Jean sat on the piece of cloth that served as his bed. His room was small, four walls made of dirt and rock and a few tiny holes in the ceiling just big enough for the sunlight to illuminate him. He rested his head on his hands, thinking about what Turner said. Jacques had been caught, and someone needed to step up to save him. Jean was that someone.
He had always lived in his brother's shadow. Jacques was bigger than him, stronger than him, and more popular than him. He didn't need anybody to tell him the other parvs in the community preferred his older sibling to him. And the sad truth was he agreed with them. His brother earned the praise he received, and it really wasn't the worst thing in the world to live in the shadow of someone who was so undeniably great. Still, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction about his current course of action. He was risking his life, sacrificing himself so his brother could live. It was Jean's turn to play the hero for once. Deep down, he was proud and hoped Jacques would be proud of him too.
Jean had been on his fair share of hunts, so he knew what supplies to bring out into the human's world. The first rule, he learned: if it was awkward or clumsy, leave it home. Too many parvs got bogged down with a lot of weight, and it always ended up getting them killed. The humans didn't care how much stuff you could carry; they'd step on you no matter what.
Some spare food was also a must. He hoped the other guys remembered that. It was important to keep your energy up, especially on a mission as dangerous as this one. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of starving would-be hunters blowing the whole thing because of their inexperience. He shook his head at the thought and stuffed a few chunks of dried meat into his pockets.
That brought him to the most important tool in a parv's arsenal: the grappling hook. It was a simple contraption, yet necessary in the human world. Almost everything towered above them, so they needed something to climb as high as they could. Jean's hook was no different than any other, a long piece of string and a sharp, curved metal point. He wrapped it around his shoulder, finding comfort under its weight.
Next to his bed cloth was a special box. It was given to him years ago as a gift from his brother. He opened it and pulled out his launcher. It was a one-of-a-kind weapon, using tiny springs to fire an object clear across a room. And there was only one thing that it ever launched: a small matchstick, cut in half. The inside of the weapon was jagged and coarse, so when the matchstick was launched it would ignite and burn anything in its path. He aimed it at the far wall, checking its sights. If I could get one good shot on the guy who took my brother, he thought. Then this whole rescue will all be worth it.
Jean wrapped the launcher around his other shoulder. His rage was building, boiling over a man he had never laid eyes on before.
"Hey, Jean," Turner said as he entered the room. "You got a minute?"
"Sure, what's up?" Jean asked.
"I just wanted to thank you for being the first to stand up and endorse my plan."
A cloud passed over the sun, covering the room in darkness.
"It's my brother; what was I supposed to do?"
"I understand, but... without you, who knows if the rest of the guys would have signed off on it." Turner turned to leave the room.
"Wait." Jean grabbed his shoulder. "I gotta know something."
"What?"
He took a second to collect his thoughts. "Do you think we can pull this off?" he asked in little more than a whisper.
Turner locked eyes with him for a few seconds. "I wouldn't go if I didn't think it would work."
"I get that, what I mean is... do you think that we will actually be able to do it? Honestly?"
Turner patted Jean on the shoulder. "It's going to be dangerous, don't kid yourself about that. But Miller and I planned the whole thing out on our way home. We feel that we have a pretty good shot here."
He felt a smile tease the edge of his lips. "Thanks," he said.
Turner nodded and left the room, leaving him all alone. He pulled the launcher off his back and aimed it at the dirt wall again. For a brief instance, he could almost see the giant that abducted his brother. He imagined it in front of him, imagined pulling the trigger, and imagined the satisfying sound of squealing flames.