"You're not one of our clan," said a voice from overhead. "One of us, but... outsider. What brings you here, Outsider?"
Borgios slowed, decided that this was interesting enough to justify postponing his plan. "A job went wrong some months back. I took shelter in the pocket of a drunken druid, who thinks I'm nothing more than a rat."
"And your clan?"
He swallowed. "Hunted by the guard and another band of adventurers," he said. "Father told us to go to ground."
There was a soft laugh, and then the whuff of impact, tuck, and roll behind him. He turned slowly, beheld a seemingly-human woman of roughly his own age behind him. A fellow wererat, of course; born into it, by her smell. "You have a name?" she asked softly.
"Borgios," he told her.
"Jalua," she responded. "You're in our territory, so I can't let you do anything that might draw attention to us. I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you."
"Oh?" he asked, trying to sound suspicious rather than intrigued. "In that case, come along. Or lead me where you would." Yes, he was definitely prepared to overturn his plans for the opportunity of some seemingly-friendly company. Keeping himself hidden for the last few months had been more of a strain than he cared to admit.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to leave comments; it lets me know that people are actually reading my blog. Interesting tangents and topic drift just add flavor. Linking to your own stuff is fine, as long as it's at least loosely relevant. Be civil, and have fun!