Shredder 36
Merinde turned and dry heaved along the trail again. Deep painful chucks that ended with her surprise at the lack of internal organs splayed at her feet. ‘By the gods she was out of shape!’ her mind crowed. She was sure she would pay the price for last year’s sloth with a kidney.
The game trail was doing little to facilitate a smooth journey, though the narrow defile was more promising than the rest of the rugged terrain surrounding them. She had regurgitated her light breakfast shortly into what became a rather intense dash across the landscape. Merinde would have been angry with Gerard but for two things. One, anger required effort, and two, that damn Halfling was barely breaking a sweat!
He trotted back to her and said, “Not much farther now. More of this?” He offered her additional lengths of the nettlegrass which she had used earlier to stave off vomiting. Her mouth still tasted like skunk cunt, and the sting of vomit was preferable. She slapped the herb from his grasp and pushed past him, solid legs driving her along the trail again.
Gerard paused long enough to scoop the nettlegrass up and stow it with a chuckle. He was starting to grow fond of the warrior spirit which simmered within his strange comrade. Perhaps she could become a potent force if he could just coax her into a better physical state. He started down the trail again after her, making sure to keep her in sight. He had offered her a blade to carry for protection, but she declined. Having nowhere to carry it effectively, she did not see the point in adding the weight.
Their luck was holding for the most part. Gerard scanned the sky though, and thought that the weather might turn on them soon. Foul weather was one of the reasons he was pushing her so hard, toward shelter and clothing. The other reason, of course, was that they were being followed.