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“Noble,” Shemza says.
Lorna nods, smiles. “Noble.”
“Yours is a strange sort of world if looking after those that need it is considered noble,” I say.
I glance at the pod that contained my Angie moments ago. Cold smoke still trickles out of it.
A very strange sort of world, indeed.
“Ahllgofinder,” Liv says. “Maykeshurshezsayfe.”
“I will accompany you,” Gregar says, but he cannot take more than a single step before Liv’s hand plants firmly on his chest.
“AhdohneedprotectinfromAngie,” she says. “Anshedohneedyooinerfayse.”
I may not speak human words, but I recognise a ‘no’ when I hear one.
“Gregar, I have words I need to speak with you,” I say, stepping in before either of their tempers can rise. “It is why I came down here.”
“It is really so urgent?” Gregar says, his expression tight.
“If it was not, I would not raise it now,” I say, letting him hear my seriousness. It is a rare enough thing that Gregar knows to heed it. He gives Liv a lingering look, then turns to me, nodding.
“It is to do with the hunting,” I say as we head out of the Mercenia hut, climbing up to the ground level, then walking the long room towards the door.
“It is thin around here?” Gregar says, and I wonder if that is a guess based on observation.
“‘Thin’ would be generous. It is non-existent. We set all our traps and caught nothing.”
Gregar might be a warrior, but he knows enough of a hunter’s craft to know how unlikely this is.
“Paskar and Jaskry caught frenelles…”
“Yesterday,” I say. “A far enough distance out from the hut that the trees are not affected.”
“Affected?”
We step outside into the clear space around the Mercenia hut. The clear space the forest has made no steps to reclaim. I have thought it odd before, but now I wonder if it is connected to the blight also.
“It would be easier to show you,” I say.
“Do we need to travel far?”
“About ten paces in that direction,” I say, indicating the tree line.
I have not checked the trees immediately around the Mercenia hut, but I have very little doubt that we will find more of the blight here.
Gregar gestures for me to lead the way. We are halfway to the tree line when Anghar falls into step beside us.
“You go to explain about the hunting?” he says. “I should like to hear what you have to say.”
The three of us head into the trees. Now that I am looking for them, I see signs everywhere. The lack of undergrowth, the thinness of the carros vines, branches that have snapped under their own weight. I am sure if I sink my claws into any of the tree trunks around us, I will quickly find rot.
I stop by a large tree with lots of roots visible above the ground. A sign that the tree is old, well established. The ground around it has been washed away by the rains, but the tree clings on, many more roots burrowing deep underground to keep it anchored. It is the sort of tree I would not have hesitated to climb, confident that its thick branches would take my weight.
“There is a contagion spreading through the forest here,” I say, “a blight I have never encountered before.”
“A blight?” Anghar looks around, hunting for the usual signs - marks on the bark and leaves, bark peeling away from the trunk. But whatever this sickness is, it does not show as a blight normally would. The leaves are thinner than they should be,perhaps, but it is the cold season. Trees dropping leaves is not uncommon at this time.
