Goodbye to My Village

"And the village wants you have this," the girl said, and presented him with two rectangles of food wrapped together. "Mom's cheese and old Jarmon's panch-puff."

"Jarmon, eh? Gets twice as much meat in as anybody, thanks." The mowril pocketed the bundle as the boy pushed his sister away with only a scowl. He looked up at his older mowril friend and held the look in defiance.

"It'll be over before I can ever join you," he blurted.

"That's the hope, yeah," the mowril said softly. "An' nobody's gonna get me. I'm with fliers, when they don't fly. Safest place to be."

"Is that why you have a cape? To fly?"

"Ha! No, I never asked," the mowril replied. "Now go home an' think of me when you hear fliers above."

The boy nodded stoically and left. It was just as well. The mowril had no desire for his new comrades to see him with weep-spit at the corner of his jowls.

"Welcome to the war," he said to the truck. "Let's go."