Mornings

Mornings

"Time ta get up," the half-orc shook Skrie's shoulder, startling her awake. "We needs ta git movin'."

The cleric uncoiled herself from the cloak and bedroll, stretching to her full two feet, nine inches tall as she crawled to her feet. Thankfully, Malusk had the smokeless fire boiling the water for tea. Skrie cozied up to the warmth, getting as close as she could without burning her boots. Theren pressed a mug of strong tea into her hands.

The warmth of the liquid spread through her chest and into her belly as she sipped. A bit more awake, she blinked her eyes to wet them after the heat from the coals. Taking a deep breath, she wasn't sure whether she relished the next part or dreaded it--waking Garack. That man was jumpier than a sack full of rabbits.

Every morning since he joined them was the same, touch the man anywhere to wake him, and he leaped to his feet, blades in hand. Before he was fully aware, he stumbled backward, daggers whirling around him. When he finally woke all the way, Garack swore, apologized, then asked if he'd hurt anyone.

Skrie wondered what his life had been like for him to startle awake so violently. Not that her later childhood had been a picnic. The only reason she could get as close to their campfires as she had was that they were small by necessity. Had their fires been larger and warmer, she would have stayed far away.

Taking a deep breath, the halfling reached over and shook the man's foot.



Next: