Behind The Lines

An orange barn cat jumped up on the workbench in front of Jack, a refugee from the little farm he had called home when he first arrived. The couple who had sheltered him were long gone to safer fields, but the cat had stayed. Jack rubbed his ears and blinked slowly, to tell him he was welcome. The loud, rumbling purr was as warm a welcome as he could have asked for.

“You know where it’s safe, don’t you, Mouser?” Jack asked. The cat’s reply was loud and brassy. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess safe is a long way from here.” Mouser gave another meow, this one ending in a little “mrrp,” as if to say he knew he was where he wanted to be. Jack could only agree.

Jack looked down the hill from the window of The Infinite Hourglass before turning his attention back to what was in front of him. The shop was a mess. Broken weapon pieces were scattered across the floor, scraps of metal, leather, and wood littered on the workbenches, and the scent of charcoal and hot metal lingered in the air. The din of hammers on steel still rang in his ears, the shouts of his fellow crafters loud in his memory as they fought a battle of their own against the Horde. Hammers and tongs had fought against broken weapons and sundered shields as surely as the fighters had brought blades to bear against the ravenous foes. Dark stains covered the grass where the afflicted folk had fallen, hard reminders that though they were beyond reason when they died, they were still people. The only salve to Jack’s conscience was that Meadowmere had fought to defend itself. Death would have been the final outcome either way. It was just a matter of whose, and the folk of Meadowmere were a hard lot to kill. They had fought for their very lives and won another day.

But in the silence that followed was the one memory that he held closest: the look of pride on the faces surrounding him when the battle was over. The fighters finished their bloody work long before the crafters did, but there was that moment when a line of sweaty, bloody warriors trooped up the hill that told them that, though their work wasn’t done, the fight had been won. And they had been a part of that victory.

It might have been but one moment, but the Horde was still out there. Even now, Jack could hear them in the woods. He knew he should have been afraid, but fear held little sway over him just then. His breath caught, and his eyes misted as he was momentarily overcome with pride in his fellow crafters. They’d done incredible things over the past couple of days, and Acorn had refused to let that strength be lost. Lights still shone in the window of the little wagon the Blurthistle’s called home, and Jack imagined Acorn’s stylus flying across the page as she wrote the proposal for the Auxiliary group to send to Bruzog. Standing in the aftermath of the fight, Jack felt the years fall from his shoulders, and an oath came from his lips, a simple promise to his friends and his home.

“If the Horde breaks it, we’ll fix it. If Meadowmere needs it, we’ll make it. And if it doesn’t exist, then by the powers, we’ll invent it.”

• This topic was modified 1 year ago by Benreeder.