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Predator or PrankstersCome home safely, Shantari.
I always do, dont I Ra-Streoan? I won"t be too long gathering telk bulbs.
Of course you wont. But I still worry that the creatures of the night will find you before you make it home.
Ill come home before sun down, like I always do, Shantari said to her mother. It was the same conversation every time Shantari went out by herself. Her mother would remind her to stay safe, and Shantari would reassure her in return.
The sun was barely past its zenith when Shantari left their camp. Although not hard to unearth, telk bulbs were sparse. She would need to cover a large area to find enough bulbs to fill her basket. It was worth it, she knew, for telk bulbs were a welcome addition to any cook-pot.
As Shantari was leaving camp, she noticed Tani and Danek. Those two rascals. They were playing around with a crom-ball and stick, seeing who could hit the ball through the highest fork in a nearby tree. Those
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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