Praetorian Rising, стр. 17
"What's so different about these Praetorians?" Camille asked, now fully invested in uncovering the truth.
Jacob narrowed his eyes, seeming to debate whether to respond. "They are superior. They have special abilities. But like Brian said, we really shouldn't be talking about them. It's forbidden."
Camille nodded slowly, trying to appear unaffected as her head spun with the new information.
Jacob gathered his pack in the sudden lull of conversation, and together they agreed to head back to town. "I bet you can understand now why our village is wary about outsiders and those who seem a bit unusual."
Camille ducked her head, immediately self-conscious. Her rapid healing abilities, magnified senses of smell, direction, and sound as much as Peter kept waving them away as "special talents," Camille had begun to realize how much deeper they went than that.
"You okay there?" Brian said as he quickly shoved a handful of berries into his pack. Juice seeped from between his fingers, running red down his bare arm. She stared at it, transfixed by sight. It looked like blood, a small trickle sliding along the surface of his skin before plopping onto a dried leaf with a loud plunk.
"Yep," Camille replied, snapping out of her trance. "Let's head a bit north. The hill will give us an advance on scouting those turkeys Marcus was talking about."
Brian eyed her as they headed out, leaving their earlier conversation behind.
The morning faded quickly into the afternoon, and, within five hours, heavy clouds had moved in overhead to shower them in cold, fat drops.
"I think we have enough," Jacob said, his pack now brimming with three short and chubby turkeys.
"I agree," Camille said, pulling an arrow from a small rabbit. After stuffing the fluffy brown animal into her hunting bag, she stood up and turned her face to the cloudy sky. A spray of mist chilled her heated cheeks and a shiver of uncertainty settled into her bones. Tonight's festival wasn't going to be enjoyable for her, not with all she'd just learned.
Camille never stopped examining the shady underbrush on the trek home, looking for a pair of red eyes as they exited the forest line.
"Hey Cammy, I set aside some arrow tips at my parent's shop. Care to join?" Jacob asked, motioning toward her right hand full of lifeless rabbits. "I need to drop off a few things before we head into town for lunch."
"Yeah, I could use some new ones. I need to stop by the bakery too, so I might as well head into town with you guys. Are you working today?" Camille asked Brian, who helped with the day-to-day errands at his mother's bakery.
"Naw, we're helping to set up for the festival tonight. Count Jenkins said he needed some strapping young men," Brian joked, pounding on his chest with a free hand.
"Looks like you might be left out of this one then, Jacob," Camille said, unable to control the laughter that followed. It felt good to laugh, to put their earlier conversation behind them.
They carried on with their lighthearted wisecracks until reaching the blacksmith shop, when Camille's jubilance promptly melted away. Jacob's parents gave Brian and their son a warm welcome, their tone turning frosty with bitter contempt when they asked Camille what it was that she needed.
"A bit of the usual, girl?" Mr. Welsh bellowed, eying Camille with beady brown eyes down a slightly bulbous nose. His thick mop of curling black hair sprang up in wild tufts over his head, a stark contrast to Mrs. Welsh. Her grey hair and waif appearance gave her the weakened look of most in the village: malnourished. Both of Jacob's parents were thin and hollowed in the cheeks. Despite their obvious distaste of her, Camille still felt terrible that they had so little to spare in the way of goods. Camille had gotten quite used to the blatant dislike of her presence and felt bringing attention to it was the worst possible idea imaginable.
"Yes, please," Camille replied as politely as she could manage, handing over five pounds of game as usual. She received ten bodkin iron arrow tips in exchange. They were the cheapest kind of iron but the easiest to acquire, and there was little point in trading for better quality. She only needed a sharp point and a flat piece to fly true; the quality of the metal was of little consequence. "Thank you kindly," Camille chirped as she shoved the linen-wrapped purchase into her pack, but the Welsh couple didn't feel the need to reply.
"See ya tonight!" Jacob said with a quick wave over his shoulder to his parents as they embarked, walking to the bakery next. Brian's mother was a sweet, good-natured woman who looked as gentle as a daisy. Her name was Jyllel, but everyone in town called her Mama J.
"What would you like today, my dear?" Mama J asked as Camille walked up to the rough-hewn wooden counter. The entire right side of the store leaned heavily against an old pine tree, the curved walls sagging into the massive trunk as though exhausted from the weight of time. Dull straw roofing and creaking pine floors gave the whole structure a homey and comfortable appearance. A black stone oven kept the front of the store warm during the winter and was often used to make hearty loaves of bread, cookies, and buns, while a crumbling brick fireplace in the back heated warm beverages and kept the back rooms livable for the Bowers' family of three.
"Just one loaf of bread and a small cookie for Lunci please," Camille said, opening the pack to give Mama J her pick of the loot.
"I think a rabbit this round, dear. I'm afraid the festival tonight has me baking up a frenzy. I won't have time to skin anything beyond one ruddy rabbit." Mama