Sharp spikes on Stug Bonecrusher’s heavy boots shredded the grass. Graz Skinthrasher trailed after him, dragging the notched and bent end of his scimitar through the dirt. Urag Scarhead came next, carrying a heavy, lumpy sack. Stug pulled a tattered, stained sheet out of his supplies and laid it on the hill. He snarled past his tusks as he teased it until it lay flat, no wrinkles or folds.
Morig and Tebbis Yellowbelly arrived, and they carried loaves of maggoty bread. Ulji Browbeater came next, huge kegs of mudwine on his scarred shoulders. After him, Pthar Tearspiller brought an immense bowl of dirty roots.
Urag upended his sack and metal tumbled out. He began to set up a burner from the fortress’s dungeon, growling to himself as he scraped bits of burnt flesh off the rack. A few minutes later Fird Hugebellow, Wurth Titanfist, and Mok Beetnose arrived with the meat. They stood around Urag as he started the fires, grunting advice.
Graz set out slabs of wood and crude iron goblets. He took out fistfuls of knives, leering at the gleaming edges, and set one on either side of each piece of wood. Bread, wine, and roots filled Stug’s sheet. Grinth Skingobbler added spider stew, Olgrich Quickfist had roasted hawks, and Thrawk Moistfoot brought a bucket of raw fish.
For dessert.
Urag burnt the meat black to perfection. They ate and laughed, sitting cross-legged on the hills of Ur-Garath. Far above them, envious prisoners dangled from the fortress walls.
∞
Daniel Deisinger lives in Minnesota and writes for work and fun. His work has appeared in more than twenty publications, including ‘Havik,’ ‘White Wall Review,’ ‘Castabout Literature,’ ‘Defenestration Magazine,’ and ‘Ripples in Space.’ His serial “Voices in My Head” is available on Kindle Vella. His twitter is @Danny_Deisinger, and his website is saturdaystory-Time.weebly.com.”
