swore nobody had tried to get at the supply wagons. Yet they were running low with three days travel remaining.
Gravier paced and fumed. If only the fools had thought to mention this sooner - now the whole train would have to be at half-rations, which would slow the pace significantly.
“But we thought you’d packed enough!” they’d whined, refusing to admit any wrongdoing.
Where had all the food gone?
As if that wasn’t enough, it looked like the weather might be turning for the worse. If that bad weather he’d stocked up for did hit, now that they’d somehow wasted the supplies for it…
How had they lost so much?? Without anyone noticing? Surely not everyone responsible for the stocks could be this incompetent! He’d never guided a caravan where people didn’t at least understand how to manage supplies.
They certainly sounded on top of things as they discussed how to stretch the food further. A pity they hadn’t exerted themselves before-
Gravier faltered as something one of them had said registered. He spun on his heel and demanded “What pregnant woman?”
He always made a note of any at-risk passengers, especially for a run like Famished Pass. Nobody had reported having a pregnant woman in their wagon.
The group stared blankly at him. One said “She’s in the third group.”
“No,” another shook their head, “she’s in the sixth group, same as me. I’ve seen her at mealtimes.”
“So have I!” A third exclaimed. “But in the second group.”
A hubbub quickly established that all of them had seen this woman - skinny and heavily pregnant - eating at every fire.
Sweat broke on Gravier’s brow. He’d heard stories about creatures which slipped into caravans and devoured all the food, then called down storms to trap the travellers… and ate them too.
“When did she appear?” He demanded. “Why did none of you report having an extra person? I told you to count your group every night and report any changes!”
Of course they all swore that they’d been carrying this count out diligently, and it had always been as it should be. Perhaps they were right, and the monster had replaced one of their passengers - but that hardly changed that one of them must be at fault for not having noticed!
No time for that now. Dark clouds were forming on the horizon between them and the end of the pass. If snow hit they’d be locked down, and while they had wood to keep from freezing… that wouldn’t protect from a monster in their midst.
“Get your guards, and find this stowaway! I told you about the horrors which lurk amongst these rocks!” Gravier rushed towards the guard wagon, leaving the fools to spout excuses and argue.
They had to move fast. Had to catch the monster before it slipped away, because the storm it was calling could only be prevented with its death.
Before he’d gotten six steps he saw her, on the ridge above them. Pale and emaciated, her hair hanging in greasy clumps which almost hid her delicate face. Exactly the kind of form which would tug the heartstrings and encourage the unwary to let her have just a little more food - especially with how her belly was unnaturally large for her gaunt body.
She lifted her tunic to reveal the mouth stretched across her stomach and laughed, long sharp teeth bared in mockery and a deadly promise. Then she turned and vanished over the ridge.
Gravier cast a glance towards the horizon. Three days to reach the next town. He knew the route well enough that he was confident about travelling in snow, so long as he was travelling light. And he always made a point to keep his supplies separate. Just in case.
If he packed his bag and set off now, before the caravan collapsed into panic… he would likely make it safely out.
But.
He’d taken these people under his protection. And Wanderer help him, he wasn’t going to fail his oaths now.
So he strung his bow and loped towards the ridge, his fingers finding the whistle dangling at his neck with practised ease.
The Famished Stowaway had already seen him. Nothing to be lost from raising the alarm. They’d need every able-bodied member of the caravan hunting her down. Either they’d kill the monster before the snow hit… or this would be his first - and likely last - failed run through Famished Pass.

Prompt was “The caravan is three days from the nearest town. The supplies were calculated precisely. But there’s an extra person in the group now. No one remembers them joining. They’re hungry. They’re always hungry. And the food is running out faster than it should.”