Is that Flour Walking Away?
When the fog had rolled in early in Saun, the young igelak made the decision to pack his camp, and make a stay at the famous tavern, sleeping in the stables as it was the only accommodation he could reasonably afford. Or perhaps he was cheap with what coin he’d earned at the wheat mill. His companion in the stables was his beast of burden, the yarofko. They made their rest together of a night, if you could call Saun evenings that. In spite of the oppressive humidity, the bed of hay was kept fresh and clean every trial for Cazuth. He was grateful for their care and diligence, but still some bugs crawled among the hay. He made a quick meal of these, snapping his tongue out to grab the little beetles as they showed their beady compound eyes.
But during the day, he was positioned and utilized as a village guard of sorts. It wasn’t on any permanent basis, and Cazuth didn’t he’d be joining the Lightning Knights anytime soon. Yet, it was good pay, better than just beating the seeds out of chaff for a pittance and share of the bread made with their flour. He stood at attention near to where they kept their grains and flour in a small silo.
There, he kept the nunchucks firmly in hand though they were tucked into the sash of his brown woolen gi. His eyes searched the fog, looking for anything out of the ordinary. For a while nothing stood out. Until he heard what he thought was muffled giggling. His eyes turned toward the source of this, and noticed a sack of flour, which had apparently sprouted little green legs, and was walking away.