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His bearing and movements marked him at once as a man
who was in charge. "Hey, you!" he shouted to the sentry
standing across the camp. "Get out there and tell those two
dung-eaters that the fire's dying, and they're to get their fat
asses back up here with the wood right now. And tell them
I want to see them afterward, too. If they've got time to
hunt squirrels, they've got time for a few other things I've
got in mind for them. Go!"
The sleeping men slept on. The chosen soldier saluted
with a grin and took off into the woods, passing the unseen
goblin and leaving the bearded captain to slap at
mosquitoes and gnats. "I hate being out here," the captain
muttered. "I hate all of the camping out crap, with little
things that bite and sting. The wilderness doesn't give a
damn about me or my rank or anything. I can't fight back."
The goblin looked at the soldier heading into the
woods. The man wasn't likely to find the last two bodies,
covered up as they were, but if he kept going he'd soon find
the first three. Time was running out. Hidden behind a
cluster of saplings, the goblin rubbed his arm muscles and
looked back at the camp. He counted twelve sleeping rolls
around the clearing; the captain was standing guard now by
himself
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