Washed Up
Glig 7:1
Glig sat against a sandstone mound, staring into a small fire built from dry juniper and a few shards of canoe that had washed up on the river bank.
Mahani had put his shoulder back in, splint his wrist, and was now roasting some sort of root for him. The healing potion he had found on the summoner’s body was on the bottom of river. A smokey, hand-blown glass bottle filled with honey-colored liquid that could miraculously fuse bone and knit together flesh in minutes, lying in the cold crocodile-guarded silt along with the rest of their canoe, their money, their food, Mahani’s bag of spell components and scrolls, the demon and angel books, and almost everything else.
All they had left was:
- the Amulet of Luck around glig’s neck, proving itself more fraudluent by the minute
- the Impervious Cloak that could have protected him from the crocodile, if Glig hadn’t that morning been using it as an Impervious Pillow
- one of the Summoner’s Gloves, the left-handed one that Mahani had stuck in her pocket before the attack
- Mahani’s dagger
- Glig’s fork
- And the cast iron key to the Apocalypse Vault
Mahani took the root out of the fire. “Good old trapper root,” she said, smiling.
Glig didn’t respond.
Mahani blew on the trapper root. “Your species doesn’t happen to be the kind that can, like, heal really fast, does it?” She looked back at Glig, waiting for his answer.
“Breep,” he said, almost inaudibly.
“Too bad,” she said, lying the root on down on a rock. “What are those ones called again? The ones with regeneration?”
Glig stared into the fire. “Breep.”
“Wellrabits. Right. Here they call them fleshwrights or blood devils or something.” She picked up a rock and started mashing the root with it, “So what does your species do?”
Glig shrugged.
“Can you grant wishes, or turn invisible or something?”
Glig exhaled a bit.
She brought the mashed root over to him and laid it down on his lap. “Can you shoot fire out of that beak thing?”
Glig looked down at the root.
“For the pain,” Mahani said, “Try to eat a little.”
Glig looked back to the fire.
“Hey,” Mahani said, kneeling down, putting herself between him and the flames. “Hey, listen to me. You’re going to see her again, okay? We’re going to rest up, we’re gonna walk to the Vault, we’re going to get you home, and when you get there you’re gonna tell your family all about your big adventure, and your family is going to tell you all about their boring week without you, and gently remind you what their names are, okay? It’s going to be fine, Glig. Now eat your root.”
Glig stared back at her, hard. “Breep?”
Mahani squinted. “What? Why am I helping you? It doesn’t matter. Just eat your root and don’t change the subject.”
“Breep.” Glig asked again.
“I don’t know. Because I’m a good person with nothing else to do. Eat your root, Glig.”
Glig reached into her pocket, pulled the glove out, held it up to her face, and asked her a third time. “Breep.”
Mahani sighed, sat down next him, and stared into the fire. “Eat your root,” she said softly.
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