Anklus still had meat in his pack from the tromskus. Lots of it. He had to dump half of it there was so much. Dumping food made him feel guilty. He had gone so many days going hungry, just praying he would find something to eat the bext day.
And here he was.
Not an hour ago he tipped two massive wings and pieces of the breast out of his pack. The meat was taking up most if not all of the space in Anklus' pack. And it was very heavy.
Anklus was constantly on the move. Bandit groups and clans would sent patrols out, scavenging and hunting at the same time.
Too many times already he had been careless and an inch away from death.
He had killed people. He was not a pacifist. He didn't enjoy killing, but nor would he hesitate to pull the trigger.
Or rather, in his case, rack the barrel of his slamfire. A simple device made out of a few pipes.
The shell goes in the back of the barrel, which is just an unconnected pipe that slides into a slightly bigger pipe with a peice of metal welded onto the back of it, to stop the barrel's progress backwards.
When the barrel is pushed forward and slammed back, it sets off the bullet.
Quite a convinient contraption. It had saved Anklus' life time and time again.

The morning sun had risen, the day had gone by and the night was blanketing the sky. Anklus didn't really get to sleep all that often, mostly out of fear someone would come across him dosing off.
It had happened a few times before. But Anklus just couldn't stay awake any longer. How long had it been? three days? His eyes felt like they were pegged shut, and when he opened them it felt like his brain was using all it's energy on making his eyelids stay open, so the rest of his body sort of flopped. So Anklus hunkered down under a strangled-looking tree, tucked away in a valley of dunes. He was going to try knock off a couple hours sleep when he awoke to the heat of a roaring fire.
Yes, a group of bandits had found his spot, they were probably thinking what a lucky day they were having. First they discovered the tromskus meat in his pack, and they all merrily munched it, but when they were still hungry, they turned to Anklus himself, who was still snoring.
They made a fire and a spit and tried to slow roast Anklus over it.
Yes, they tried to cook Anklus while he was still alive.
Luckily, most of the time if you are being cooked over a fire while you are sleeping, 9 times out of 10 you will wake up. Actually more like 10 times out of 10.
So after a few minutes of slow roasting, Anklus started to feel the heat. He suddenly woke, Wondering for a few seconds where the hell he was. And then everything dawned on him. He knew what must have happened. So once realised what was going on, he figured that if he snapped the spit the ropes that held him would no longer be attached to him and he would be free to move. He would fall into the fire, but hey, small price to pay. He had to give it a go. He wasn't just going to wait for his blood to boil, skin to crisp, eyes to smoke. So he bounced up and down, trying the snap the spit he was lashed to.
The spit snapped fairly easily, and Anklus tumbled into the fire, instantly burning him.
he rolled to the side and the bonds that tethered him to the spit uncoiled, as he had expected.
The bandits realised at once that their dinner was escaping. Two went up to grab him and tie him up again, to put him on a new spit, slightly stronger this time, but Anklus used the sharp the broken stick and plunged it into one of the bandit's neck, kicking the other to the ground.
The other bandits quickly grabbed weapons, consisting of homemade revolvers, (they probably didn't make them, as they weren't very smart. They would have most likely been stolen or scavenged off some other group somewhere), slamfire shotguns, much like the one Anklus used. His one, in fact, was sitting in a pile a few metres away with his clothes, pack, and all his other gear.
Anklus also saw a variety of swords, spears and axes, all made out of bones or sharp edges of scavenged sheet metal. 
Anklus rushed towards his slamfire, sprinting. He dived and grabbed it, dodging a thrown spear and numerous poorly aimed shots. He pointing the gun towards the bandits and shot mindlessly, not having time to carefully aim.
bullets whizzed by. These mentals were definitely not the most worthy opponents Anklus had faced. Their aim was equivalent to that of a sheep. 
Anklus took cover behind the tree he was resting under earlier. Soon he would be surrounded and he would surely die. He knew it. But something happened.
BRATATATATATATATATAT!
The sound of automatic fire echoed through the valley. Perched in an east-facing dune was a mental, bearing Vengruzs clan tattoos, although you couldn't see them from that distance.
It was none other than Bizsn. The mental ordered to retrieve Anklus. 
Inaudible cries of the bandits filled the night, along with the gunshots of course.
The sand was erupting like little volcanoes as bullets embedded themselves in it.
Anklus managed to sneak away. He did not have much time, so he had to move fast.
Most of the bandits had been slaughtered by Bizsn, who was about 250 metres away, yet still he was hitting most of his shots.
The bandits, hit none of their shots. In fact, the bullets they sent his way never landed within even ten metres of him.
Part of it was to do with their weapons. They simply could not shoot that far. But if they had been a bit smarter they would have maybe been able to close some ground in between them and the rifle-bearer.
In under 5 minutes, the bandits had been wiped out. And in under 5 minutes, Anklus had escaped. Completely naked, his only weapon a slamfire shotgun with no ammo to shoot and no food. Bizsn had him right where he wanted him.
But Anklus didn't know that. Anklus had know idea who Bizsn was, and he suspected that his 'saviour' was just another rival group member, going out for a skirmish.

Anklus was in for a surprise.