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 advantage. 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 bit dropped out of sight before he heard it chackle across the stones lining the seasonally dry streambed below. His perch no longer served as an aqueduct–hadn’t in centuries.
Working to o hard to get this off the ground. Will try again in the golden hour of the morning. If that doesn’t take it somewhere I am moving on for a few posts.
Word count: 273
What has gone before.
It wasn’t a vow. It wasn’t a blessing-grade hres even. It was really more of a technique. Nearly two days into his fast if he just ate this one small slice of lamb, he’d not be throwing that much back up. If he even did get sick.
Gane marveled at how easily his single brain took sides against itself. If you throw it away you are wasting good food–good money. If you eat it you’re being untrue to yourself. You decided not to eat, you can decide when to eat. Yesterday’s Gane isn’t the boss of today’s Gane. [et cetera]
He looks around for an excuse, a starving child, a malnourished traveler, or some other graceful error handling. No out. Then he finds something. A sign. Probably from God. He’s being punished of course: no food or drink in slide car.
Alright that enough of the chatter about Gane fasting. It feels important but not interesting to write and it’s clearly me avoiding getting him over to the spike.
Let’s cut to the chase and get him over there and work out the head stuff later.
Gane’s penultimate stop is in the penthouse. His last in the basement–figures. At least for now he’s in the clean air and bright open room of a wealthier Tacon. That helps, because this is the largest array of solex panels he’s seen in a quarter.
He finishes his tertiary count. He’d expected 1024 but there were 1023 instead. The sun-worshiping Thapes were always one-offing the octals, something about not being too perfect. Tacon’s on the other hand were more practical about their solex: the panels come eight to a box, you can’t buy less than a full box, one-offing means throwing something away. Tacon’s don’t throw anything away they might need later. [something about being out here over the ocean and everything having value].
Gane measures the appropriate amount of silacaine then sifts in the powdered chintal seed. Despite being exactly tied tot he number of panels, the disappointingly near-white silacaine was more than a volumizing agent. It plus the chintal powder together was what powered his blessing.
I’m going to have to think more on blessing-grade hres before I can just hack one out.
Word count: 391