Careful, Boy

The barley fields remained empty and quiet. Streets were accompanied by slow, hunched villagers and soft murmurs. Bells would chime to signal fremocks on their way to the slaughter.

All across the streets of Kuttle, there hung a silence, a wave of peace and calm. There were no tales of monsters or beasts passing through the air, no disturbances worthy of note, and, more noticeably, no further sign of Riddle.

--- Kuttle - East Pastures

He sat in the driest patch of grass he could find, knees tucked against his chest and arms wrapped around them, eyes fixed on the forest far ahead. His jaw would twitch to one side or the other on occasion, each gritting motion giving away the thoughts he had drumming deep within.

He listened impatiently but heard no noises like those he'd heard over the past few days. No thuds, no tree sways, no panicked roars too far off for others to notice. Even the herd seemed at ease and uninterested in the woods. Whatever was there must have left. After the attack...

Riddle frowned and clenched the heavy fabric of his pants. He had wanted to join the strangers, whether they'd let him join in on the action or not. Now he was stuck at the edge of Kuttle, staring helplessly at the forest. For all he knew, they could be in need of a rescue. Not that he doubted such noble heroes, of course. Still, could he risk walking into the trees?

"I want to find you," he whispered. Then, a little louder, "Why couldn't you just take me? I could have helped."

Heavy, animalistic footsteps padded the ground behind him, and a familiar voice whispered behind him. "You could have helped them?" He could sense the grin in his voice.

Riddle scowled. His fist rammed into the dirt and launched whatever was in it behind him.

"Go away," he demanded.

The sound of heavy hooves and the startled grunts of a large animal caused a sudden uproar behind him. Riddle flinched and whipped his head around, midway through jumping out of the way. The beast, however, stomped away. It was one of the feemocks, who had briefly stepped away from the herd to check on the familiar sweaty human. Not the goat beast.

Riddle's tension died as he watched her walk away and join back with her herd. For a moment, he felt the familiar pang in his chest whenever he did something abrasive. His fingers rubbed together to feel the remnants of the dirt he'd unwittingly chucked at an unwary soul. He turned back and promptly returned to his wallowing position, however.

"Fine," he muttered once she showed no signs of looking back.

Voices swam in his head, whispering anxious thoughts that tugged and yanked at his nerves. But he took a breath and stilled, trying to think. Strange noises no longer peeked through the trees like they had before. Perhaps, whatever it was, had been slain.

"War cries," Riddle muttered, and his brow popped up. Of course. Amidst the mild panic of his drab snow plowers and the surprise of the noise, he, himself, must have fallen victim to something more painful than death: cowardice.

He nodded, absolutely certain that it must be so. How could he doubt them? For all he knew, they were strutting headlong toward either Kuttle or the long road to Horrus, with the remains of a gruesome foe strapped to their belts in bits and pieces.

Riddle nodded slowly, then stood. From the higher vantage point, he could see where the treeline met the field, and the spiked wire fence that divided it.

No amount of examination revealed the three rough strangers on their way back to Kuttle, however. He couldn't blame them for not wanting to return, really.

A grin slowly meshed onto Riddle's face. He'd love to see that monster up close.