Iron Rations

Lyall Hound- Philip Hound II

"Calm. Down," said Philip. "Look, I just needed to talk to you. And hunting you down, making you think you're in danger, is the only way I know."

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked.

"I'll tell you when we get back to camp," said Philip. "Look, if we release your friends, oh, hi Uncle Emile, will you start trusting me?"

"That and keep me armed," I replied. "Fork over a gun and I'll listen."

Philip clicked his tongue. "Fine. Hand the shank a rifle."

A woman passed me a rifle, sleek and metallic. It looked so different from the hunting rifles my father uses. Two war-bringers removed Yule and Emile’s cuffs. Emile muttered "thanks" but Yule looked confused. Ah, she can't hear anything. I made a mental note to explain everything to her later.

There was a screech, and I saw two falcons appear. One is Shiv and the other is the larger falcon. I grinned at my raptor friend. I knew she'd make it. Shiv screeched before arrowing down in a rather wobbly way and landing on my shoulder, her talons squeezing my shoulder rather painfully. I noticed her eye seemed bloody and she was missing a few tail feathers. That explains her wobbly flight.

The other falcon landed on Philip's shoulder. Philip smirked at me. "Still see you kept Shiv around. Got myself a falcon too. Named her 'Skelta'." The falcon shrieked in affirmation, and I noticed it looked just as bloody and bruised as Shiv is.

"Shiv put up a good fight, I got to admit," Philip said. "War-bringers, escort the targ-" I glared at him "-I mean, my brother and his allies to the camp."

We were loaded into separate military jeeps. I was put on the one in the lead, Philip beside me; Shiv perched on my shoulder, Skelta flying steadily above us. Philip was silent the whole ride, though if I could read him right, he looked...happy to see me. I always thought he's crazy, but now, I think he's more than crazy. He's a maniac. What kind of guy tries to kill his own brother and then welcomes him like the other was just back from a hunt?

The journey to the peak of the mountain is long and dangerous. The rocks are too sharp, the paths too steep. The whole time, I glared at everything, making sure to give my brother the worst death-glare my face could muster. Philip didn't look bothered by the way I was treating him, and even looked amused, which made me even angrier. Is he treating me like some kind of joke? Maybe 5 or 6 good shots would erase that grin from his face.

After what was probably a surprisingly short time of travel, about 15 minutes, we arrived at a sort of cliff. Standing near the edge is a huge tent, and surrounding it are a cluster of several tents. Around the tents were war-bringers.

War-bringers. Whenever I'd here that name, I'd easily see an image of a horde of fearless men and women, wearing soldiers’ garbs and blasting away with cannons. But the war-bringers I see now...they bear almost no difference to the people back at the village. A man with gray hair and a missing leg sat crookedly beside the fire, tears silently cascading down his cheeks as another war-bringer, a disturbingly skinny woman, poured alcohol on a joint that was once his leg. A man huddled beside his tent, smoking a cigarette with a younger man who looks just like him. Probably his son. The son was drinking vodka straight from the bottle, and when we locked eyes, he didn't even glare. He had that hopeless, empty look the needy people have, the kind which seems to give up on life.

We were pulled out from the jeeps and led through the skinny alley of tents. We passed more war-bringers, and each one made me feel sympathy. A young woman, only a year or two older than me, held a crying baby to her chest as she stirred a pot of what was probably soup. Beside her were two other children, two boys about 5 or 6 in age, wearing thin tunics and sucking on boiled chicken bones. A few tents away from them is a wizened old man, leaning on a boulder, two dogs licking his numerous wounds. Beside the old man is a middle-aged woman, her face buried in a plastic bag filled with some kind of chalky powder. When her face emerged, she was smiling crookedly, before plunging her face in the bag again.