by Justin Wayne
Chapter Thirty Four: Journ
“Just what exactly is the plan?” Thom inquired of the group and looked from side to side. His little hands gripped his silver relic tightly and he ran his fingers over the intricately carved lines. “I mean, we can’t hold onto these things forever.”
“The boy’s right.” Merlon agreed and gratefully accepted a pinch of smoking weed. With a match struck he lit his corncob pipe and puffed on it happily. Thom waved the smoke away from his face and coughed as it stung his eyes and nose. The three men nodded deferentially to the gruff dwarf and raised their pipes in salute.
Natalia stirred the kettle of bubbling stew with a long spoon while Bryn sliced bits of potatoes and carrots into it. The vegetable coins plopped into the broth and soon the room filled with the husky bouquet of food.
Merlon leaned forward from his seat on the floor and eyed the kettle; straining to see over the top without having to stand. “There any meat in there? Ye’ got to have meat if ye’ want your men to be strong and hardy. That’s why dwarves are so tough; we eat nothin’ but meat and drink nothin’ but ale.”
“It’s also why they’re so heavy.” Thom muttered and everyone but Cuke and Merlon snickered.
“Either way,” Natalia answered at last before the surly dwarf could retort. “Outsider’s out hunting as we speak and I’m sure he’ll come back with something.” She nodded reassuringly and set back to stirring slowly.
“It is his job after all.” Bryn added and the room soon settled to a comfortable lull. The sounds of the crackling fire, boiling stew, and raging storm created a steady rhythm to the world around them to relax to. Thom rolled up into a ball inside his cape and was soon snoring soundly.
Merlon sank down next to Cuke and nudged him with his elbow. The cleric turned to regard him somewhat hesitantly; an observation the old dwarf surely didn’t miss. “So what’s the plan now?”
The eccentric dwarf scratched his balding head and leaned it against the wall behind him. “I don’t know,” he replied staring at the ceiling. “I assume the first thing should be to figure out how we’re going to defeat this thing and what we hope to accomplish.”
Merlon’s thick bushy eyebrows pressed together and his whole face wrinkled. “Whaddya’ mean ‘hope to accomplish’? I aim to kill the durn thing and be done with it!”
“I know, and I understand,” Cuke responded and tried to calm the surly fighter. “But you have to think, even if we do somehow manage to kill it, how will that help us find everyone?”
The two dwarves stared each other down until Merlon nodded and settled; unable to refute the logic. He sighed and brushed his fingers through the thick black jungle on his face. Cuke likewise continued to scratch his bald spot; unknowingly adding to the problem as he rubbed away the few hairs remaining on his crown.
“So we need to get it to spill its guts.” Merlon surmised. “I think I know how we can do that.”
“How?” Cuke’s eyebrow rose and he turned to face him. Merlon smiled deviously and tapped the side of his nose.
