Drone

12 The Lumber Yard.

When Niklas woke up, his pulsing headache had escalated. His room spun as he sat up. He grunted when the room finally stopped spinning. He combatted his vertigo by clutching the side of his cot. Aside from the smarting dizziness, something was missing. He didn't feel like himself at all. He had no drive, no fire, no valor.

Niklas groaned, slipped off his cot, weaving his way past the sleeping boys, and made his way to a wooden basin and cracked mirror. He poured some water into the tub and plunged his head into the water, hoping to drive the pulse away. His head ached horribly just behind the eyes.

Pulling himself out, he studied the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and his brand was a garish mash of white and red. He looked as exhausted as he felt. Something was wrong. He needed something.

Two days in Pit Forest, three asleep, and five days with the Sommerfeldts, it had been almost two weeks since he had Med!

Niklas cried out as he realized that the last of his Med must have been entirely out of his system. He bit his fist and gagged. Phantasmal panic tickled his mind. He had an unscratchable itch in his head, lingering and teasing him. The med's familiar warmth didn't burn within. He was partial and incomplete.

A disturbed muttering drew his attention from the ache and helped him push it back just a bit. Outside, herdsmen discussed something urgently. Niklas cradled his head for a moment before pulling on a stiff shirt.

The drone pushed his way out into the common area in the compound. Ivar and Frode stood in the still dark morning with a dozen other herdsmen and Relrin mothers. Careful not to look directly at any of the mothers, Niklas approached Ivar and Tord. They were arguing, but Niklas didn't hear what it was about. He stood by Ivar and listened.

"How did it get past the gate?" the head herdsman demanded.

"I don't know!"

Another anxiously said, "There are no signs of digging or damage to the fence."

"Could it have jumped?"

"It's possible, but highly unlikely."

"What happened?" Niklas muttered at Ivar, not wanting to butt into their conversation.

"Wolf," he answered. "Got in and killed a cow last night."

Tord, generally quiet, looked sick to his stomach.

"Hmm," Niklas grunted. Usually, news of such things would have fed his valor and urged him to action. A hunt for the beast at the very least, but without the familiar warmth, he felt genuinely disinterested.

A few of the men shook their heads at the news and started to head for the gate.

"Are they going to investigate?" Niklas asked.

"Who, them?" Ivar asked, "No, they're workmen headed for the mills."

"Workmen? They're going to earn cesh?" Niklas asked, suddenly interested.

"Yeah," Ivar chuckled. "Lill told me you 'had' to get 2000 cesh in two weeks." He smiled as though that were the most amusing thing he had heard in his entire life.

"Yeah!" Niklas said eagerly. "Should I go with them?"

Ivar laughed out loud this time, "You might miss your goal by three years, but the sawmill is the quickest way to earn some quick cesh. It's not fun work. I hear there's a lot of turnaround, but only so many spots are available."

"Where do I go?" Niklas asked frantically.

"Follow Robin," Ivar instructed, "He's the guy in the brown shirt with the lighter hair."