Squib Ep.28 - Pock Island
(Start at the beginning here)
The rain continued to fall. The Silkwood, formerly a swamp, resembled something closer to a lake. At least that’s what Bandana had said in more ways than one since parting with the Witch. Squib did not disagree but then he’d lived in the swamp his whole life and seen such rain before. It had never crossed his mind to question it, and having never seen a lake himself had never thought to grudge one. The real problem was the insistent talking that Two Bandana provided, the continual worrying and pointing out of obvious truths at which no one could do anything about. Even Herule had seemed irritated at times, but then for the Lizardman, the humans tongue was merely noise. Squib was unfortunate enough to understand the finer details. For once the pride of learning an alien tongue was seen as a curse, and Squib had considered cutting his own ears off in spite of himself.
“I haven't been dry in three days, will this rain never end?”
Squib took a look over Bandana as they stood beside the trunk of a gnarled tree. The elevation on this pock of land treated them to a respite from swimming but the large droplets of water that pooled on the canopy of leaves fell hard and heavy when they fell. It cause noticeable rivulets of water to streak down their heads and neck, an unpleasant sensation indeed. Bandana looked as wet and bedraggled as a human could come. Her hair, tied back though it was, rested flat in a tangled mess behind her head. Her leathers fared well enough but were dark and heavy with moisture, and the clothes she wore beneath were soaked and clung unhelpfully about her frame. Her arms cut an x across her chest, hugging herself for warmth, and shivering regardless. The colour had long since washed out of her face, disbanding the common pink hues of a soft toned human and replacing it with the gaunt white of a weight. She appeared cold, and tired, and probably on the slow path to death's end as far as Squib could tell.
“We need a fire. I’d pay good money to have dry clothes, even for five minutes.”
Another complaint but not one Squib could fault her on. Managing the pitfalls of the swamp might come as first nature to him, but off setting the cold and wet with a warm fire was a thing they could agreed on. Finding a dry spot and dry wood was the real trouble and because of that, Squib wasn't about to hold out hope. That wasn't to say there wasn't any. Squib knew, perhaps as well as any goblin who’d survived alone as long as he had that there were ways around such trouble, but a healthy dose of reality could take a greenskin further than the bubble of some wanton hope a lot of the time. The hope right now was that the Lizardman would return soon, with a meal no less, and a decent sense of their bearing. Despite how well Squib and Herule knew the swamp, the northernmost reaches were largely unexplored by them, and with the risen waters washing out the landscape it was akin to a whole new world.
“I wonder how my sisters are. I hope they’re alright. They’re probably worried sick about me. Probably think I’m dead.”
There was a merry thought conveyed on a solemn tone. Not Bandana being dead, though the pun struck humor in Squibs mind. The somber words of the woman were not a merry thing by anyone's standards, and at best were a reprieve for Squib from the caustic tone that accompanied her complaints. No, what struck Squib most was the merry idea of having siblings to begin with. Something he was sure to have had at one point, but along with all other forms of family, had been wiped out a long time ago. He counted her lucky in her sickly worry. The only worry he’d ever had was that of himself. What prize could compare? His precious purple powder perhaps, but that was only a means to another end. An end they’d never see if the Lizardman did not return in good time. Squib punched the tree with his fist.
“Are you ok?” Bandana asked.
The strange tones of concern from another tickled Squib’s ears and he felt suddenly dour because of it.
“Fine!” He barked curtly. “Saw two woman at temple. Walking around calling your name.” Squib recalled the event, remembered staying out of sight, sneaking around wide, clinging to the shadows as they danced to torchlight.
“You did?” Bandana seemed elated, warmed by the news, a marked change in her disposition. “Were they alright? Do you know where they went?”
Squib shrugged, wordless. How should he know? He had no interest in their movements let alone their well-being. He watched as Bandana’s exuberance faded, the nod of her head and the distant downward look to her eyes saying something of realization and acceptance. She looked a pitiful creature, and on top of everything else it occurred to him to gather up that pity and heap it upon her, at least in some measure. “They looked strong, healthy,” and Squib beat his breast with his fist. The gesture might have looked more impressive coming from Herule, but the meaning was still the same.
Bandana lifted her gaze to meet Squib’s and though she added nothing more to the conversation, he thought he could see a glimmer of light shine in her eyes.
Herule emerged at the water's edge and waded onto land. “What is the trouble?” He asked of Squib having seen the beating of the Goblins chest.
“Nothing, only your tardiness!” Squib replied harshly. “What took you so long?”
Nonplussed, Herule unslung a dripping wet catch of assorted swamp creatures from a hastily fashioned brace. As disgusting as the string of dead things looked, Herule stood inflated with pride, the dimensions of his presence consuming every inch of their little pock of an island. “Herule will take care of you weaklings. Like these pitiful creatures, it will be Herule who decides if you sshould live or sshould die.” Though it was debatable if a Lizardman could form a smile, Squib couldn't help but sense one was present.
“Great,” Bandana said flatly. “And how are we supposed to eat it? I don’t presume cold, wet, raw, assorted swamp meats are going to sit well with me.”
Another drawback of the human but instead of taking it as an opportunity for resentment, Squib directed a grin at Herule, eager to see his pride diminish, or frustration roused by the overlooked problem. “She says she can’t eat your uncooked meat, dummy.”
Herule held up his hand, “Worry not! Herule is cultured in the ssoft sskins ways. Come, it will be dark ssoon. We eat, but first we sswim.”
(Continue to Ep.29)
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