《Goblin Combe》8 - Striker

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I pulled my shirt on inside the tent, opened it, swung my legs half out and pulled my trousers on. Standing and jumping, I wiggled into them. I used light bend to reapply my stubble as I walked. A pillar of smoke greeted me. Year on year I made sure to wake up third or fourth. Once there was a bit of a crowd, they couldn’t avoid starting the fire and I hated the effort.

‘Morning boys.’ I said, plonking down onto a log and lighting a cigarette I found in my breast pocket from the flames.

‘And girls,’ chided Abby. ‘Sleep alright?’

‘Fine, just fine. You?’

‘Lonely.’ She looked up at me.

‘I can loan you Metta if you like, she’s warm.’ Said Robin, same fold-out chair as always. ‘You’re so cuddly, aren’t you, big girl?’ he said, rubbing at Metta’s chin.

‘What’s the schedule Bobby?’ I asked, taking Jay’s proffered bowl of porridge.

‘Eat, talk, nature shit, talk, eat, nature shit, talk, eat, get pissed, bed.’ Robin said, through a mouth full of porridge.

‘You in on any of the nature shit Jack?’ Abby asked.

‘Oh, probably.’ I nodded, not looking up.

‘How do you actually, you know, help?’

‘This again Abby?’

‘No, I mean, you can’t do vine whipping stuff, or fire making, or tracking.’

‘I’ve got wrists, a lighter and eyes. I can do them just fine.’

‘I mean,’ she spun her hand around, blue sparks flying from it, ‘magically help.’

‘I know what you mean. Jesus Abby, are you flirting with me or not, fuck, pick one.’ As always, charisma took up the slack and she laughed and punched me on the shoulder. It kinda hurt.

‘That would be telling!’

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'Now, remember the -' I looked theatrically down at my fingers, flicking them out as I counted up, muttering, 'six, six Ps! Can anyone tell me-'

Amelia put her hand up and starting talking unprompted. ''Proper preparation prevents pretty poor performance.''

'Close! It's, 'proper preparation prevents piss poor performance.' Nice try though.'

I sat cross legged next to bundles of sticks ordered in size, with a circle scraped in the dirt in from of me. The kids had much the same, except smaller, and more inconsistent, and generally a bit shit. I started building the frame.

'If you all grab a flint and steel we can get started, so what I want is-' I pushed the metal onto the ferro rod, and pulled the rod back - that was the mistake people made - sparks fell into my pile of teased apart cotton, catching the smallest sticks and gradually building to a full sized fire.

I walked around the fire, hands behind my back, officiously.

'Make sure to get right into the cotton Amelia.' She soon managed. Tawny already sat around an inferno. 'Don't feed it more mate, we want to save the forests, not burn them down. Good job though.'

Sol sat, overgrown bulk hunched down. He stuck and struck to no avail.

'Alright. What spell did you use.' He huffed, leaning back.

'I didn't Sol, go on, keep at it.'

He stood, a little taller than me. 'Don't bullshit me. No way you did it just like that.'

I blazed. 'Language. Rat. Ear Worm.' My consciousness lurched into his, like a drunken punch.

We shared the same image of me with toes wrapped in his hair, pushing his head into the fire, screaming again and again "Is that real enough, is it?"

I flowed back out.

He blinked, stepped back, then fell on his arse. Narrowly missing Amelia's fire.

Sol looked close to throwing up.

Although I couldn't affect the body, sometimes the mind just tells you too firmly, and with such conviction that you are hurt, and in danger, that you can't do anything about it.

And he wouldn't be able to for a day now.

One down.

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