the back of his hand. "Drogan. She's a friend."
He cocked a half-smile, apologetic, and yet mischievous, and offered his hand so she could climb from the vehicle.
A familiar high voice cut through the morning air from somewhere behind her. "Drogan, you idiot. You shouldn't be pointing that thing at everyone who comes here. It's a useless hunk of metal anyway."
Milton, she assumed, was walking out from the trees, scowling at Drogan. He was pointy thin and had strange blotches on his face. Dangling from a cord around his neck was a wooden rod with teeth marks on it.
Drogan backed away, a pained expression on his face like a scolded five-year-old and wandered back toward the barn with his shoulders hunched. Gabby couldn't quite place what was different about the Frags, but something rattled her perception.
As she tried to figure it out, a swarm of bugs buzzed her head. They didn't fly as she expected, almost hovering around her as if they were watching. They flew off toward the barn before she could swat one.
Gabby realized she was still holding Michael's hand and let go. He shrugged and she turned away before she got caught in his crystalline eyes.
"I guess you Gamers can't listen to directions," sniped Milton. "Have to have everything painted on the world to understand."
Michael kicked a spray of gravel at Milton. "That's no way to treat a guest when she's risked so much to come out here."
"I wouldn't have had to risk so much if it weren't for you guys messing with my files," she said. "And I missed the fork when the sun shone in my eyes. Should have just told me to go left."
"She risked? Remember the files we pilfered from the LIE? They'd fall over themselves to forgive her if she got caught."
Milton sounded out of breath at each word, but she barely noticed as she was trying to figure out what he meant.
"Shut up, Milton," said Michael, glancing sideways in her direction.
"Anyway," Milton continued. "We're the ones risking our lives messing with her. Not the other way around."
Gabby was about to ask a question when she heard a woeful sob. Drogan was sitting on a stump with his face between his hands. The contraption leaned against his massive leg and his shoulders heaved with each sob.
Milton and Michael continued to argue behind her, so she wandered to the big red-head. At first she thought he might be playing some trick, but then she realized he was genuinely crying.
Gabby tentatively put a hand on his shoulder and Drogan flinched it away. She decided he didn’t want to be touched.
She leaned down. "Are you okay?"
Drogan shook his head while keeping his head buried.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Through the crying and sniffling, Gabby heard in a deep baritone: "Milton said it was useless."
Gabby assumed he was talking about the item leaning on his leg. The apparatus looked like a crossbow of sorts, made with corroded spoons, bailing wire, and an old wooden olive boat. The bolt looked authentic at least.
Though the separate pieces seemed ludicrous as parts for a crossbow, when she squinted at it, the weapon looked formidable.
Gabby checked back to the two boys who hadn't noticed that she'd left. They hadn't even stopped to see why their friend was crying. Gabby had an idea.
"Drogan," she said softly. "Can you show me how your weapon works?"
The big red-head nodded and stood up immediately, wiping a ribbon of snot on his sleeve as he dragged his arm across his face. The crossbow dangled in his meaty fist looking like a child's toy.
Then Gabby realized the contradiction of Drogan. He was man-sized with a faint reddish shadow of a beard on his face, and his arms were as big as her waist. But he had the eyes and mouth of a child. The eyes looked ready to burst back into tears and his lips quivered unsure.
When Drogan listed about, holding his crossbow at arms length, Gabby offered a suggestion.
"Can you hit that tree across the way? The one with the big knot on the side?"
He nodded and in a smooth
He cocked a half-smile, apologetic, and yet mischievous, and offered his hand so she could climb from the vehicle.
A familiar high voice cut through the morning air from somewhere behind her. "Drogan, you idiot. You shouldn't be pointing that thing at everyone who comes here. It's a useless hunk of metal anyway."
Milton, she assumed, was walking out from the trees, scowling at Drogan. He was pointy thin and had strange blotches on his face. Dangling from a cord around his neck was a wooden rod with teeth marks on it.
Drogan backed away, a pained expression on his face like a scolded five-year-old and wandered back toward the barn with his shoulders hunched. Gabby couldn't quite place what was different about the Frags, but something rattled her perception.
As she tried to figure it out, a swarm of bugs buzzed her head. They didn't fly as she expected, almost hovering around her as if they were watching. They flew off toward the barn before she could swat one.
Gabby realized she was still holding Michael's hand and let go. He shrugged and she turned away before she got caught in his crystalline eyes.
"I guess you Gamers can't listen to directions," sniped Milton. "Have to have everything painted on the world to understand."
Michael kicked a spray of gravel at Milton. "That's no way to treat a guest when she's risked so much to come out here."
"I wouldn't have had to risk so much if it weren't for you guys messing with my files," she said. "And I missed the fork when the sun shone in my eyes. Should have just told me to go left."
"She risked? Remember the files we pilfered from the LIE? They'd fall over themselves to forgive her if she got caught."
Milton sounded out of breath at each word, but she barely noticed as she was trying to figure out what he meant.
"Shut up, Milton," said Michael, glancing sideways in her direction.
"Anyway," Milton continued. "We're the ones risking our lives messing with her. Not the other way around."
Gabby was about to ask a question when she heard a woeful sob. Drogan was sitting on a stump with his face between his hands. The contraption leaned against his massive leg and his shoulders heaved with each sob.
Milton and Michael continued to argue behind her, so she wandered to the big red-head. At first she thought he might be playing some trick, but then she realized he was genuinely crying.
Gabby tentatively put a hand on his shoulder and Drogan flinched it away. She decided he didn’t want to be touched.
She leaned down. "Are you okay?"
Drogan shook his head while keeping his head buried.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Through the crying and sniffling, Gabby heard in a deep baritone: "Milton said it was useless."
Gabby assumed he was talking about the item leaning on his leg. The apparatus looked like a crossbow of sorts, made with corroded spoons, bailing wire, and an old wooden olive boat. The bolt looked authentic at least.
Though the separate pieces seemed ludicrous as parts for a crossbow, when she squinted at it, the weapon looked formidable.
Gabby checked back to the two boys who hadn't noticed that she'd left. They hadn't even stopped to see why their friend was crying. Gabby had an idea.
"Drogan," she said softly. "Can you show me how your weapon works?"
The big red-head nodded and stood up immediately, wiping a ribbon of snot on his sleeve as he dragged his arm across his face. The crossbow dangled in his meaty fist looking like a child's toy.
Then Gabby realized the contradiction of Drogan. He was man-sized with a faint reddish shadow of a beard on his face, and his arms were as big as her waist. But he had the eyes and mouth of a child. The eyes looked ready to burst back into tears and his lips quivered unsure.
When Drogan listed about, holding his crossbow at arms length, Gabby offered a suggestion.
"Can you hit that tree across the way? The one with the big knot on the side?"
He nodded and in a smooth
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