“What? Oh.”
He was talking to the other badger, which had now climbed into his lap.
“Mr. Snuffles? Really?” I asked him.
“Yup. An’ this bitey one’s Bodger.”
“Of course it is.”
Benin snorted. “And you wondered why I didn’t let him name my emberfox.”
“I came up with good names!” Coll protested.
“Lady Firepants is not a good name.”
I sniggered. “I disagree. I think it’s an excellent name.”
“No wonder you two get along so well,” sighed Ket.
I was about to demand she explain what she meant when Ris’kin and Longshank returned with the scouts.
Well, most of them.
The four scouts walked with heavy steps and bowed heads, as though they were carrying a weight greater than the sacks of badger meat and pelts they’d harvested from their pair of kills.
Where’s the fifth scout? I asked Ris’kin, expecting him to arrive at any moment. But the scout named Hindmarch was already here, handing a bloody silver-furred pelt to the tribe’s tanner. Hindmarch always brought up the rear. Always. Which meant…
A flash of sadness from my avatar confirmed the worst. The fifth scout was dead.
As always, Ket focused first on her favorite. “Look at poor Shanky!”
“What are you talking about? Shanky’s f—”
I’d been about to say “fine,” but thought better of it. Longshank’s armor was torn, and rivulets of blood were coagulating in the wrinkles of the mole-rat hide. His knuckles were sliced and bruised, though I noticed he still carried the clump of brambles he’d used as impromptu knuckle dusters.
He and the other scouts were beat-up and tired. But at least they were alive.
Ket sensed the direction of my thoughts and finally looked up from her favorite gnome long enough to notice the missing scout. Her hands flew to her face.
“Oh, no,” she whispered through her fingers.
Many of the gnomes reacted similarly to the news. Others showed signs of grief, but stepped up to shoulder extra tasks to give their fellows more space to grieve.
The wagons were a flurry of activity as Buttress oversaw the distribution of pelts, claws and meat. The two farmers were squealing quietly in unison at the sight of some small item; a closer look revealed it to be some sort of seed. It was silvery in color, rounded at one end and pointed at the other, with black grooves running lengthwise along its surface.
Weird.
I watched absently as they scurried away with their prize after the overseer nodded her permission for them to take it. I had bigger things to worry about.
We were down to just four scouts. I couldn’t assign more; the scout vocation required scouting experience before it could be assigned to an individual. And for me to send non-scouts out beyond my Sphere required mana—mana I didn’t have access to.
Even Swift and Cheer, whom I’d sent to scout on several occasions in the past, had not done it enough to unlock the vocation; besides, their two basic vocation slots had already been filled.
Still…
With a blink, I opened up Swift’s Augmentary profile and examined her scavenger skills.
Detect Site, Dismantle, Sabotage… Scavenge.
Scavenge
Scavenger ability
Venture beyond one’s immediate surroundings in search of discarded items of potential use.
I’d noted Scavenge before, but had assumed its use would involve targeting something specific, like with Sabotage and the skynet. Actually, though, it seemed to function much more like Scout, minus the mana cost. Given previous results, I couldn’t say I had much faith in the scavengers’ dedication to their task, but perhaps their recent increase in approval would make them more willing to help their fellow gnomes.
The pair were still basking in the praise of the non-combatants who’d witnessed their actions first-hand. Many had gathered around the scavengers to shake their hands and pat their backs—though the latter abruptly stopped after Twain’s palm came away embedded with what looked like hedgehog spines.
While the somewhat bewildered sawyer went in search of a medic, the nearby warriors continued to re-load the undamaged wagons, rolling their eyes at Swift and Cheer’s sudden popularity.
However, even the scavengers’ reputation paled compared with that of the rogue blond child. Binky had managed to shake her off, so she’d roped Flea into becoming her latest steed. She rode by serenely, pale hair floating in the breeze, singing softly under her breath and patting the badger’s flank.
“You’re a strange one,” I muttered. “And lucky to be alive.”
“A child of pandemonium, that one,” Bekkit agreed.
Pandemonium… heh. I guess I’ll name you”Pan.
It was strange; everywhere she went, gnomes smiled to see her; not just as though they were happy, which they clearly were, but as though their overall morale was lifted. It reminded me of the change I used to see when a denizen converted to become Faithful; they became lighter, more enthusiastic, filled with purpose. Ris’kin’s presence had a similar effect.
I examined the little gnome more closely.
Pan
Gnome (juvenile)
This young gnome has survived plenty of unlikely circumstances, so much so that her tribe-mates regard her as something of a lucky charm. The universe itself recognized this and granted her ‘periapt’ status.
Unique trait: Periapt (+5 morale to allies within 3 meters)
So the impetuous child had basically become the tribe’s mascot. It made about as much sense as anything else, I supposed.
Pan and Flea ambled past the remains of the portahut used to trap one of the dire badgers. That reminded me.
“Why were the huts and wagons set up like this, Ket?”
“It was time to rest. The gnomes need to keep their stamina up—”
“Yes, but why was the entire camp assembled just for a rest stop? And in this way? It’s almost like they were expecting an attack.”
“Well, that’s actually really interesting,” she said. “Bekkit and I decided it was time to call the halt. Of course, we can’t communicate with Gneil like you can.”
“They asked me to try,” Coll chipped in.
“We did. He couldn’t get through to them either—”
“Though it was amusing to watch its attempts,” added Bekkit.
“—so he went on ahead and pitched his tent in their path. They seemed confused, but Buttress
