We brought out the stones from behind our backs and grinned.
“But a voice said, ‘No. That is not the answer,’ and he was silenced.”
Our ears pounded as a bullet flew through his skull. Together, we cast a hail of
stones. The Storyteller dropped dead long before the volley ceased.
As we stared and gawked and awed at the blood penetrating the ground, thinking
about all the beers we would buy with the reward, we did not notice a silent figure slip
from our ranks, take up the cloak, and steal away into the dark forest, alone.
11