Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) š
- Author: Jonathan Michael
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It seems a good portion of the afternoon has passed. We may yet have time to get our lines in the water. I rise to my feet and search for Goose.
Goose leans against a moss-covered boulder, eyelids closed. To my surprise, it looks naturally comfortable, which aggravates me.
āGOOSE!ā
He frees his small blade from his belt and flails it about. Wide-eyed and shocked, just the reaction I was looking for. It lightens my mood. One point, Gooseāone point, Stone.
āOhā¦ You made it down.ā
His arrogance is obnoxious after just witnessing him play the role of a terrified moron.
āWhat day is it? Iām not grayingā¦ Or worse, going bald, am I?ā He combs his fingers through the hard part in his hair, scratches at his tight-cropped beard, and gets up, smacking me on the back with more enthusiasm than necessary. āNo, but seriously, what day is it?ā
āHow did you not seeā¦ Never mind. Shall we get going? We canāt come home empty handed. Jaymes will never let us hear the end of it.ā
We head off to our normal fishing hole where we always score dinner.
Itās a remote basin of water hunkered deep in a gully with steep slopes on all sides, except where the water flows. Maybe forty or fifty paces across, located at the base of a waterfall not too far from the castle of twigs we call home. The serenity of this spot is rare for a forest filled with predators of all masses and all sizes of fangs. Small prey often bypass it for others with easier access, which also keeps the predators away. But today, a petite water deer wades in the shallows, hardly acknowledging our approach. Above, cascading willows border the ridgeline, which arenāt too tall, allowing for a needed break in the canopy. It adds a majestic sparkle to the clear, red waters. And although the sun is blistering hot, a solid glimpse of it eases the constant damper of darkness this wood creates. Overall, it makes for a great fishing hole and an even better swimming hole. But today we fish.
I lose my footing when something strikes the line. āItās the lunker! It has to be!ā
Goose sheathes his kukri and drops his most recent catch to rush over and assist me. However, his form of assistance consists of telling me how much better heād do in my situation. Itās a hindrance really, but Iāve put up with it for seasons and wouldnāt expect anything less of him.
āYou knowā¦ if I were you, Stone, Iād already have that thing fryinā by now. Youāre too tight. What I would do is give him some slack, so he feels free. Then yank it back, crushing its hope. Do that over and over, and youāll wear it down and have him in your net in no time. Itās a fish, for Susyās sake! Theyāre as intelligent as the ones swimming around in your trousers. All you have to do is tug on the line a few times to get the results you want.ā
Frustrated, I follow his crude and arrogant suggestion. And what peeves me more is his suggestion works. The fish thrashes in the shallow waters in no time. As I pull it out of the water, I hear a horrendous amount of laughter.
āWhatā¦isā¦that?ā Goose continues in his berserk state of glee for a few moments. āThanks for contributing, Stone, but one fish stick wonāt feed the lot of us.ā He continues to laugh as he gathers his tackle, his catch of the day, consisting of a half dozen perch, and the arachniwhip he always carries for protection.
āA bloody bluegill! Is that it? There couldnāt be a smaller fish in this entire water hole. Itās a mistake. There was a larger one on the line beforeā¦ Fourā¦no five times its size. Thereās no way this small fry had that much fight in him.ā My face gets warm. How embarrassing.
āBetter luck next time, eh.ā He gives me a soft pat on the back as if Iām a weeping boy whoās lost his mother.
We meander back home through the wood mostly in silence due to the night creeping up on us. Goose breaks the silence with his uninvited mockery.
āJay sure is going to be grateful for our catch today. Donāt you think? You know how much she loves bluegill. Thereās nothinā better than a mouthful of seasoned scales and bones. Remember that when Iām on my deathbed. Thatās what I want for my last meal.ā
āWhat makes you think Iām going to be by your side when youāre dying? Iād sooner be out catching another lunker, you wanker.ā I swing my stringer in his direction. He swats it down. And even though I jape in return, he swats my confidence down as well.
āThese other three silvers you caught sure are somethinā, though. Theseāll be great with a hint of lemon zest, a few garlic cloves, and a dash of salt, all smoked over some applewood pellets. You have to clean āem, though.ā
Goose knows me better than Iād like, but his feeble attempt to mend the humility doesnāt work. Like an ape swinging through the jungle, I am unable to change course mid-air and fly free into the unknown open terrain, so I unwittingly shoot back at him with more defensive sarcasm.
āI donāt need to claim your boasts just yet. Just you waitā¦ When that tribe of beautiful Cerulean women youāre always fantasizing about comes down from the southern
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