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//?A Curious Sergal (3)- Part 16- Version 1She slowly raked her claws over the smooth wood surface of the Reono-crafted table, gouging out small filings of once professional-level carpentry work. Her golden eyes watched, ever intrigued by the destruction her claws wreaked on the hapless wooden surface. All these clutters of paper were boring her. The Brutal General found it funny how such small scribbles could mean so much to some people.
Rain gazed up from the parchment. A lone spearlancer stood at attention at the periphery of the far side of the grand table that used to be the center piece of the Reono dwelling they searched in. It was scorched, and one of its legs was beginning to splinter. None of that mattered though. It was going to be a heap of ash by the time the Shigu left. There would be nothing left of value in the city-state that would not have been raided or burned by then. The less resources that her army left behind meant the less resources for another army that opposed her.
//?A Curious Sergal (3)- Part 15- Version 1It was dark. But slightly warm. The wind penetrated his fur, spreading an all too familiar smooth cool all over his skin. A soft, dull pain seemed to reside in all his bones, making it just uncomfortable enough to matter. Jax’s eyes cracked open. A soft orange glow resided over everything, the trees, the soil, in small needle-like reflections on his fur.
He was too dazed to try to feign sleeping, and as he lifted his head off his right arm the pain shot through his bones, but slowly died down. As the blood returned to his arm he held his fingers in front of himself and tested them. Thousands of tiny needles danced on them while the blood began circulating again.
“You’re up”, a familiar female voice spoke, “Good”
Jax slowly shifted himself to get a better view of his audience by reaching his left arm near the ground, but nearly went limp when a pain struck his ribcage’s core.
“My General!” a small figure presented itself before o
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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