Cricket's a slow-mover, but as it turns out he's an awfully good shot with a rifle. It comes from hunting small animals, he explains sheepishly. You can't shoot a small, fast, target, you're probably going to have a hungry winter.
Of course, it's been a hungry winter here anyway.
Probably he has no business beyond the torches, but when Isidor gathers her volunteers he's right there, because Kinner and Palmer and Harley are out there somewhere and he'll be damned if he doesn't help them, if he can. And if no one's noticed before, they sure will notice now, how he doesn't sink into the snow when he jogs along side them, breath harsh as every step sends a shock of pain all the way up his back.
He is a damn good shot, though, and his rifle cracks steadily as the convoy hurtles toward home; shot, pause, shot, pause...it's not that he's got abnormally steady nerves, it's just that, like most of them, he's beyond fear now.
But he has the sense to stop and catch his breath when Isidor's wall of flame roars over their enemies. And he looks quietly satisfied.
He hobbles back quietly, and when one of the other volunteers notes how he's lagging, they sling his arm around their shoulder and help him back into the safety behind the torches. He won't be helping to unload; he relinquishes his rifle to another patrol member, as if now he's satisfied he's done enough at last, and he sits, watching the incoming raiders for signs of his friends.
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Of course, it's been a hungry winter here anyway.
Probably he has no business beyond the torches, but when Isidor gathers her volunteers he's right there, because Kinner and Palmer and Harley are out there somewhere and he'll be damned if he doesn't help them, if he can. And if no one's noticed before, they sure will notice now, how he doesn't sink into the snow when he jogs along side them, breath harsh as every step sends a shock of pain all the way up his back.
He is a damn good shot, though, and his rifle cracks steadily as the convoy hurtles toward home; shot, pause, shot, pause...it's not that he's got abnormally steady nerves, it's just that, like most of them, he's beyond fear now.
But he has the sense to stop and catch his breath when Isidor's wall of flame roars over their enemies. And he looks quietly satisfied.
He hobbles back quietly, and when one of the other volunteers notes how he's lagging, they sling his arm around their shoulder and help him back into the safety behind the torches. He won't be helping to unload; he relinquishes his rifle to another patrol member, as if now he's satisfied he's done enough at last, and he sits, watching the incoming raiders for signs of his friends.