Kraite stroked the ridge of fur back from the corner of his mouth and twisted the thin braid at the end. He disliked the style, but the braids appealed to Mallen. Repeating the action made him feel thoughtful.
He was not thoughtful. At least not anymore.
The bush in Qwain, especially here at the headwaters of the Drenfennelen river, smelled clean even a bit spicy. The warming morning air brought with it the earth’s aroma…
The dark green foliage dropped below him in a static sort of fall. Earlier in the morning light he’d tried to imagine the tops of the trees as sort of river of plants to match the one in water hidden below. The trick wouldn’t go. He couldn’t think of them as anything but what they were. Now he was left to waiting.
Most hunts he wouldn’t get such a prime vantage point. Normally he’d be half hung in a tree or crouched behind a too-small rock waiting in the rain for armed quarry. This juicy gig allowed him a relaxed demeanor and he was taking full [measure of the sun and view].
Kraite listened again for the monk’s approach. The human girl was below the clearing by a switchback or two. He pushed a bit of limestone from his perch to mark the moment. The [stone] dropped out of sight before he heard it chackle across the [ruins and rocks] lining the seasonally dry streambed below.
His perch no longer served as an aqueduct-hadn’t in [a century]…
…when the Chief Administrators in Theeble stopped paying the monks for healing water that didn’t, in fact, heal. The stonework of the arch in which he waited now lined the streambed below (yeah, I know).
Kraite lowered himself into the vines that spilled from the dry waterway. Holding on with one hand he tossed another stone into the rocky path below. The flat stone smacked into the rocks drawing the monk’s attention as she entered the clearing below Kraite. He took that exact moment to drop after it.
I was going to swap to the monk’s POV but then my brother called. Maybe later.
Follow all of Kraite’s adventures using the ‘qwain‘ tag.
Word count: 107