Things Grak Hates Page 3

  Ah, there’s a group. Still, should probably take more time to smooth it all out each morning.

  Comforted, Grak sets the bow down to free up his hands. He cups both together for a larger scoop. The liquid provides instant cooling as it washes down his throat. One of the greater pleasures in life, no doubt.

  Grak splashes his face and makes a final review of his appearance. A slight flattening of the eyebrows and straightening of his hair, and he’s quite satisfied.

  Wait, a spot of mud on his cheek. Grak makes quick work of it. Quite satisfied.

  Wait, a spot in the crease of the nose. It’s proving more stubborn than the last. Closer inspection reveals a freckle.

  Hmm, I don’t remember that being there. Oh look, another just a bit farther up. Well, best not to get caught up in this. Could take all day, and I have other matters to handle right now.

  Grak’s mind returns to the task at hand. From his squatting position, he surveys the surrounding forest. The rest of the hunting party must have gone ahead. No sign of the deer they were tracking either.

  I’d better catch up before they get too far away. Can’t have them saying I fell asleep again.

  Grak slowly rises to his feet, taking great care to prevent dizziness. He looks to the right not a moment too soon. An arrow whistles just beyond his face, no more than an eyelash away. This snaps him out of his reverie as instinct pulls his body down and aside.

  He’s shocked. Too shocked to respond in the instant. He feels his face, checking for wounds. None. So far as he can tell. Grak realizes that in his current state he may lack the sense to make a proper analysis.

  Of course, he might be dead so far as he knows, which would also limit any analysis. This raises an alarming question.

  How would I know if I’m dead? Could be an imperceptible difference.

  Grak allows himself a slight panic. Which is followed by a surprising calm. And that, in turn, is followed by a shouting coming from his near right.

  “Grak! Are you alright?” It’s Frolan—Grak ranks him among the camp’s greatest dullards.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I think. It seems to have missed me.” Looking around, Grak spots two other tribesmen.

  Gaping fools.

  He remembers to be angry. “Who did that?”

  No, not angry enough. Two levels higher should do it.

  “Who’s responsible?”

  No, now it’s too shrieky. Almost hysterical. Needs to be louder, deeper, and less of a question, I think.

  “Who shot at me!”

  Perfect.

  Frolan hesitates with his mouth open for a moment. “Well … to tell the truth, it wasn’t like I was shooting at you. There was a deer just ahead, and I only noticed you rising when it was already too late.”

  Grak wonders if they’ll make assumptions about why he was crouching. “Well, I happened to be laying a trap for that same deer!”

  Well done, Grak. Quick thinking.

  “And you just ruined it.” He remembers to be angry again. “And nearly stuck an arrow in my ear while doing so!” Grak feels he’s clearly winning here.

  Someone calls from the other direction. “We got it! Everyone! We got it!”

  Grak squints, but can’t quite make out who’s shouting. It sounds like Jafra, though.

  Makes sense. It would be just like her to scare off any other potential kills.

  Frolan dons a look of excitement. “Fortune! That’s the last one we needed. We’ve finished early!”

  Hmm, still, Jafra’s shouting probably scared other animals out of the area permanently.

  The group closes in on the spot where the creature fell. As Grak draws nearer, he takes in the sight. Not as messy as usual. Most likely because no one had to slit the thing’s throat. An arrow must have hit something vital, though it’s hard to tell which one was successful. Several shafts protrude from the carcass: all generic and none the obvious culprit.

  Grak remembers to keep up appearances and points to one at random. “Ah, there’s mine. I guess you didn’t ruin my trap after all.”

  Jafra’s response is swift. “How can you tell?”

  Of course she’d say that. She’s always plotting against me.

  Grak tears the arrow from the animal’s neck and slyly scratches a slender groove with his thumbnail. “I always mark mine. See? Right there.”

  Frolan is impressed. “Wow, good eyes!”

  Grak basks in that compliment, even though he knows it’s undeserved. He’s just so proud of himself for thinking quickly there.

  Perhaps the illness is wearing off. Well, if I’m on a roll.

  Grak reaches for a way to throw Lago into the mix. A partially formed idea pops to mind. He decides to run with it and figure the rest out as he goes.

  “I just hope Lago isn’t too upset,” he says.

  Jafra takes the bait. “What do you mean? Why would he be upset?”

  Grak attempts the most indifferent expression in his repertoire. “Oh, nothing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  To his dismay, Jafra simply shrugs and sets about tying the deer’s legs for transport. Everyone else seems to have lost interest as well.

  Perhaps my ruse was too good. Have to keep that in mind for next time.

  Grak sighs with exaggeration. “It’s just … well, I told him I wouldn’t talk about it.”

  Frolan tilts his head. “Talk about what?”

  Grak appreciates that he can always count on the brute to follow blindly. “Well, since we’re all friends here.” He tries not to look at Jafra while saying that word. “Lago told me he hopes the hunting fails today. He says meat is harder to prepare, and he doesn’t like having to work so much. Says he’s upset at the camp for forcing him to cook all the time.”

  Grak pauses for effect. “I don’t know. It’s Lago. You know how he can be. I guess he’s never really liked the rest of us.”

  The instant Grak finishes those words, he regrets having gone quite so far with them. This plan might prove too difficult to maintain.

  A slight furrowing of Jafra’s thicker eyebrow indicates concern. “I wonder if he’s working too hard. Maybe he needs a change. Maybe one of us should switch with him for a bit.”

  Grak ignores the woman’s misplaced sentimentality. After all, she’s showing herself useful here.

  Of course, I’m sure the strategy deserves most of the credit. It’s working even better than I imagined.

  Time for step two of his scheme. “You may be on to something, Jafra. I’ve done some cooking in my day, and it can be a real challenge. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to do that every day.”

  Jafra’s expression shows genuine interest. Even the dwarf eyebrow is climbing half her forehead. “I didn’t know that about you, Grak! So full of surprises.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh, there’s an idea! Would you want to trade places with him? He might really appreciate it.”

  And there’s the opening for step three. In light of her pleasant demeanor today, Grak considers altering his “hatred of Jafra” policy.

  But Frolan’s mind is still spilling out. “Why are we trying to help Lago? Sounds to me like he’s just lazy. How much does he even work in a given day? Nowhere near as much as we do, that’s for sure!

  “And why would we want him on a hunt? He’s so lazy he wouldn’t be of any use. Or he might get himself killed. Or worse, he might get one of us killed!”

  Grak isn’t sure where the brute is going with this, but he appreciates the vitriol aimed at Lago. “Don’t forget, he’s fat too.”

  Frolan nods emphatically. “You’re right. He is fat, isn’t he? Really fat. You might be a little on the small side, but you’re far better suited for hunting than he is.”

  Grak lets that comment slide. “I’m also strategic. Remember, I got the closest to this deer without being seen.”

  “You’re right!” Frolan turns to Jafra. “You can keep Lago as cook. I prefer Grak and his strategies by my side on a hunt.”

  Grak s
uppresses a smile.

  The fool’s wisdom is astonishing today. Perhaps I haven’t been giving him enough credit.

  Jafra seems a little offended now. “Well, I don’t think we should get so upset at Lago. Maybe a change would help him lose weight and work harder.”

  Her point reminds Grak of his true purpose. “Well, perhaps you’re right. We could at least try it. I’d be happy to prepare the deer tonight.”

  Frolan grows excited. “Did you say beer? Or deer?”

  “Deer.”

  “Ah. Wait. With a d or a b?”

  “D.”

  Frolan pauses. Utter confusion. “D as in …” He channels intense effort toward the act of thinking. “Dark? Or b as in …” More thought. “Bear?”

  Grak’s incredulity leaves him speechless.

  Or perhaps I’ve been giving the dolt too much credit. Yes, far more likely, I think.

  The party emerges from the dense woods and turns right, following the sparse shoreline. Grak is glad for the change of surroundings. While the rain is a meager drizzle now, the forest floor is already covered with mud and was impeding their movement. This ground, on the other hand, is rocky enough that their steps won’t be hindered.

  While they’re not far from camp, every moment still counts. Grak is hoping they can arrive soon enough that the hunters will still be focused on their animosity toward Lago. He feels it would be a shame to waste such potential.

  But mud isn’t the only thing interfering with Grak’s plans. He looks back at Jafra with disdain.

  She’s slowing the group far more than wet dirt ever could.

  As if hearing Grak’s thoughts, Frolan stops and assists the woman. “A dim, but useful fellow” is Grak’s current stance on the man.

  Perhaps a closer bond with him would prove beneficial.

  Frolan’s considerable height contrasts with Jafra’s small frame to make the transfer difficult. Nonetheless, she manages to hoist the deer onto his shoulders. He situates the carcass, and the party resumes their trek.

  Now there’s a good speed. Much better.

  Several moments later, they round the final bend. Grak isn’t surprised to see the crowd unmoved since this morning and still gawking with all their might.

  Doran’s voice floats above the din. “Well, no … or, at the least, I doubt that. I would think it rather unusual if it were something only I could see.”

  The tribe sounds disappointed. Grak can even make out flecks of disdain from the bits of conversation he catches.

  “I still believe you!” shouts Olive Thirteen. “When you think about it, it’s unlikely this thing would even come around again for the rest of us to see it.”

  That statement baffles Grak. Which comes as no surprise, as everything about this situation bewilders him. But he can’t deal with any of it right now.

  One thing at a time, Grak. Take care of Lago, then see about this matter with Doran’s sighting.

  The party makes quick work of the path over the hill and soon arrives at the perimeter tents. As they enter camp, Grak spots Lago just off to the left, chatting casually and rubbing his greasy hands on an overworked apron.

  Of all things! Just flaunting his lack of work!

  Grak wonders whether he should incite something now. After careful deliberation, he opts to wait a bit and see if the hunters’ anger will perform the task for him.

  Several moments later, they reach the cook site, and Frolan drops the carcass with a sigh of relief. He stands tall, hands at his hips, breathing into the sky. Grak feels this is all a bit exaggerated, but permits it, given his current focus.

  The remainder of the team, however, has no excuse for their loitering.

  And each excessive breath coming from Frolan just makes Grak antsier. He checks his shadow. It hasn’t moved much since their return, though it feels like they’ve been back for a while.

  Grak reaches for any conversational topic to get things rolling. “My, the camp is empty. I guess everyone headed down to see Doran’s … uh … whatever it was. Crab, I suppose. I don’t see how his drawing could have been anything else.”

  Jafra is quick to interject. “He said it wasn’t a crab.”

  Grak rolls his eyes.

  Always finds something to disagree with, that one.

  “Fine. Then they all headed down to see Doran’s … thing.” This isn’t the direction Grak intended. He needs to bring their focus back where it belongs. “I mean, look around. Have you ever seen it so bare? No one’s working. There isn’t even a meal being prepared here.”

  Frolan stretches his shoulders and rolls his head from side to side. “Oh, I saw Lago on our way in. He’s just over there talking to Brak.”

  That’s Brak with a “B.” Grak is always eager to point out that there’s no relation. He feels it’s wisest to distance himself from balding individuals lest he catch that ailment.

  Grak opens his mouth to say something, but Frolan isn’t finished. “The lazy pig. Could have at least had a bite prepared for those of us returning from the hunt. You know, I have half a mind to go and set him straight this very instant. I mean, I’m famished! That was a long trek, and this deer isn’t made of feathers!”

  Under normal circumstances, Grak would feel duty-bound to point out the idiocy of that analogy. But at the moment, he decides to shake it off. After all, it seems to be agitating the other hunters to no end.

  Except for Jafra, of course. “Well, we did finish unusually early today. I don’t see how he could have known we’d be back so soon.”

  Always ready to kill a good thing, that one.

  While her calm demeanor is troubling, Grak can’t resist the opportunity for self-aggrandizement. “Yes, my strategy did bring us back early.”

  He allows a moment for the team to reflect on his words before getting the conversation back on the right path. “But he could have had something ready just in case. He did know I was hunting today, after all. And I told him how I’ve been working on a strategy to make our hunts shorter.”

  That ignites Frolan’s rage. “Exactly! I didn’t even know what Grak was doing, and I knew we’d be back early. I’ve had it with Lago and his fat, lazy, slob … ness! Who’s with me?”

  All but Jafra agree. And with considerable vigor too. Led by Frolan, they storm off to confront the cook. Grak follows, taking position just behind the brute. This seems like a good spot: close enough to influence the action, but not so close that any would suspect it was all his idea.

  In a moment, they reach Brak’s tent. But a portion of their fury dies upon seeing that Lago isn’t there.

  Frolan’s annoyance is obvious. “Where did he go?”

  Brak’s confusion looks genuine. “Who?”

  “Lago! I saw him here on our way in. Where did he run off to?”

  “Oh, of course. He headed off to the forest to find some herbs. He’s been working on a new recipe all morning. He’s quite excited about it. I’ll admit, it does sound delicious.

  “He said it’s something to try and mask the flavor of the olives. Said he’s had a complaint about the number of them in every meal. I find that odd, though. I’ve never minded their taste. And Lago said most of the tribe doesn’t, but he still wanted to make this person happy.”

  Of course that fat fool would complain about me. The wretch takes every opportunity to attack me.

  Grak has always held that the man is devoid of scruples. “Must have been born without them,” he often tells Doran.

  But these blatant complaints are going too far. Our disagreements should be a private affair. No sense dragging others into it.

  Brak dons an eager expression. “If you hurry, though, you should still be able to catch him. He headed off that way. And look, there he is, just cresting the hill toward the shore.”

  Unthinking haste pushes the group into action, and they trot off after the cook. Grak is annoyed at having to jog so soon after hunting, but allows it given the priority of his goal.

  At least we’re
not slogging through wet dirt.

  It’s true, that does make things easier. The sun is out in full now and working at drying the ground. Mud still covers much of the area, but the bit of heat is enough to make this well-traveled path solid under foot. Bumpy, yes, but a solid kind of bumpy.

  They crest the hill and spot Lago walking toward Doran’s crowd.

  “Look at him!” says Frolan. “Heading off to chat, like he has nothing better to do! And without a care! Just leaving his responsibilities like that!”

  The dolt’s anger is looking well-groomed today. I may not need to coax it any further.

  Lago reaches the outskirts of the throng and begins chatting with a small group as Grak’s mob approaches. With his back to the path, the cook is oblivious to his impending danger.

  Frolan calls out, “Hey! Fat man! Nothing better to do with your time?”

  Well-groomed indeed. I would have been hard-pressed to come up with a beauty like that.

  Several pairs of eyes shift to the newcomers. It dawns on Grak that the crowd might prove useful to his purpose.

  This could be a more public spectacle than I realized. That would be nice. Things are really lining up for once.

  “Can’t be bothered to prepare even a scrap for the returning hunters?” Frolan places a forceful hand on the cook’s shoulder.

  Lago whirls around. His nervous smile and confused eyes seem unsure whether to show humor or shock. “Wh … hello, Frolan …”

  He peers around the man at Grak and the others. “Hello. Did the hunt go well? You’re back rather early, aren’t you?”

  Now it’s Frolan’s turn to be shocked. “Ba … early …? Of course we are! And you should have known that. We had Grak with us. I’m surprised we didn’t get back sooner.”

  Grak cheers a little on the inside while feigning humility with a slight nod and shrug. “I’ve been working on a new hunting strategy, and it paid off handsomely. But I told you that this morning, Lago. When we chatted just before I left. I told you we’d be back early.”

  Lago’s shock remains, but a pinch of fear replaces his humor. “I … um … we didn’t speak today … did we?”