11 The Hound

Lugron all but thrust a huge pot of boiling bean stew into my hands, stinging my skin where a few drops had splashed. “There are still 300 people waiting to be fed out there so get a move on!” he snarled.

I grit my teeth in annoyance and gripped the pot. “You’re lucky I honor my head, or I’d have the right mind to dump this sludge all over you.”

Lugron snorted with laughter. “Please do. I’d be the first one to take a bite out of your tender flesh after we’ve roasted you over a fire,” he added with a suggestive smirk. Disgusted, I turned and walked back out to camp, struggling to carry the pot over to the lunch line.

“Alright, come on bowls out! Hot stew! Hot stew!” The line started getting disorganized around my station as people grabbed for their chunks of black bread and shoved their bowls at me. I wore my voice out shouting at them to get back in order.