The hunters returned at sunset, burdened with poles bending under the weight of fresh game. The sun, a great red wound in the sky, cast their long, triumphant shadows across the village square, but already voices rose in disbelief.
"By Venethra's flame, look at that haul! Where did they find so much?"
"Kama meat—when was the last time we had kama? Not in a generation!"
"Rabbit, too? That's enough to feed the whole village!"
The excitement soured as eyes fell on Schalezusk. His one arm was dark with sweat, his musket slung casually across his back. Whispers, sharp as stones, cut through the air.
"It was him," one muttered. "That outsider."
"The Bloodtusk cripple," another hissed, distrust clinging to the words.
But then the younger hunters who had gone with him broke ranks, their voices tumbling over each other in a cascade of frantic excitement.
"You didn't see it! He pointed that stick—"
"And then BOOM!"
