All His Wrath

“Soon.”

“Come now, Uud,” growled the voice of Quarastohr, his hulking soapstone body casting a vivid light blue onto the deep green grass surrounding all of them. “You have more than that, yes?”

“Soon,” came the reply.

Prohximus chuckled and turned to face the companions he’d known since his youth. “We have seen too many battles together to begin one of our own.”

Uud-Rement grinned, still squatting on the dewy grass, his hands and talons splayed out in front of him. “You speak great truth, my friend. With you I would not quibble and joust.”

Leaping like a frog, Uud-Rement sprang to his left just as Quarastohr’s fist swung through the space his friend’s head had just occupied.

Prohximus’s chuckling doubled. “As always, old friend, your reflexes are still faster than Quarastohr’s quickest swing.”

Uud-Rement rolled over in the soft earth, leaving a small impact trench, and jumped fluidly to his feet. “My reflex speed is ever dependent upon my surly friend’s legendary lack of humor.” He winked at Prohximus, adding, “And dull mind.” It was Quarastohr’s turn to chuckle. “Ha! Is that so? Please explain to us, if you would, how it is that your body—not mine— looks like a terrible accident from a young one’s stoneware exercise?” Shifting on the grass, Quarastohr placed his meaty hands on his hips. “But rush not your explanation, out of thoughtfulness for my slow wits.”

Uud-Rement, scarred from head to toe, did indeed look as if his body was assembled from leftover parts. He folded his arms mockingly and tipped his head to one side. “If only there was enough time in the universe to go that slowly!”