The Spare Craigs

Blaedy produced the finished Ramparts chronicle, and Arrowyy promptly found the corpse count had acquired ambitions. His feigned death had fooled my damaged tally as neatly as it fooled the fiends, leaving Summoneyy and him buried on paper while still quite capable of complaining. I amended it. The living are tiresome that way.

Then Summoneyy demanded a ranking by preference, which is how a friendly road party becomes a poultry show. I gave the least dishonest answer available and was accused of glaze. Arrowyy defended the last place as though it were a hereditary title. Blaedy, meanwhile, explained that the muddled record came from soaked, broken streams and then informed me there were other fellows wearing my name in distant ethers.

Apparently one of them does harder work. Good. Let him have the wet ledgers and the dead who refuse to stay counted. I have my boots, my mud, and Blaedy threatening to shut me off for mentioning either.