The Watchers

A caravan of oxen drawn wagons makes its way through a sunlit meadow. Two men riding at the end of the line keep a loose watch.

“Where’s Dun?”

“Probably staring at the sun again. Should never have hired a dwarf so long underground.”

They both turned in their saddles to look back down the muddy road.

The missing dwarf was far in the rear atop a pony, staring into the meadow. A piercing whistle from one of the men brought Dun’s head back forward and he kicked his mount into a trot toward the caravan.

“Five coppers says he falls off...”

The pony bounced his load up and down, side to side, but the dwarf kept his balance. He rode between the men and too late, attempted to stop with a tug of the reins.

“I think they’re watching us.” This announcement sent both men for their bows and their eyes to where Dun had been staring moments before.

Both men scanned the length of the meadow out to the distant trees, nothing but yellow flowers, twisting in the breeze.

“I see nothing, what are you talking about Dun?”

The dwarf jerked a thumb toward the flowers that lined the road,” Them.”

“Flowers?”

A nod from Dun set the men laughing. They road forward to catch up with the wagons, unstringing the bows, repacking arrows and trading quips. “Too long underground!” “Never seen a flower before, I think!” “What would you use against a horde of ravening flowers?” “A hoe?” “Left my scythe on the farm, damn!”

Dun uncased his axe and followed the men.


One tall flower turned minutely to its neighbor, and if one could interpret the rustling of its leaves the following could be heard, “Wise move youngling. Surprise was lost. We will wait for more prey.”

300 words