Page 9 of Clan and Crave

They clumsily slunk to the dirt road leadingto the training camp. Gotas was still hunched, and he moved slowerthan the rest. They left him behind, and Conyod had a feeling thebully would find himself friendless for a long time.

He pulled his sight from the retreatingyouths to discover the soldier stared at him. “Now for you,” theman said.

Conyod’s heart skipped a beat as his gazeskittered to the thick strap the man held. He grew dizzy, and notjust from hunger and exhaustion.

“Ancestors, I won’t beat you, kid. You lookas if you’ve been through enough.” The soldier stepped close. Histone was shockingly soft for such a terrifying person. Hisexpression too. “I’m Nobek Sletran. I want to help you. What’s yourname and where do you live?”

Conyod hunched, hating the idea he mightinvite the young man’s ire as the bullies had. He didn’t dareanswer his rescuer, however. He simply stared at the booted feet infront of him and shook his head. Then he waited for the blows.

* * * *

Sletran, age 26

Sletran didn’t consider himself wise by anystretch. He’d done well as a youth in training camp, and he wasconsidered an exemplary soldier despite it being early in hiscareer, but he’d accomplished his gains through dedicated effort.He never turned his nose up at shit work. He often volunteered forit. His attitude of getting the job done, whatever it took, hadbeen what had made him stand out rather than his brains.

Nonetheless, he felt something was terriblywrong when it came to the skinny and haunted Imdiko boy he’d takento a quiet eatery, where they sat on floor cushions at a low tableon the pleasant patio. Not physical abuse. Other than the bruisesthe shitheads from the local training camp had inflicted on him,he’d stood up against them rather than cowering readily enough whenthey’d confronted him.

It was obvious he’d been on his own for ashort while, but it didn’t account for how underfed he appeared.His clothes, while dirty and torn from days’ wear, fit himproperly. Even now, he picked at the food Sletran had ordered forhim when he’d failed to choose from the menu. It wasn’t fancy faresince the Nobek couldn’t afford such, but it wasn’t bad. The kidhad eaten ravenously for the first few bites, then had becomelistless. His shadowed eyes peered at Sletran through heavy wavesof hair…no longer nervously, thank the ancestors, but watchful.Evaluating. He was on guard, and Sletran sensed it was more fromhabit than an actual concern the Nobek might prove dangerous.

“You’re a runaway. Trouble at home?” heprodded.

The boy shrugged. It was the only answer he’dgiven to Sletran’s questions when he answered at all.

“How old are you? Twelve? Thirteen?”

At last, he rewarded Sletran’s attempts witha response in an insulted tone. “Fifteen.”

Sletran kept his expression composed, thoughhe was surprised. He’d given an estimate higher than what he’dguessed the kid’s actual age to be in an attempt to make him feelcomplimented. Most boys appreciated it when they were seen asmature for their ages. His effort had been way off the mark, butfor good reason.

He’s too damn small for a fifteen-year-old.Don’t his parents feed him?

Maybe. The boy’s plate was still more thanhalf full, and they’d been sitting there half an hour.

“Fifteen. You aren’t really a kid then.” Hewas, but Sletran wanted the teen to like him and feel he couldconfide whatever had gone so badly for him to have left home.Imdikos who’d done so were serious business. As the fewest and mostsensitive of Kalquor’s male breeds, they were to be protected.

His young companion shrugged. They were backto his stubborn silence.

“At your age, you’re aware I can’t simply letyou wander off. I have to take you to the authorities to sort outand send you home.”

The boy stopped shoving food around on hisplatter. His lower lip trembled. His blue-purple eyes brightened.Tears threatened.

Sletran’s stomach squeezed tight on the foodhe’d wolfed down. He had no idea what to do if the kid burst intotears or begged him not to take him to law enforcement. The Nobeksat stiff on his floor cushion, waiting for the storm and wonderinghow he was supposed to handle it.

Instead of sobbing or pleading, the teenblinked the tears back before they could fall. He pushed hisplatter aside. “I know.”

The defeated tone hurt worse than Sletran hadimagined crying would. He’d never heard anyone speak sohopelessly.

I have to know what happens to him. I need toknow he’ll be okay when he gets wherever he’s going.

“Since it’ll come out anyway, would you atleast tell me your name?”

The teen gazed at him, some of the lostaspect easing off to allow a tinge of hope. “Will you stay with meas long as the authorities allow? I trust you to make sure I’ll beokay. You won’t let anyone be…cruel.”

“Sure. I’m on leave a couple days, so itisn’t a problem.” He felt pride to have earned the kid’sconfidence. He assumed it didn’t come easily.

“My name is Conyod, son of Clan Tuher.”

Sletran smiled. For a wonder, Conyod returnedit. The young Imdiko’s version was wan, but it was a smile.

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