Lindsay
Schopfer

By Lindsay Schopfer

Morning came too early as Keltin dressed with his eyes closed, cracking them open only when it came time to arm himself for the day’s patrol. With deliberate attentiveness he strapped on his belt with his grandfather’s pistol in its holster, slung his Ripper over his shoulder, and took up his rifle in both hands. Thus equipped, he dragged himself from his tent to find Bor’ve’tai already up and ready, though the only weapon he carried was his large woodsman’s ax.

“You didn’t sleep well.”

The Loopi’s blunt observation wasn’t a question and Keltin nodded numbly in agreement. “I haven’t slept a full night for a week.”

“I’m sorry, but I hope it doesn’t affect your ability to hunt.”

“I hope so too. Lets go see what breakfast is.”

Breakfast turned out to be porridge again. Keltin ate without comment or complaint as he listened to the muttered conversations of the hunters at the other tables. The topic on everyone’s mind seemed to be the beast attack on the sleevaks the night before, and Keltin managed to separate the odd sentence from the low murmuring around him.

“What kind of beast attacks a pack of caged sleevaks?”

“Them sleevaks were scared, did you see it in their eyes?”

“Naw, sleevaks are too stupid to be scared.”

Finished with his eavesdropping and his meal, Keltin rose from his seat to toss his bowl in the tub of water set out for dirty dishes. Maynid looked up with a tired smile from the bowls he was busily scrubbing.

“Good morning, Mr. Moore.”

“Morning, Maynid.”

“We heard you were going out with the first patrol today.”

“That’s right.”

Maynid stood up from his low stool, his young eyes suddenly serious. “We want you to know that you,” he glanced at Bor’ve’tai as he joined them, “both of you, have the good wishes of Evik’s troupe. We send the support of our ancestors with you today.”

Keltin was taken back by the youth’s solemnity. He murmured his thanks and Bor’ve’tai nodded to the lad. Maynid gave them one last smile and returned to his dirty dishes.