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[size=150]Chapter 13: Weeds And Oaks[/size]
___Only Othon waited in the glade, at the bottom of the hill, when Seifas and Gaekwar arrived.
___“Hey,” Gaekwar called as he walked past. “Any sign of our glorious predecessor?”
___“Gone fishing,” the big man rumbled; the lanky subcommander laughed in reply. “For you-all,” Othon clarified.
___“Fine with me,” Gaekwar announced, as he settled his scrawny frame into a cranny near the stream. “I guess I’m where he least expects!” He started cleaning his disker once again.
___Othon, meanwhile, recommenced his careful pace around the small glade’s arc. Seifas amused himself by trying to guess which tree the giantish man would choose today. He narrowed the probabilities down to three, before he heard the missing subcommander coming.
___Dagon, in his official black-and-red garb, charged into the clearing at a walk.
___“Finally!” the Krygian huffed. “I do have other things to do than lie around all day!”
___“Drat!” Gaekwar grumbled good-naturedly, as he leveraged out of the crevice. “I guess this means I’ll have to do some work around here after all.”
___“By all means,” invited Dagon, “stay here instead, and play by yourself. More room in her tent that way.”
___Actually, Seifas mused, there had been plenty of “room” in her tent, since well before Midsummer’s Eve…
___“You can keep that fickle vixen to yourself…if you can,” replied the ‘cowherd’, as he ambled back across the glade. “When she wants me, she can find me; and I’m not overly worried that you will be able to change that fact. How many nights have you ‘played by yourself’ in her tent, eh?”
___Despite the thin man’s casual saunter, Seifas could see his tendons tensing. Gaekwar didn’t have his leafcutter handy, and Dagon did have his falchion. Furthermore, Seifas reluctantly had to admit, Dagon was not a completely incompetent fighter. Yet Gaekwar was gently lifting his disker into position.
___But, in the small glade, a long lunge with the talon-shaped sword of the Krygian could negate any distance advantage offered by Gaekwar’s unorthodox weapon.
___It would happen, Seifas judged, in the next few moments, as Gaekwar passed by Dagon. Would he shoot first? Seifas didn’t know—Gaekwar’s idea of honor was somewhat different from that of the Guacu-ara.
___Would one, or both, strike at the point of closest approach? Dagon’s hand was twitching; but the Westerner could parry with his forearmed weapon, and for close emergencies he could extend a short triangular blade below its mouth. And at this range, a disc might sever a neck altogether.
___Or, if Gaekwar made it past, then there was Dagon’s favorite tactic to consider…
___All eyes slid sideways, to the clearing’s edge, as a tree was stripped from the soil with a rippling crunch!
___Othon grunted, then lightly tossed the sapling to the side, for one of his squads to drag to their fires in the evening. His habit of expanding their small clearing, helped to keep his hulking body fit.
___The habit served some other purposes, too.
___“Weeds,” he muttered, not looking at anyone, but with evident satisfaction. “Some weeds think they are oaks.” He dusted his hands, clanking the gauntlets he’d donned for the ‘gardening’.
___Seifas managed not to smile, as the man from Manavilin Island lumbered out of his improvised lumberyard, holstering those menacing gloves in special loops on his belt.
___Dagon swallowed sharply, and then stomped off at a tangent; so he wouldn’t seem to be following Othon, Seifas figured. Gaekwar, on the other hand, cocked his eyebrow as he caught the eye of the juacuar, and chuckled—though very softly!
___Seifas finally let himself smile.
___But he also sighed. How many men around him hid their souls behind a screen?
___…and, did he?